The Forbidden Daughter. Shobhan Bantwal
She carefully wrote words in her notebook as she hummed a tune. She was doing her homework—learning to write in running-hand, or cursive, as the Americans called it.
Isha gazed fondly at the little head bent over her work. The curly brown hair was pulled back in the usual tight pigtails, secured with white ribbons. Her pink jeans were faded at the knees. The white T-shirt was getting a little too short. Soon Priya would need new clothes and shoes. At the moment, Isha had no idea how she was going to pay for those.
Priya had been her only solace in the past few months. Without her, Isha would have been almost suicidally depressed. But children had a way of keeping adults on an even keel. Priya had done her part in maintaining Isha’s equilibrium when she had sunk to her nadir. The child had miraculously overcome her own grief in a hurry and then managed to pull Isha out of the murky depths by the sheer sweetness of her disposition.
The child lived up to her name—beloved in Sanskrit.
Priya looked up at her with a triumphant expression. “Mummy, look! My B words are just like Sister Alice’s.” She held her notebook under Isha’s nose and pointed to the words. “See?”
Feigning surprise, Isha widened her eyes. “You’re right! Your handwriting is getting better and better, pumpkin.” Isha was delighted with Priya’s progress. Her little girl was learning exceptionally fast since she’d entered first standard, much faster than her classmates. That was what her report cards indicated.
An angelic smile transformed Priya’s oval face into a vision of dimples, starry eyes, and even white teeth, except for the one missing lower tooth that had fallen out only days ago. “That’s what Sister Alice told me, too.”
Isha’s maternal heart warmed with pride. “That’s wonderful!”
In the next second, Isha had a strong contraction, making her wince. “Oh God—”
Priya’s smile vanished. “Mummy, are you sick?”
“I’m…in pain…dear,” Isha managed to gasp.
The homework entirely forgotten, Priya stared at Isha with wide eyes. “Is the baby coming?” She’d been told a little bit about the pain associated with labor and childbirth, so she wouldn’t panic when it happened.
“Yes.” Isha shifted in the chair to try to ease the agony. It was time to summon Mother Regina and Mother Dora. Mother Regina was the elderly Italian nun who was also the principal of the school and chief administrator of the convent. Mother Dora was the Indian nurse-midwife who took care of the everyday medical needs of the convent’s residents.
Isha had been putting off calling the two nuns for the last hour or more. Let the contractions get a little stronger before I ask for help, she’d convinced herself. Seeking assistance was still alien to her, despite the fact that she’d been forced to do it time and again lately, much of it from strangers, no less.
“Is it hurting a lot?” Priya stood up and bit her lower lip, telling Isha that her little girl’s nerves were tightening. She was a compassionate child.
“Yes,” replied Isha, now having ridden the wave of pain. “But I’m not sick, so don’t be scared. It always hurts a little when a baby’s coming. As soon as it comes out, the pain goes away.”
“Why does a baby hurt?” Priya put a hesitant hand on Isha’s belly.
Isha smiled and smoothed her daughter’s stray curls away from her face. “It’s the way God meant it to be. Sometimes good things come with a little pain attached. Remember what your PE teacher, Miss Maria, always repeats in your physical education class? ‘No pain, no gain.’”
“But in PE we don’t have babies.”
Despite her discomfort, Isha couldn’t help laughing at the innocent remark. “Thank goodness for that.” Only a child could think in such quaintly logical terms.
“Do you want me to call Mother Regina?” Priya asked.
“Yes.” With some difficulty Isha rose from the heavy armchair the nuns had generously moved into her room so she could relax in it when her feet swelled up and her back hurt. “I’m going to the bathroom now. Go tell Mother Regina that the baby’s coming.”
“Okay.” Seemingly relieved at being able to do something constructive for her mother, Priya ran out of the room. Isha watched her race down the long corridor, her skinny legs moving at lightning speed, her pigtails waving like a moth’s wings.
With slow, careful steps Isha went halfway down that same hallway to the row of toilets. Her bladder had been working overtime in the past several months, as expected, but the past week had been worse than ever. That was when she’d known her uterus had descended in preparation for birth. The nervous jitters had been increasing since then.
How in heaven’s name was she going to raise two children on her own? She was already a burden on the nuns. They were feeding two mouths at the moment. Soon there’d be three.
Moments later, as she came out of the bathroom, she felt another one of those killer contractions coming on, and she stopped in the corridor. Leaning against the wall, she started taking quick, shallow breaths. She heard Priya and Mother Regina coming up behind her.
Mother Regina caught her by the shoulders. “Come, my dear. Let me help you back to your room.”
A buxom woman who easily weighed about a hundred kilos, well over two hundred pounds, Mother Regina let Isha lean on her and trudge back to the room. Priya walked beside them with a pinched look. With her pregnant belly protruding from her slim frame, Isha’s gait was more like a waddle—a walking penguin.
She went to her cot and lay down. “Thank you, Mother,” she managed to murmur.
Mother Regina slipped a large sheet of rubber padding underneath Isha’s loose kaftan and adjusted it in preparation for the coming event. Then she studied Isha for a second, her bright blue eyes narrowed in thought. “How far apart are the contractions?”
“About a minute and a half.”
“Then you’re ready. I will get Mother Dora,” she said. “Is there anything you need while I fetch her?”
Isha glanced at her daughter. “Could you please make sure Priya is kept occupied while the baby comes?”
“Certainly.” Mother Regina took Priya’s hand. “Come on, Priya, let us go tell Mother Dora that your baby sister is about to come.”
Priya shook her head. “I want to stay with Mummy. I want to see my baby.” She had taken to calling the unborn child “my baby” ever since Isha had explained to her that the two of them were in this together, and that the baby was going to need both of them.
“You can see your baby when she comes, dear. Until then your Mummy needs Mother Dora to take care of her.”
“Can I stay, please…?” Priya tugged on Mother Regina’s hand.
Mother Regina wasn’t known for her patience. Isha knew that from experience. She had a few scars on her knuckles from her own student days at St. Mary’s, inflicted by the sharp edge of Mother Regina’s infamous ruler. So she wasn’t surprised when Mother Regina’s face hardened. “No! Pick up your homework and let us go do it with the other children.”
It broke Isha’s heart to see Priya’s lower lip tremble and the tears gather in her eyes. But what could she do under the circumstances other than let Mother Regina take the child away and keep her in a secure place?
Despite the nun’s forbidding and sometimes cruel ways of disciplining children, Isha knew her child would be safe with the older woman. As the next wave of pain started to crest, Isha watched Priya quietly pick up her book and pencil and follow Mother Regina out the door.
Priya turned around one last time to look at her, the tears now rolling down her cheeks. Isha managed to send her an encouraging smile. “Go, sweetie. I’ll be okay.”
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