It was late at night. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my back. The pain seemed to be crawling surreptitiously towards my distended belly. I flung back my blanket and emerged from the cocoon of warmth that had swathed me all this time and had lulled me into a fitful sleep just a couple of hours back. The cold air with the early November bite of approaching winter in Delhi pounced upon me like an unleashed animal. I had to ignore the chill; I knew, this was it, it was coming.
The past few days were such a whirlwind of confusion, rage and fear,all jumbled up like a concert gone haywire. I was in the ninth month of my pregnancy and was spending the last few days of my third trimester in my parents’ home in South Delhi. Rupu (short for Rupankar) was with me too, being my first born and also because he was just three years old.My husband AB (Anindo Bose) had stayed back in our home in Dwarka, about 20 kms away.
I had arrived on 25th of October, 1984, just when the intoxicating whiff of Parijat (night flowering jasmine) flowers was dwindling and the heady ambience of Durga Puja (annual worship of goddess Durga) was ebbing. It was such a relief to be there with my parents and brother; all of them swarming around me with offers of love and comfort in the forms of a hot cup of tea, a warm glass of milk with turmeric and honey (supposed to be so good for expectant mothers), a soft pillow, a much needed footrest and often a loving glance. I was so relaxed putting my feet on a stool and giving them the much needed rest denied to me in the manifold chores of my own household.
A much greater relief was nothaving to take care of Rupu. Here in the haven of my mom’s home there was a bevy of servants to take him off my hands. No more running after him with a glass of milk screaming like a banshee or pestering him at bath time. All was taken care of. In fact, I was much relieved even to have relinquished the night time duty which Indian parents take upon themselves. Children often sleep with their parents until they are a bit grown up. Rupuwas now sleeping on his granny’s sizeable four-poster. I also didn’t have to delve into the depths of my much dilapidated memory to dig out a new story each night or to take him to the toilet in the wee hours. It was all done by my mother, a devoted grandmother. I was so relaxed and at peace.
Who knew it would all end so soon? I mean the peace and the quiet, the stress free relaxing and daydreaming about the new life yet to land in my lap soon, the watching of Rupu playing with my parents, the laid back existence just watching TV and staring at the ceiling without a care.
It was around 10 a. m. on 31stof October that the rumors starting circling like ravenous vultures. Our neighbor of years, Bhavani aunty rushed to my mom in an agitated state with her hands waving wildly in the air as if she had metamorphosed into a tree in a storm. She screeched in her squeaky voice that Mrs. Indira Gandhi, our charismatic Prime Minister had apparently been shot at by her very own bodyguards and taken to hospital! We were stunned. Of course, we turned to the solitary television in our home placed at a position of pride in my mom’s bedroom. All of us crowded around the screen. From the corner of my eyes I saw Rupu pulling my father’s hand, urging to take him out for a walk or something else. But my father was all agog, staring at the crazily moving images and shaking his head at the confirmation of the news. The event had repercussions for him because his office would put him on special duty if something untoward were to happen. He worked for the government of India.
I noticed Rupu after having shaken my father’s hand furiously and uselessly, slinking away and sitting on the living room settee with a quivering lower lip, on the verge of tears.Of course I didn’t pay him much heed in view of the electric atmosphere swirling around me. I had to know everything and the sooner the better.
After a couple of hours, it was announced that our dynamic and apparently invincible PM had succumbed to her injuries. It was devastating for all because the sudden demise of a leader of her stature meant the disruption of the entire system plus there was no other leader in sight at that time. We were all disturbed and completely on edge. I, for one was hurt the most. She had been my pride. How many countries had women PMs?
My father was summoned soon after for his duties and it was certain that there would be no surety about his working hours. He would be out most of the time. This was no run of the mill visit of a dignitary or an exhibition. This was an emergency! The head of the parliament lying wrapped in a white sheet with no one at the country’s helm of affairs! All government servants were skittering about likesparrows in a frenzy.
My mother had multiple worries at this time. She brooded about papa and also her very pregnant daughter not to mention having a toddler on her hands too. As a result, Rupu was left to his own devices most of the time. No one paid much attention to him apart from the regular stuff like bathing and feeding. I spent my time channel surfing and Anindo fulfilled his husbandly and fatherly duties by calling from his faraway office and repeating the news to me.
It started in the evening. An unearthly howl erupted from some part of the neighborhood. It was eerie and piercing. The fabric of the quiet environment was in tatters. My brother, who had come home from his usual gallivanting around our area, revealed some extremely disturbing news. It seems the country had exploded in riots against the Sikh community that was being targeted because the killers of the PM happened to be Sikhs who had done the deed to avenge the so called desecration of one of their holy shrines in a government action(authorized by the PM of course!) to flush out terrorists hidden there.
