Читать книгу Unwanted Girl - MK Schiller - Страница 13

Asha’s story

Nalini Mistry hadn’t planned the long hike to the neighboring village to purchase vegetables, but she’d woken with one simple goal—to make her husband happy. The calluses on her feet throbbed with the extra steps she took, but it was worth it, because the farmer would have the cauliflower she needed to make Deval’s favorite dish.

Their lives had taken on a dark depression since their only child, Dipesh, died the year before at the tender age of twenty. The image of her sweet boy caused a tear to slide down her weathered face. This would have been the year of the bride search. Now, she would never welcome a daughter-in-law into their home. Instead, Depal and she lived a lonely life, mourning their son and cursing the malaria for taking him away.

As if the melancholy wasn’t enough, the burdens of heavy debt created further misery. They had called a doctor when Dipesh fell ill, draining their modest savings. Deval had purchased a new truck in preparation for his son taking over his route. In every village family, there was a passing of the torch where the sons go from beloved child to family provider. This was the time for Dipesh to take over his duties and for Nalini and Depal to enjoy old age. A time to welcome a daughter-in-law into their house and, most of all, grandchildren, more sons to bless their home.

They had always lived in shades of poverty, but before they could manage to purchase nice things on occasion. A new sari for Nalini, a television a few years back, and tobacco for Depal, but now every day was a struggle. As if to cement her fears, she stepped into a pile of mud. Unfortunately, it wasn’t mud.

She tried to scrape off the foul-smelling substance from her sandal, but it was no use. The smell followed her, taunting her misfortune. Finally, she walked to the river to wash it off.

The river was high from recent rains. Its long channel flowed through several villages, providing an important fresh water source. Nalini washed the stench from her shoe. A memory of her son playing along these banks flashed through her mind.

Why did you do this to me, God? The emotion of the question crumpled her composure. She wept tears so fat and salty they flowed with the same urgency as the water. Grief was an indulgence she could not afford. At home, she tried to be strong for her husband, but here alone with her solemn thoughts she was able to mourn freely. The pain poured out in her unanswered wails.

Except she wasn’t alone.

Another cry merged with hers. The voice, a loud screeching scream, silenced Nalini. She looked to the west and east along the riverbank, but didn’t see anything. Then she looked across from her. The invading sounds emerged from a small wooden box caught in the thicket. The kind of container they packed cashews in for export. She took off both sandals, lifted her sari, and waded across the river, trying to keep her skinny legs steadfast against the current.

She ran her fingers along the crude puncture holes at the top of the box. She lifted the lid, saying a silent prayer for its occupant. The sight of the newborn baby nestled inside a dirty blanket wrenched her heart. Nalini carefully lifted the child. Who would do this to a baby?

She lifted the material covering the child and confirmed her suspicions—a baby girl.

An unwanted girl.

Nalini rocked the baby gently and sang to her. The wails softened until the infant quieted completely. Then she carefully gathered water in her palm and cleaned the child as best as she could. She tore off a length of her sari. Carefully, she wrapped the child in it. She watched as the waters carried the dirty blanket downstream.

What shall I do with you, precious one?

Nalini wasn’t one to ponder for long. She was a woman of action. The city was even farther than the next village. She’d have to set the baby down to rest along the way. She didn’t want to take the wicked box, but leaving the baby on the dirty road was not an option either. She placed the infant back inside and cooed softly to her.

She walked with the child for five kilometers toward the city. The stench of decadence and decay filled her nostrils, signaling she’d arrived. The place struck an unnatural fear in her with its fast traffic, crowded streets, and many dangers. There were beggars, including many children. One girl who couldn’t be more than eight wore a ripped frock and held a baby of her own. Although the infant was real, she carried it like a doll. That’s what it was…a prop to garner sympathy and additional coins. She gazed at the box in her arms. Would this baby suffer the same fate? Not if she had anything to do with it. This child would be raised in the suitable hands of someone who loved her.

Nalini asked five pedestrians before an elderly woman pointed her to the local hospital. The formidable building hummed with activity as people moved with frantic speed. Everyone passed her, ignoring her inquiry for help. Some even shoved her. Her kind wasn’t welcome. She resembled someone who would more likely clean the hospital than be a prospective patient.

She grabbed a doctor’s coat. He pulled away, his harsh look of disdain causing her to wince. “Doctor, sir, I found this baby. I don’t know what to do.” She spoke in a villager’s dialect he didn’t understand. His teeth clenched in frustration as he glanced at the baby.

