I turned and rushed to the puja room, where we kept our altar and statues of the gods. I thought I would find Grandmother praying there. Instead, she was sitting in the kitchen, eating chapatis.
“Dadi-ji, the midwife has asked that you come.”
She lowered the chapati onto the table. “What did I tell you?”
“That I should only come to you when the child is born. But Dadi-ji, the midwife says the baby can’t come into the world without a doctor.”
Grandmother’s eyes widened, and suddenly, she jumped up. She washed her hands in a bowl of lemon water, then went down the hall and opened the door. Inside, she covered her nose with the edge of her sari. The smell was overwhelming.
“Dadi-ji,” the midwife addressed Grandmother respectfully. “Your daughter-in-law is in desperate need of a doctor. There’s nothing more I can do.”
Mother’s eyes were closed. The only sound in the room was her heavy breathing.
“We will not have a man delivering this child,” Grandmother said.
“Your daughter-in-law will die without a doctor, and the child will die with her. I would fetch him now, before it’s too late.”
But Grandmother was as still and immovable as a tree. “My son would never compromise the dignity of this house by allowing another man to touch his wife.”
“Dadi-ji!” I felt myself becoming hysterical. “You’re wrong. I know Pita-ji would want—”
“Out!”
“Please! Pita-ji will come home and you’ll see—”
“Do not make me fetch the stick!”
But I can tell you, at that moment, I didn’t care. What did a beating matter if Mother died? I turned to the midwife, but her head was lowered in the shame of having to witness such a scene. I ran from the room and—for the first time in my life—out the front door and into the street. I had no idea which roads Father might have taken to bring my aunt home to her husband and family at the other end of Barwa Sagar, but I ran as if the demon Ravana were chasing me. It was only when I reached a fork in the road that I realized what a terrible idea this was. First of all, Father had warned me that it wasn’t uncommon for children roaming the streets to go missing. And secondly, I probably don’t need to tell you what awful things can befall a girl in the middle of the night.
I stopped where I was and looked around me. The full moon cast a silvery light over our neighbor’s fields. I watched the tall stalks of rice sway in the breeze. Even if I screamed, our neighbor’s house was so far away that no one would hear me. What had I been thinking, leaving the house like this? My heart began beating so loudly that when the sound of someone’s sandals against the gravel grew near, I wondered if it was coming from inside my head. I was frozen in terror.
“Sita!”
“Pita-ji!” I ran to him. In my excitement, I started to speak, then I took his hand and started to write. “Dadi-ji is refusing to get a doctor. Mama-ji is dying!”
Chapter Three
The shouting went on for some time before a doctor was sent for. Of course, it was Grandmother who was doing the shouting, and the horrible words she used against Mother made me thankful for once that Father was deaf.
I went into my room while Grandmother was still raging and lay on the bed. The rain had started up again, and if I listened to it falling against the windows, I could block out the sound of her voice.
“Sita?” Avani appeared at my door. It was late and she should have been at home, but she had chosen to stay with us these past three nights. “I thought you might like some milk,” she said.
I sat on my bed and swallowed the terrible pain in my throat. “Is she going to die?”
Avani crossed the room and sat down next to me. “I don’t know.” She passed me the milk, but I couldn’t bring myself to drink it.
“What do you think?” I watched her face carefully and saw her lower lip tremble.
“That there are some storms that can be weathered,” she said, “and others that simply wash everything away. Only the gods know which one this will be.”
“So what do we do?”
“Build the strongest ship we can. Your father has sent for the best doctor in Barwa Sagar.”
But the strongest ship sailed too late.
Several hours later, Avani woke me in order to tell me a child had been born.
“A girl,” she said. “Beautiful and healthy. Your father has already sent for a milk nurse. But Sita—” She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t have to. It was there in her eyes, just the same as if I was reading it from a book.
I ran from the room to Mother’s chamber. Father was lying on her bed, his arms wrapped tenderly around her body.
“Maa-ji!” I cried.