The next couple of days were so very rife with fear, rumors and speculation. The capital, Delhi, where we were, was subjected to curfews. Chilling stories of atrocities were circulating, sometimes from an over active neighbor or over the phone from a distant relative, faraway in Calcutta, who enjoyed sharing gory details much to our chagrin. Blood-curdling tales of Sikhs being selected and massacred were floating in the air and chilling us to the very hearts. Some even said that the riots were being sponsored by some very loyal congressmen (party in power) who were apparently inciting hatred through their eloquent speeches.
Every household was dealing with its own issues. My mother was almost hyperventilating with worry because of the hours my father was keeping. He commuted home at the dead of the night and had terrible tales to tell us each morning over a much needed cup of tea. He mentioned driving on dark and empty roads interspersed with burning vehicles like funeral pyres and above all the palpable fear among all.
I was fighting my own demons. Anindo could not be with us because of the curfew. He could call at times but one fine day we noticed the phone was not working. Who would come to repair it at a time like this? My mind was also panicked thinking what would happen if I went into labor. How would I reach the hospital? Will there be a doctor to attend to me? My parents worried about me too. One night, I heard them whispering to each other about the chances of premature labor starting due to anxiety.
Where was Rupu in all this? I barely noticed his wide eyed stare at all the adults, not sure what was going on. No one had the good sense to sit with him or give him a hug just to reassure him. At times, I noticed him listlessly roaming in the backyard and fiddling with the tricycle handle. He was not actually riding it. My usually cheerful baby appeared to be distant and oddly thoughtful, even morose. What had gotten into him? In the fog which was engulfing my mind with worry and anxiety, I felt deep down that something was not quite right with him. However, it was just aninkling and surely not the priority. There was so much else to be worried about!
That was the night of nights. There had been a rumor spreading that a crowd of about a 1000 men was approaching our area to launch an attack. Ever since, all households were getting ready for such an eventuality. No one thought logically as to why any crowd would attack our area. There was hardly any Sikh family around and we were certainly not the targets in this. But at times of distress, logic just flies out of the window. Like other families, we stored some rough weapons which would come in handy- a few kitchen knives, an iron rod or two, a couple of rusty grass cutting blades which uncannily resembled swords. Late at night, in the unnatural silence that prevailed, suddenly a cry went out. It seemed a group of men were chanting something loudly. My brother who had stepped out for a smoke or something came rushing back home and said that our locality was under attack and a huge crowd was approaching it. He took one of the so called swords in his hand and rushed out jumping over our front gate. Where was he heading?
I was terrified and so was my mother. I almost felt faint and had to hold on to the edge of my bed to steady myself. I did not want to add to the troubles of my family at a time like this by going into labor! My father was as usual at work even at this ungodly hour. I heard Rupu get up in the other room and scream as if woken from a nightmare. His wide eyes wanted some reassurance that all was well. But I had no time for him. My mother was rushing to the terrace to see what was going on. I too went with her.
The terrace was like the well of an amphitheater from where the drama unfolding could be watched. There were screams and shouts emanating from all directions and the quiet of the night was completely ripped apart. I could see flames far away in the direction of a Gurudwara (Place of worship for Sikhs). There was also some sloganeering by unknown voices in the distance. I also saw the retreating back of my brother with that apology for a weapon (a very blunt grass cutting blade) in his hand. He was running towards the screams in an attempt tobe the man and protector of the house. In the midst of the confusion, my heart went out to him. What was the poor soul going to achieve in this melee with that weapon? He was no soldier but as the only man in the house, my twenty year old brother, a second year college student, had to rush into the unknown to protect us. Such a weight on his young shoulders!
The next day brought some more bad tidings. Anindowas suddenly summoned to head office in Bombay for something really urgent. He hurriedly packed his bag, bid me and Rupu goodbye over the phone and flew out. He couldn’t tell when he would be back. Insecurity clutched myheart in its cold grip.
Two nights later, when the terror outside was subsiding to everyone’s relief,and when the rumors about a 1000 strong crowd attacking us was laid at rest, I was woken with the sharp pain in my back. I knew it was time. My father was still at his duty and so once again, as the man of the house, my brother had to get the car and drive me to the hospital.The streets were silent, dark and menacing. This time, there was an ominous silence. In the dead of the night, on my way to the hospital I thought that I didn’t even getthe time to kiss Rupu good bye. He was fast asleep in my mother’s bed. In fact, in the terrorizing atmosphere of the last few days, I had hardly paid any attention to him.
My 70 year old obstetrician, however, could not attend to me at that late hour. With sporadic imposition of curfew in few localities, she could not make it to the hospital. Dr. Sen reassured me over the phone that all will be well. I spent the night tossing and turning not so much in pain but in the whirlpool of uncertainties circling in my mind. What if my baby comes before the doctor? What if there are further disturbances? I wistfully watched my brother doze off on the lumpy sofa in my room.
