The way back home with a bare womb and a bare heart is never easy. The cart slows down its pace and the jingling of the bells is faint. ‘The bullocks are tired’, Kitti says.
I don’t know if the weight of my loss has made them weak too. The promise of holding a newborn, the tightening of the chest with milk – all a broken dream. Only exhaustion remains, every single time. Before discharging me, Dr H warned me, ‘Rukuma, this is your ninth miscarriage. If this happens again, forget about the baby, I will not even be able to save you. Your uterus has always been too fragile to hold a life, and now your body has withered. Why don’t you let this obsession of birthing a child, rest? Find your peace in something else. There is much more to life than just carrying around an infant and singing those stupid lullabies.’
‘But how can I explain to Dr H that these eleven years of marriage and nine failures to be called Amma, were never my choice. Appa had me married when I was eleven and I stayed in his house until I hit puberty. Then they shifted me to Kitti’s house where my mother-in-law only complained that I could not even make a wick for a lamp. Then Ajji and Amma spoke to me about having a child, in half-whispers, half-shame, and half-used brains. In the beginning whenever Ajji blessed me, ‘May you have a house full of kids and a heart full of love,’ it made me feel hopeful. But each time, when destiny decided to take away the child at a tender three or four or five months, I gave up. Everyone else kept assuring me that with one more attempt, everything would be alright.
‘Aiyya, how can you sound so disinterested? A woman’s life is incomplete without being a mother. It is a joy that cannot be expressed or compared. It must only be felt.’
‘Ajji, if I had tried so hard in attaining god with my bhajans, Krishna would have appeared in front of me by now. Attaining moksha is easier or I wish that Krishna would grant me moksha by taking me along with the child.’
‘It is not even a child in four months. It is only after the fifth month that the foetus gets a soul and that’s when a mother-to-be feels the kicks inside the womb. You talk as though you have lost a grown-up child. I delivered sixteen times, only five are alive. Your mother delivered twelve times, eight are alive. Life is about winning some, losing some. Girls these days are just impatient. You will realise it someday when the horizon is clear.’
I knew there was no point in arguing with Ajji or Amma or Kaku or Maushi. They all just thought the same way. Same thought, different face. Same thought, different mouth. Same thought, different womb.
As the bullock cart nears the entrance of the village, I cover my face. In this village where my ancestors were born, I find that everything can still touch my vulnerable chords and create noise. The difference between my mother’s and in-laws’ house is just two lanes. But familiarity seems to be a mask that is adorned when needed. These two lanes mean two different worlds to me.
Kitti looks at me and says with a certain compassion, ‘Don’t be silly, Rukku. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Your vacuum needs to be understood. I don’t approve of this meek behavior. Straighten up; bundle up your pride and keep it as a cushion against your tired spine.’
‘It is easy for a man to be so indifferent when all the other fingers are pointing at me.’ Tears swell up.
‘Nowadays you have become too sensitive to anything I say. You have lost your charm along the way. Go and pray to your gods. What vrat will you choose now? These hospital visits make me feel sick. Let’s give this a break and this time no one can change this decision.’
His change in pitch makes me nervous. Yes, I need a hiatus from the cycle of life and death that has settled and wrecked my body. But I want no arguments. I just stay quiet.
This time there aren’t many waiting to welcome us. Maybe sadness and grief are repellants and I am happy to take refuge in them for once. That night after dinner, when the old clock on the wall strikes 8 and night crawls in at a slower than usual pace, Kitti speaks out. It is Ajji, Appa, Amma and Atti, my mother-in-law who are present. He tells them that we must be left alone and if anyone interferes in our matters, he will not bear it. He declares that we are not going to try for any more children. It is driving us apart.
I feel like a burden has been lifted from my head. But there’s uneasiness in the air. Atti seizes this opportunity to take hold of the situation, ‘See, I knew this was coming. It is so sad to see my son disintegrating like this. Look at the dark circles around his eyes. Such worry, every time she gets pregnant. He has lost his peace and soon he will lose his mind. Tch tch. we should have listened to what Rama Shastri was predicting before marriage. That even though there will be love and peace, there will be no one to inherit the wealth. But no one bothered to listen to what I was trying to say then. So much property, such a big house, so many acres of land, such grandeur and my son can’t even have an heir.’
