She hasn’t eaten green vegetables in weeks. Even a coriander-chutney or chillies seem a luxury as they go to the male members of the family. She doesn’t mind. Her broad shouldered, had working husband needs it more than she does. Her bosom swells with pride at the sight of his shoulder blades peeping from his vest. His expanse of a chest was like the desert around her – vast and rippling with sand dunes.
Her anklets clink and the faux ivory bangles clack as she washes the dishes. Just a little water will do – there’s no grease. The clanging vessels smother the sounds of her rumbling stomach.
“Rajjo!!” summons the mother-in-law. A huddle of old women are cackling and cawing in the courtyard and they fall silent as Rajjo enters. “Four years. Four years since this ill-omen of a woman entered this household, and there’s no child.” screams Rajjo’s tyrant. Rajjo bites the dupatta to keep it from flying away from her wheat brown face. The sludge of tears and kohl- murky as night, spreads under her eyes. They know nothing of the miscarriages, the pain and blood. “We’ll tell Manohar to get a new wife. Arrey Saroj… tell me who will look after the fields? And Paro, who will look after us in our old age? Will I die without seeing the face of a grandson? Oh how unlucky can I be?”. The women look at Rajjo, the harbinger of ill luck “Baanjh hogi” (she’s infertile) says one “she’s so ugly, he wouldn’t want to hold her” says another.
Manohar appears at the doorway. He growls at Rajjo to go inside. One look at his mother and she knows that the incriminations are futile. She sighs and whispers to her friend Saroj “Look, she has taken him away from me..”
Her anklets clink and the faux ivory bangles clack as she washes the dishes. Just a little water will do – there’s no grease. The clanging vessels smother the sounds of her rumbling stomach.
“Rajjo!!” summons the mother-in-law. A huddle of old women are cackling and cawing in the courtyard and they fall silent as Rajjo enters. “Four years. Four years since this ill-omen of a woman entered this household, and there’s no child.” screams Rajjo’s tyrant. Rajjo bites the dupatta to keep it from flying away from her wheat brown face. The sludge of tears and kohl- murky as night, spreads under her eyes. They know nothing of the miscarriages, the pain and blood. “We’ll tell Manohar to get a new wife. Arrey Saroj… tell me who will look after the fields? And Paro, who will look after us in our old age? Will I die without seeing the face of a grandson? Oh how unlucky can I be?”. The women look at Rajjo, the harbinger of ill luck “Baanjh hogi” (she’s infertile) says one “she’s so ugly, he wouldn’t want to hold her” says another.
Manohar appears at the doorway. He growls at Rajjo to go inside. One look at his mother and she knows that the incriminations are futile. She sighs and whispers to her friend Saroj “Look, she has taken him away from me..”
1 comment:
painful reality...
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