Morning saw a sedate and dignified Dr. Sen reaching my room after her rounds. She smiled benignly and examined me. By now about twelve hours had gone by and I was in considerable pain. A frown creased the doctor’s brow. Since there was no one else around, she whispered something in my brother’s ears. My young brother sagely told me later that the head of the baby was not presenting normally and after 4-5 hours the doctor would consider her options regarding the delivery of the baby.
At the peak of 16 hours of labor pains and when I was almost breathless and tiring, minions of Dr. Sen arrived and dressed me up for the ceremony ahead in the OT. Through the haze of wracking pains and almost blurred vision, my tired mind thought this turn of events to be rather unfortunate. Why did I have to go through this? After suffering prolonged pains, why would I not have a normal delivery? I had heard about the horrors of a C-section from my friends. After all, Rupu had come into the world normally and happily. This was the one time that I actually thought about him.
The venture into the OT was quite revealing. I had expected futuristic gadgets and somber faces but there was hardly a face that reflected my agony. I had also expected to be knocked off and wake up later with a bundle of joy at my side. However, all this did not happen. I was going to be awake all the time since only the lower part of my body was going to be numb. They had created a sort of a partition over me so that I could not actually sees the blood and the gore. To my horror, someone switched on the radio and some throbbing Bollywood number started playing. It almost seemed to be in sync with the throbbing pain in my abdomen which of course subsided once I received an injection. All through my ordeal, there was foot-tapping music playing, constant chitchat and even humming. The God-like Dr. Sen was an image of conviviality and jollity in her scrubs with the ominous scalpel in her hand. Think of the stress it all caused me!
Suddenly, I heard the muffled cry of a baby. My baby. In the confusion and disorientation of the past several hours, the most momentous moment of all was almost lost. The little bundle of ecstasy was presented to me for feeding. But like a crawling and sinister monster, pain was seeping upwards from by abdomen just as the effect of the anesthesia was wearing off like a receding tide. This was a different kind of pain. Here began my post operation ordeal.
That evening, Rupu came visiting with my parents. Through the haze of my pain, I could barely look at him. He gaped at me with wide almost unrecognizing eyes. It seemed that he did not know me. I didn’t have the strength in me to clear away the cobwebs of doubt from his tiny mind with a reassuring cuddle. When asked to hold his baby brother, he turned his face away after casting a very skeptical glance. Clearly, he was not impressed.
My mom happily smiling from ear to ear anecdotally described how Rupu, on the first day of my hospitalization, had gone looking for me in all the rooms of the house. He thoughtfully had stepped into each of the rooms of my parents’ sprawling house and said ‘not in this room!’ and then’not even in this room!’ and it went on in all the rooms like a never ending refrain till, too tired or too disappointed, he gave up eventually. When all the adults laughed and looked indulgently towards Rupu, I felt a strange tug in my heart.
Some uncalled for and nagging complications kept me and my son who we named Ruby, in hospital for the next fortnight. Finally, I went back to my parents’ and took stock of my upcoming sojourn home and the new status of the mother of two infants. This took about a week. I barely noticed that Rupu kept a distance from me. He would peep in from the door of my bedroom at times and stare at me struggling with my motherly duties. At times, when the baby mercifully slept, I would beckon him tiredly. But he didn’t come. Of course, I didn’t insist!
On a brand new day of a brand new year, I arrived at my real home with a brand new baby and a listless child. Anindo drove us home and soon left for office. My housemaid gushed around me and the baby and took Rupu away to see the new toys Anindo had brought him. I barely noticed his dragging feet and bent head on his way to his room.
That night, after a very long time,Rupu came to sleep in my bed. In fact, I asked him to bring his pillow from his room. He seemed surprised at this. His eyes had a strange expression. He kept glancing surreptitiously at the crib which was placed to my left. Anindo left me alone with my kids or he was too tired to face disturbance at night which was a certainty.
I was woken by a strange feeling in the middle of the night after the baby had gone off to sleep following a great deal of cajoling and Rupuhad dozed off to my right without a fuss. I heard an agonizing whimpering. I sat up disorientated and confused and in the dim glow of the night light, I saw my infant son whimpering and thrashing about in his sleep; the pillows were all awry and strewn like benign boulders. The sound was heart wrenching. I saw my tiny son fighting unknown devils or was he lodging a complaint against the weeks of neglect which had previously lurked in his accusing eyes? His world had fallen apart. His mother did not care, his father was not there and now he had a tiny enemy to contend with too. Guilt gnawed at my innards. I didn’t have a clue what to do. I just helplessly watched Rupu pouring out his agony wordlessly.I just watched an infant’s tacit protest unfold, take shape and turn into a specter to haunt me for the rest of my days.