I retort, ‘It isn’t only your son who is sad. You probably need to take a good look at me. Maybe instead of preaching to us, it is time for you to go on a pilgrimage to Kashi. Then you might have a few good things to say.’
But Amma shushes me. Atti ignores me and continues her whining, ‘I agree with you, my boy Kitti. The right course of action will be to adopt your elder brother’s kid, the youngest one, Vishwa. Only seven years old. It is the right time to do this. You both will have a wonderful life. Imagine, you both can shower all your affection on the child and your wife will not have to suffer anymore. Your brother will be happy. I have spoken to him already on this. It is only for everyone’s well-being that I am saying this. The rest is left to you, my boy.’
I feel numb. Atti can't be thinking about our welfare. All she wants is to make sure that the wealth stays within the family. But one look at him and it is easy to guess that Kitti is excited and pleased with the idea of adoption.
*
A week passes. Kitti turns deaf to my conversations. I try with every tender means possible to make him see things as they are. He’s blinded by the possibility of fatherhood. Meanwhile, his elder brother and sister-in-law come with their four sons, the eldest fifteen, and the youngest, the seven-year-old, Vishwa. My world has no space for Vishwa. My motherly instinct has died many deaths and to accept someone else’s child does not interest me.
The day slips by in arranging food for the boys, cleaning the chaos they create, and trying to resolve their fights. I slip to Amma’s house for some peace in the evening.
‘Your Atti has gone crazy. She swallowed her husband just with her cruelty and she will cause havoc in the house,’ Amma goes on breathlessly abusing. ‘Her entirety is dug beneath the gold coins she is trying to protect. To get out from there is impossible for her,’ Ajji joins in.
Appa just watches me from a distance and says, ‘Let her manage her household issues. Why are you both trying to tell her the difference between right and wrong? She isn’t a girl anymore. She can do what is right for her.’
But Amma nudges him sharply, ‘You keep quiet. If she doesn’t speak out loud, then a day will come when she will be made to beg for money. I will write it on this wall, her Atti is a whore. I know her plan. Soon she will ask her son to sign everything in Vishwa's name. The boy will grow up and do whatever he wishes. But who is going to be bothered about my daughter? Rukku, do something about it.’
‘I came here looking for some peace. But seems as though peace is evading me. I will do something, Amma. Don’t worry. I will make sure I don’t end up begging near the old Dattatreya temple. I will take leave now.’
While I walk back home, a strange fear grips me. What if Amma’s predictions do come true. Kitti is caught up in his mother’s web of words and his brother is catalysing it even more. When I enter the house, Vishwa comes running to me trying to escape his elder brother. I push him aside and he falls, wailing and creating a scene. I ignore it and go to my room to find some sleep.
Over the next three months, my sister-in-law tries to help me build a bond between Vishwa and I. Vishwa doesn’t like me much and I have started loathing him now. In the house, he is known for his compassion; he keeps bringing in puppies and kittens from the roadside all the time. He loves taking care of them and our cows. He often forgets my hate and tries to share things. But I have pledged to neither forget nor forgive his parents’ intent.
‘Tomorrow we will leave and go to Dharwad,’ declares the elder brother, and my heart is filled with a great sense of relief.
‘Why, Anna? Stay here for some more days. Anyways, your assistant lawyers are handling the cases on your behalf.’
‘No. An important case has finally landed in my lap. I was waiting for it for many months. I’ve asked Amma to make sweets. If I win this case, then the entire Dharwad-Hubli region will know me by my name. I have a lot to work on.
‘But I have good news for you both.’
‘What’s that, Anna?’
‘Let us finish dinner and I will tell you. Rukku, serve him some more payasam and holige with an extra spoon of ghee. He loves sweets,’ as though I am unaware of what he likes to eat.
