“It doesn’t work like that. I will cherish this time I spent with you. It’s been the best time of my life. But we aren’t meant to be.”
“Why—because our palms don’t align? Because we have different backgrounds? Tell me why.”
“Because I’m going back. You’re making me feel guilty for something I cannot change.”
She moved to separate from him, but he grabbed her and held her against his chest. She cursed the tears running down her face. She wanted to hide them and runaway.
He held her face in his hands and gently kissed them away. “Hey, don’t cry. I’m just having a difficult time with this.”
Another sharp crack of lightning struck, illuminating his face. His sad expression broke her heart, but she had to keep her resolve. She ran her fingers down his chiseled jaw line, trying to memorize his features through touch.
“I wish we would have met when I first came here. I regret we lost so much time.”
He twisted a strand of her hair and kissed the side of her mouth. “I don’t.”
She chewed on her lower lip, confused by his response. “Why not?”
“I wouldn’t have treated you the way you deserved if we had met back then. It’s not the past I regret, baby. It’s our future.”
Chapter 22
The Choice Less
Asha woke in the middle of the night to stomach cramps. Her first thought was indigestion, but then the fear set in. She was in labor. An early labor. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She was going to sneak out in two weeks, and Sarah was going to save them…both of them.
She stood, trying to be as quiet as she could. She slid on her sandals and walked out of the house. Staring at the sky, she sent up a silent prayer to the Gods. All the Gods she knew of from Krishna, Ganesha, Rama to Jesus and even Allah. She begged them to let the baby stay safe in her womb. She fell to the ground as another cramp seized her, confirming her prayers would not be answered.
“Bhabhi?” Mukash whispered.
She turned to him, a sigh of relief mixing with newfound dread. He didn’t know her plans. She loved Mukash, but in the end, she didn’t think it right to have him deceive his family.
“It is time,” she said.
“I’ll get Aditi.”
“No,” she said, gripping the boy’s shoulders. “Please don’t. I have to get to Sarah. I need your help.”
Mukash studied her for a moment. In his eyes, she saw a clear understanding of the predicament. He knew. He understood far more than anyone ever credited him.
“I will help you. Lean on me.”
She did lean on him both physically and emotionally. They walked like two shadows in the night.
The trail had never seemed so long, but she tried to concentrate on anything but the pain and fear. If the baby came too early, it wouldn’t survive. If she was caught and the baby was a girl, she’d be killed only a few breaths old. If she didn’t make it to her destination, perhaps they both would die.
That last conclusion didn’t seem like such a horrible idea. The thought itself was a sin to her, but a part of her welcomed it. She changed her prayers. If the baby dies, let me go with her, she begged. Let us be together even if it’s not in this life.
“We need to go through the jungle or someone may see us,” Mukash said.
A new fear manifested in Asha. The jungle frightened her—an area she didn’t dare travel during the day much less the night. There were wild animals and insects the size of her fist. The tall vines and strange trees tangled together, carving a difficult path. But Mukash was right. In this case, the most dangerous route was also the safest.
The boy brought the metal torch light with him. She held back her vomit when she noticed the dark stain on its tip. Blood. Her blood from so long ago. She almost tripped on some branches, but he caught her. Her face felt sweaty, and she couldn’t breathe. She rubbed her stomach, repeating the silent mantra to her baby. I will protect you. No one will hurt you. I love you.
Water gushed between her legs. She leaned against a Banyan tree for support. She could walk no more.
“Bhabhi?”
“I cannot stand,” she said, fear coursing through every vein.
“I can carry you.”
She choked out a sound between a cry and laugh. “I’m too heavy for you.”
She slid down the Banyan tree, its rough wood scratching into her back.
“What do I do?” he asked, tears in his eyes.
She cupped his chin. “Get Sister Sarah. Tell her the baby’s coming now. She’ll know what to do.”
“I won’t leave you, bhabhi.”
“It’s the only way. Please hurry,” she begged.
He handed her the torch.
“No, you take it. You’ll need it to find your way. Go, Mukash. Godspeed.”
The boy simply nodded, wiping his tears.
Asha listened for the sounds of his feet on the earth until they were too far to reach her. She turned to her side and wretched, but nothing came out. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Liquid flowed from between her legs, but it wasn’t water this time. The thick substance oozed slowly, sticky against her thighs.
Blood.
She lifted up her sari and rolled down her underpants. She spread her legs. Every movement drained her. She was fighting the exhaustion and losing the battle. Insects feasted on her skin, but she didn’t have the energy to swat them away. She was sixteen years old, in labor, and all alone.
Except she wasn’t alone.
It sounded like a man’s bitter laugh, but the devilish high-pitched squeal didn’t come from any human.
Her skin prickled. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and felt around the ground for any potential weapon, but came up empty. Her mind tried to think of how long Mukash was gone, to calculate time and distance, but even the simplest thoughts were difficult. The yapping grew closer.
She touched her womb and concentrated on the story of Ganesha. She whispered in between the contractions, telling her baby about the elephant-headed boy who went around the universe. It distracted her from the pains, which grew sharper with every breath. Her body shook with chills, even though it was a hot night.