He pointed to a large desk in the corner of the room where a lady mid-yawn handed out badges to a long line of visitors. Shuffling slowly, she took in the huge sign above. Not that it did much good since she couldn’t read. By the time she reached the front of the queue, the attendant didn’t even bother covering her mouth during the next yawn. Speaking without taking a single breath, Nalini managed to explain how she’d come into possession of the baby. At least the impatient young woman appeared to understand her.

The woman stood up and peered down at the child from behind the counter. “She looks healthy. We don’t take non-paying patients.”

“But she’s not mine. She needs a home.”

“We are a hospital, not an orphanage.”

The wooden box was getting heavy, and the muscles in her arms burned against its weight. Nalini set it on the counter for fear of dropping it.

“Take it off! It’s filthy, and this is a sterile place,” the attendant yelled. Nalini complied at once. There was a certain order of respect, and among these people, Nalini belonged on the bottom rung. It was a fact she had accepted all her life, and like all the women before her, never questioned.

“Where is the orphanage, memsaab?” Nalini asked, using the proper term of respect for a woman in authority.

The attendant told her the name of another city, but it was much too far for Nalini to walk, and she couldn’t afford cab fare.

“That’s too great a distance. What do I do?”

The attendant sighed, a look of scorn taking over her pretty features. “Take her to the police station then.”

After securing directions, Nalini carried the crate another kilometer in the crowded streets until she reached the station. Here, amongst all the harsh glares of men, she felt even more out of place than in the hospital.

Thankfully, the officer who approached spoke her local dialect. His face shifted between the baby and her as she went through the story once more.

He held up his hands to quiet the mocking laughter of his co-workers. “Her parents didn’t want her. You should put her back where you found her, Auntie.”

Nalini wondered if perhaps there was a language barrier. “Officer saab, I cannot. She will die.”

“She’ll die, anyway. The question is do you want her to suffer? Old woman, you are in the wrong place.”

She struggled to find the right words to make him understand. “Will you take a report?”

“For what? No one wants her. No one will be looking for her. She is no one’s concern.”

Nalini patted her chest, as much to calm her raging heartbeat as to make her claim. “She is mine…my concern. What do I do?” she asked for the third time that day.

He dropped his voice, leading her toward the exit. “Salt works well. Put a pinch in the baby’s mouth. It takes little time, and there is no pain.”

Nalini staggered back, shocked by his words. The barrier between them had nothing to do with language. He continued, as if she needed more clarification. “Listen to reason, old woman. She can suffer her whole life or be at peace in one instant.”

She clutched the crate tighter as she exited the building with swift steps, trying to place as much distance from the devilish man’s suggestions as she could.

Confused, frustrated, and tired, she journeyed back to her home. The infant must have sensed her emotions because the crying started again. The cries turned to wails until Nalini stopped at the side of a dirt road that led to her village. She gently rocked the baby, trying to nourish her with words when she had no food to offer.

“Do not cry. You are a godsend. There are some girls who are blessed and cursed at the same time, and in many ways they are the luckiest because God gave them the strength to face both sides of life. There was another child once. His father and mother were imprisoned because his ruthless uncle, the king, was told through a prophet the eighth child of the couple would kill him and bring peace to the land. The child survived because his father snuck him from the prison and placed him in a basket on the banks of the river. That child was Lord Krishna.”

The child quieted. “Baby, no need to cry. You have to be brave like Lord Krishna.”

She looked down at the sleeping infant. What will I do? There are no village families who would take in a child, especially a girl child.

Then Nalini thought of the school where she worked. More specifically of the young nun with golden hair and eyes the color of emeralds who taught there. Nalini had never conversed with her. She couldn’t since they spoke different languages, but her friendly gestures conveyed the woman was nurturing and sweet. She was a woman of God. Maybe not her Gods…but all paths were pure. Surely, she would help.

* * * *

It was Saturday. A day Sister Sarah reserved for reading. The knock on the door of her small cottage surprised her. She prayed it wasn’t another hostile villager threatening her. At the same time, she was in no mood to receive a friendly villager offering gifts of sweets. She feared the former, but was happy to receive the later. Not today, though. Today, she craved solitude. Tomorrow, she’d make the announcement, but today was about coming to terms with her decision to leave her life here.

She let the first set of knocks go unanswered. They were heavy and urgent, signaling Sarah to be extra cautious. Who would have imagined a school could cause such controversy? Villagers either hated or loved it. Some said it wasn’t appropriate to have white foreigners teaching their children and possibly converting them, while others were grateful their children had an opportunity for education.

When she heard the woman’s voice call, she finally opened the door. Her spine stiffened at the sight of one of the cleaning ladies cradling a wooden box in her arms. Nalini spoke rapidly in her own tongue, not stopping even when Sarah held up her hand. But when she lifted the lid of the box, Sarah’s heart wrenched at the sight of the tiny baby with a shock of black hair and large brown eyes.