After dinner, my sister-in-law puts the children to sleep while I make paan for the men and have one too.
‘Will you tell me what’s the good news, Anna?’, he probes again.
‘We have decided to leave Vishwa here, under your love and guidance. Avva’s decision makes a lot of sense to us as well. He will keep you both occupied and you are no different from me.’
Kitti is elated with the news. I can see it from his face, and his eyes are almost filled with tears of happiness. This is not my prayer, and this is not my answer. Neither of them cares to ask me. I know this is a well-thought out plan hatched by all of them together. I swallow my hurt and I know what to do.
The following morning, they all leave a sobbing Vishwa and Atti promises him loads of toys that can be bought from Hubli market. Soon, I have a new laundry list of things added to my household chores. I feel claustrophobic. There is no time to mourn for what I have lost and my grief compounds into my hatred towards Vishwa. I beat him when he is alone with him, scare him, threaten him, and most of the time when he tries to console me, I break down and hit him again. This makes him cry and run away. Eventually, he will avoid me. I can sense it. He already tries to keep away from me and spends more time feeding the cows and dogs. Atti and my husband say that Vishwa isn’t bubbly anymore. He has a hollowness that has grasped him like dark clouds take over a once clear sky. I smile to myself when they make such comments. I like it.
Three more months pass by. Atti wants to go and stay with the elder brother. Kitti agrees to drop her and return the next day. They decide to leave Vishwa with me, thinking it would unsettle him to meet his parents and siblings. I agree, and when they leave, we both go to Amma’s. She has made his favourite snacks and a lot of food. Amma has a special fondness for Vishwa now and so does Ajji. I fail to understand this change.
‘Come Vishwa, come here. See, I made you shankarpali. You want to eat?’ asks Amma to which he nods. She gets him a bowl of chakkali too.
‘He won’t have his lunch if you stuff him with these.’
‘Aiyya, it’s ok. Let him eat what he wants. He’s only a kid,’ says Ajji.
‘He’s not merely a kid. He has made his spot in the house. One day he will have me thrown out,’ I say.
‘Why so much hatred, Rukku? Forget what has been said and done. Look at his innocence. Isn’t it heart-melting?’ says Amma.
‘I will visit the temple and come. I am not feeling too good,’ I say and walk away without leaving any space for further conversation. Amma and Ajji find me unnecessarily rude and express their discontent but it doesn’t affect me anymore.
At the temple, I close my eyes and my thoughts bounce from blood to foetuses, to death, and the compelling grief. There is no space for love or compassion. On my way back, I stop at my house to pick up the chutney powder I had made for Appa and forgotten in the morning. When I enter, I hear some noise in the backyard. The dogs are barking. I go to check and see Vishwa nursing a new pup. The dogs don’t like it. They are ready to act.
‘Now, where did you get this pup from?’ I yell.
I see that he has fetched it some water from the well and I boil with all the hate that is buried in my heart. I slap him hard in a fit of rage and kick him without pausing, without giving myself a chance to think.
‘How many times have I told you not to go near the well? How many times?’
‘Sorry, Avva’, he wails and tries to cling to me. I push him back.
‘Don’t call me Avva, you bastard. I am not your Avva and I never will be.’
My heart burns with a feeling I fail to understand, and I pick up Vishwa. He is still crying loudly. I go near the well and ask him to see how deep it is. He stops crying and tries to peek. I let go of him and there is a mild shriek that the huge house can contain like all the rest of the secrets of the house. I wipe my tears and wait for the struggle in the well to calm down. Once, there is silence, I take a deep breath and wash my face. It will take a day or two for others to find his body floating in our well.
I walk back to Amma’s house carrying the chutney powder. She asks me if I have seen Vishwa. I shrug my shoulders and tell her he will be around, that she needn’t worry about him.
In the mind of my mind, I will now mourn for my nine.
*
Poornima Laxmeshwar resides in the garden city, Bangalore and works as a copy writer for a living. Her book of poems, Strings Attached was published by Red River Press in 2019.