Various threads of Love

1936

January 17

West Bengal

The shoemaker’s wife was tired of the pain. She lay on an old straw mattress, drenched in her own sweat. Her mother sat by her head, continuously fanning her with a punkah. The neighbor lady sat facing her arched legs. The shoemaker was anxiously waiting for a boy.

“I am tired ma. I have no strength left. Call a doctor!”

“It is almost done” said the stressed out neighbor lady, “push a little more”

Outside the room, the shoemaker heard another shriek. It was the worst in the row. He was pacing up and down, tensed about his son Binod. Then, he heard a baby cry. He was overwhelmed with joy.

It’s a boy!, he thought. He rushed to buy sweets.

Inside, a tear rolled down the shoemaker’s wife’s cheeks. She knew the fate of this baby. She planted a tender kiss on the infant’s forehead and looked up at the two women in the room. They were sad.

She looked at her little girl. Her eyes were darting around, scanning everything all at once.

I love you, was never uttered, only felt. She couldn’t bring herself to say those words. Not when she knew what would happen a little while later.

The shoemaker came in after some time and then, everything happened according to protocol.

At midnight, the shoemaker’s wife went to the desolate railway station, carrying a basket in her hands, tears rolling down her cheeks. The baby was fast asleep in the soft little bed that her mother had made. He had allowed her to feed the baby her milk! He should have killed the child, putting a quick end to the obnoxious drama, but he was ruthless. She left the baby on a wooden bench, turned and started to walk away. She hoped someone kind would find her. She hoped that, that someone would name her as was written on that paper. She turned back one last time casting a fleeting glance at her child. Then she ran back home clutching her devastated heart.

Back at home, the shoemaker’s wife endured the rest of the protocol.