Sarah, a woman of action herself, set about bathing the baby properly and swaddled her in a clean blanket. She asked her house servant to fetch a translator and a bottle of rice milk. She held the baby, feeding her, while the translator, one of Sarah’s brighter students, sat between the two women. Sarah understood some Hindi, but not the Gujarati dialect Nalini spoke. She controlled the raw emotions of anger, shock, and despair as the interpreter translated Nalini’s explanation.

She looked down at the sleeping child, suckling a finger. Such a hard start in life. Sarah counted fingers and toes, surprised by how miraculously healthy the baby appeared. A child who had come into their care, much the way Moses had come to the Pharaoh’s daughter along the Nile River after being set afloat by his mother in an effort to save him when the Pharaoh ordered all male Hebrew children should be drowned in the Nile.

Sarah pointed to the box. “Perhaps someone put her in this vessel to save her.”

Nalini shook her head slowly. “No one was trying to save her.”

“No, look,” Sarah said, tapping the lid of the box, clinging to a shred of optimism. She ran her fingers over the small slits over the wooden lid. “Air holes for the child to breathe.”

Nalini regarded Sarah as if she were a child herself. Sarah’s heart rate increased as the older woman secured the lid back in place and made quick jabbing motions with her hand. Despite the tropical climate, a strong chill ran down her spine as the translator repeated Nalini’s explanation. “They placed the baby in this box and punctured it with a knife several times. The wood is soft enough to yield to a knife, but the blade wasn’t long enough. The sharp end didn’t reach the baby.”

Sarah choked back a sob, the idea of such brutality almost causing her to wretch. “Why?”

“Girl,” the older woman said in English. That one word spoke volumes.

Girls cost money, especially in the form of dowry. There were stories of parents going bankrupt to marry off their daughters. Contrary, boys brought in money and dowry. Sarah, horrified with the violent description, could no longer hold back her cries. She set the child atop a clean pillow. She wept openly and took Nalini’s weathered hand in her own. Nalini appeared surprised by the gesture and tried to withdraw her hand, but Sarah held it tightly.

“What do we do?” Nalini asked once more.

“Pray with me.”

Sarah didn’t have an answer. The school had strict instructions not to get involved with the local residents. Their job was to educate and make the villager’s lives better, but there were directives, and any inappropriate behavior could result in a shut down.

For these reasons, Sarah decided she would not inform her superiors. They would suggest the orphanage some distance away as a place to deposit the child. It seemed the obvious choice, except it was all wrong. Rumors circulated the children were severely mistreated and even sold into prostitution. There was no proof, but Sarah would not risk it—not when it came to this baby.

She couldn’t explain it, except that some motherly instinct and responsibility had invaded her body. But what could she do? She was leaving this place, a decision she had prayed on for months. Now, all her certainty dissipated as she looked upon the tiny infant whose mouth curved into the most adorable gassy smile.

“She’s beautiful,” Sarah whispered.

“That she is,” Nalini agreed.

Although both women hailed from different corners of the world with different backgrounds, religion, and life experiences, somehow they communicated without the benefit of a translator or even words. They each bowed their heads.

Sarah prayed to Mary and Jesus and Nalini to Rama and Sita. Both of them hovered their hands over the baby. When the child wrapped her tiny fists around each woman’s finger, a powerful surge flooded Sarah’s heart.

Sarah lifted her head, meeting Nalini’s eyes, knowing what the woman would say before she spoke.

“I will keep her and raise her,” Nalini announced with complete conviction. “She will be my daughter. I love her.”

“Your husband will allow this?”

“He will not agree. He will show her little kindness, but a mother’s love is strong enough to overcome any obstacle.”

“I will help you raise her. I will make sure she has a good life,” Sarah added. “I will love… I love her, too.”

“What shall we name her?” Nalini asked. Typically, a naming ceremony involved family and input from the grandparents, but in this case, Nalini’s parents were deceased as was all her family.

“What is the word for hope?”

“Asha,” Nalini explained, a genuine smile on her face. “That is a fine and fitting name.”

Sarah nodded in agreement, wiping away her tears.

For the first time in Sarah’s life, her feet felt steady on the path she’d chosen. Nalini, old and destitute, was in no position to raise a baby. Sarah, a young nun, who was not allowed to interfere, was also in no position to raise a baby. But together, they could both give the child everything she needed, everything they had to give. These two women, who would never associate with each other in any ordinary circumstance, formed more than a pact that day. They formed a connection, a friendship, and through Asha, they became family.