She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, concentrating on taking deep breaths. She tried to dream of a happy child, one who would have many choices and excel in all ways her mother couldn’t.
When she opened her eyes, she had a visitor.
Even in the dark, the animal’s pupils glittered with a fiery evil.
“No,” she screamed at the predator as if a conversation were possible.
The hyena circled her slowly, snarling occasionally. He howled, calling his friends to feast. She smelled his strong, rancid scent. The scent of death. The prayer she’d asked for had come in the form of a nightmare.
Some hidden strength flooded through her. She felt around again, struggling to grope farther, ignoring the wrenching pain. Her movements were small. She instinctively knew if the animal noticed, he would attack. She couldn’t stand, much less run from it.
Her hand found purchase on a rock at the far side of the tree, buried halfway into the earth. Her fingers dug into the ground, breaking her fingernails. Finally, she was able to dig it free. She grasped its weight. It wasn’t bigger than her hand, but jagged and heavy. She clasped it tightly, waiting for the animal to draw closer. There would be only one opportunity.
She was weak, and a moment ago, she had resigned herself to death, but now a new will for survival coursed through her veins. She couldn’t see him except for the mouthful of sharp teeth and the glittering eyes that peered at her, but she could feel him. The rancor of the beast’s breath and the rustle of sticks signaled he drew closer. The heinous dog stood a few meters from her. Its mouth drew a sinister smile before it pounced.
It pounced!
The stone left her hand with such accuracy and speed she wondered if another power guided it. The animal yelped as the object struck. It backed off but didn’
t run away as she’d hoped. There were no more stones.
No more chances.
No more choices.
“We will meet in the next life,” she said, rubbing her womb. “I love you.”
She closed her eyes one last time.
The passing of time was immeasurable. It didn’t move fast or slow. It didn’t exist in any real capacity for Asha. It was her, her child, and the demon who wanted to claim them. It was the fate of the little girl in the wooden box—an unwanted girl who should never have existed and the child that grew within that girl. Maybe it was best the tyranny ended this way before it could go on for the next generation. She had scraped to live, and now she had to come to terms with death. The last remaining shred of hope was for the animal to be merciful and take them quickly, but she doubted the outcome would be swift.
When hyena cries filled her eardrums, she snapped her eyes open to see Mukash smash the flashlight over the wicked creature’s head. Then the boy encircled the predator’s neck with his forearm. Mukash looked like a man then… a hero like Hercules. His muscles should have been no match for a Hyena, but somehow he found the strength. The Hyena escaped his grasp, but this time it did run off.
“I’m here, child. Look at me, Asha,” Sarah said, wiping the girl’s brow.
“The baby?”
“The baby’s crowning. We don’t have much time.”
Sarah moved Asha’s knees apart while Mukash shined the light between her legs. The little boy held Asha’s frightened gaze, but then bowed his head, singing the words, asking the Gods to end all sorrows, shortcomings, and pain.
“Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare… Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare.”
Sarah recited scripture while she worked, and their blended voices resonated with harmony.
“Push,” Sarah commanded.
“Don’t scream, bhabhi, they’ll hear,” Mukash warned. She wasn’t sure if he was talking about the hyenas, who still growled from some distance, or the villagers.
Asha accepted the cloth Sarah handed her, biting down on it to release her agony and keep her silent.
Although she remained silent, her whole body screamed in agony—a gut-wrenching wail. Then she heard it audibly, a loud and demanding cry.
Only it wasn’t her.
She looked at Sarah. The sun was rising, giving light to the darkness. Sarah’s expression was somewhere between a smile and frown. The three most dreaded words in Asha’s vocabulary formed on her lips. “It’s a girl.”
Her fate was sealed.
The tears mingled with her sweat. Sarah did her best to clean the baby with a few bottles of water. She wrapped the newborn in a blanket before handing her to Asha. Asha held her daughter for what felt like seconds. She kissed her on the forehead.
“I’m sorry, child,” Sarah said, wiping Asha’s face.
“She’s too small. She won’t survive,” Asha whispered.
Sarah tilted Asha’s chin. “Listen to those lungs. She is strong just like her mother.”
Mukash squeezed Asha’s hand. “We have to go. The sun is rising. I have to get her back.”
Sarah brushed her hair back. “It’s light out. I cannot take both of you.”
“Let me say good-bye,” Asha said, gazing at the infant who miraculously quieted in her arms.
“We will get you out, too,” Sarah said.
An epiphany had come to Asha. Even if they survived, what possible life could she give this little girl? And would she suffer the same fate as the other women in her line? Asha made one decision in her daughter’s life—break the cycle.
“No, Sarah.”
“Asha—”
“I said no. Take my baby far from here. Make sure she has a good life. Do this for me Sarah.”
Sarah opened her mouth to argue but snapped it shut again when Asha shook her head. “Promise me.”
“All right, honey.”
“You know what to do?” Sarah asked Mukash, her voice quivering.
They spoke quietly, but Asha didn’t pay attention. She was too busy memorizing every feature of her daughter. She took inventory of the ten tiny fingers and toes, the mop of thick black hair, the heart-shaped birthmark on her right arm. Birthmarks were a sign of luck. She hoped that would hold true for her child. She didn’t want to let her baby go, but when Sarah said the child needed medical attention, Asha relinquished her daughter, whispering some final words against the baby’s forehead.
“I don’t have anything else to give you, but I promise you will not be a Choice Less.”
Asha leaned on Mukash for support during the trek home. In many ways, it seemed a much longer journey. Her sari covered in blood, her face stained with dirty sweat, and her heart broken. As soon as she entered the house, they were waiting for her. She had no explanation.
As it turned out, she didn’t need to speak. It was Mukash who spun the lie with such conviction that no one questioned him. Asha had gone for a walk and gotten lost in the jungle. He’d woken early and searched for her. The baby was born dead. And then the hyena came and took the lifeless body off to the thick growth of the jungle.
Aditi’s stare was harsh, his eyes full of disdain. “Was it a boy?”
“She doesn’t remember, brother. It happened quickly,” Mukash said.
Aditi clasped her shoulders, shaking her. “Did you see? Was it a boy?” he demanded.
“You’re hurting her!” Mukash screamed.
“Quiet,” his mother chided. She approached Asha until their faces almost touched. “Answer my son.”
Asha looked between the two of them.
She took a deep breath and straightened, even though it was painful. Her voice held no apology. No remorse. No compassion.
“It was a boy.”
Her mother-in-law slapped her. In her weak state, she fell to the ground. Her husband cried out, a primitive wailing howl, similar to the sound the hyena made. Her mother-in-law’s face flooded with tears. She touched her son’s shoulder, but he shook off her hand. Aditi ran from the house, a crazed man in search of his son’s remains. Mukash had taken care of that, too. He’d scraped Sarah’s footprints from the dirt and managed to change the evidence to support the story.
She didn’t understand why she’d lied at first. Later, she realized she wanted them to suffer with her. To mourn the loss of the baby as she would. To be angry with her. Maybe even to kill her. But of all the reasons, one rose to the top every time.
She craved revenge.
Chapter 23
The Choice Less
When she was healthy enough to return to work, Sarah took her into her arms.
“Where is my baby?” Asha asked before she even greeted Sarah.
“She’s safe.”
“I want to see her.”
“I’m sorry, Asha. That’s not possible.”
“My life is incomplete.”
“You rescued her.”
“I don’t know that. I will never know that, will I?”
Sarah stood and walked the room. “Our fate isn’t in our own hands. You are young, much too young for what you’ve gone through, but God will not give you more than you can endure. You did an extraordinary thing.”
“I did nothing.”
“Yes you did, sweet girl. You made a choice where none existed.”
“And now what do I do?”
Sarah placed a textbook in front of Asha. “You continue with your studies. You work toward bettering yourself.”
She swept the book off the table until it landed on the floor with a thump. “No.”
“No?”
“I don’t want to do this anymore. I’ll work with the other maids from now on and earn my pay.”
“Asha, you have an opportunity. I see something exemplary in you.”
She laughed, a bitter cynical sound that made Sarah wince. “Sarah, you see what you want to. What opportunity? The reality is I’m a poor village girl and nothing more. Let me ask you a question, Sist
er. If a fruit rots on the tree because no one is there to pick it, is it really a waste?”
“I try not to seek solutions to unanswerable questions, dear. But I believe a waste is a waste whether we recognize it or not.”
“Let me riddle another for you—if you teach a girl about the world, about the math, science, and literature of it all, but she never uses her education, is she truly intelligent?”
“Of that I have no doubt.”
“I think your wrong, Sarah. I wish you’d never taught me all of these things.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because in ignorance there is blindness, and in blindness there is comfort. I would accept the tragedy of my life more willingly if I were ignorant to it. It wouldn’t hurt so much.”
* * * *
She’d managed to make excuses for six months when her husband asked her to lie back. She told him she was bleeding, too fragile, too ill. He blamed her, so he accepted those excuses. He was disgusted with her for losing their son. He started beating her regularly. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of crying. He beat her even harder for that.
She prayed she wouldn’t get pregnant again. She couldn’t go through it, and she knew, without a doubt, she wouldn’t be able to save a second baby. Her thoughts became dark and bleak. Any joy evaporated like the rains after a drying sun. She was an emotionless creature who no longer had any fight. At night, she’d walk to the riverbank where Nalini had first found her. She’d dip her feet in the water and look into the horizon. The world was a big place, and she was a small person.
“Why did you lie? You should not have told him it was a boy,” Mukash admonished her one night. “He wouldn’t beat you if he believed it was a girl baby.”
“Let him beat me. It’s the only time I feel anything anymore.” The words soured in her mouth. When had she given up?
The boy shook his head in disapproval. He stood to leave her.
“Please, don’t go,” she said, taking his hand. “Stay with me.”
Unwanted Girl Page 19
