by Snigdha Agrawal
Shantala had swept and mopped the floor very carefully that morning. The cobwebs from the ceiling and corners were wiped clean. Paper decorations were strung on the wall where the wooden pyramidal-shaped Golu padi with five tiers was placed, looking forlorn. Soon that would change. The ladies of the house were busy putting on new clothes for the Bommai Golu dolls. Every year, these dolls called in local parlance ‘Pattada Bombe’ went through a change in attire and then put on display, per the tradition that the daughter of the family will be handed over these dolls during her marriage so that she can continue to display them in her new house. Revathy had brought these dolls along with her trousseau when she entered the house as the daughter-in-law.
Both their mobiles were kept on mute, to focus on the job undistracted. Someone was desperately trying to get in touch as the phone kept vibrating near her knees. Irritated, she looked down to see the familiar number. “I’ll take this call. It’s from Latha. Must be urgent”, she muttered to Revathy. Latha her daughter had not come down for the annual event, preferring to stay in the hostel to catch up on her unfinished assignments. “Hello, Latha. You caught me at the wrong time. Anyway, tell me how are you doing? We were setting up the Golu. Wish, you were here with us. Never mind. Next year, no excuses accepted”. For some time, there was no response. Before Shantala could pose the next question, Latha broke the news in a shaking voice that spelt disaster “Amma…Can you fly down immediately? I’m in a mess and need you urgently. The hospital will not go ahead with the procedure unless the next of kin signs the consent paper. You have always stood by me so I am relying on you to stand by me this one last time…please Amma, make it quick.
Shantala could not make head or tail of what mess her daughter had gotten into. Yes, during her growing-up years, whenever she landed herself in trouble in school with the teachers or with her friends, she stepped in to resolve the problem. “Kuttyma…you sound scared. Come out with it. Have you met with an accident? Did you get caught in the exam hall?” she asked with amusement, remembering past occasions. “No Amma…I’m pregnant!” she dropped the bomb that exploded in Shantala’s head. Shaking like an autumn leaf, angry and fiercely protective of her daughter, she questioned “And who is the person who knocked you up? I’ll come and deal with him as I see fit”, her rage mounting as she raised her voice, making Revathy look up. Lowering her voice, she whispered, “How far are you gone? Don’t even think of taking the route of getting an abortion. It may be legal now, but that would surmount to murder and I am not going to be an accomplice to that act. I can speak to the boy’s parents and come to an agreeable settlement. Marriage is the only solution that I see in this situation”.
“That’s never going to happen Amma” Latha responded, sounding ashamed and disturbed. “I confess, whatever happened, happened in a moment of weakness. This child is not conceived through an act of love but passion overtaking the mind. He is a senior professor, in his late thirties, married with two kids. If the news gets out, it will impact many innocent lives and his reputation. No way, are you going to break their family? He knows and sympathizes, but is helpless. I understand your concern and thoughts on abortion. It’s a little over 18 weeks, and as ‘per the Supreme Court ruling, all women can seek to have a safe and legal abortion and the distinction between married and unmarried women in this matter is unconstitutional’ (source internet). The only catch is having you sign the consent form. Amma…please come and fix this as soon as possible”, she sobbed into the receiver.
Sampath walked in through the main door, weighed down with two shopping bags, and noticed the ashen look on his wife’s face. He dismissed it as one of her panic attacks when things did not run smoothly in her household. Maybe she was stressed with the milk curdling, meant for making Payasam (dessert). Not an issue. He would set that right. The milk booth was nearby. Another short walk would do good for his constitution. Setting down the shopping bags, he was not prepared for what Shantala disclosed. “Latha just called to say there has been an outbreak of Covid in the hostel. Many students have been shifted to the hospital. Since hers is a mild attack, the hostel superintendent has advised her to go home or self-quarantine at a designated hotel. I just checked the flights to Trivandrum and booked myself a seat on the 4 pm flight. I need to be with Latha for five days and then bring her back to Chennai”, she announced with finality without so much as seeking consent. “I just got my third booster last month, so the chances of catching the infection are slim. We will stay in the same hotel and before leaving take the RT PCR tests as required by the airlines”, all said as though reading out the script from a movie with the director looking on.
Regaining her composure, she spoke to her daughter-in-law. “Revathy, sorry to let you down in the Golu decorations. Go ahead with it as done in previous years, except for avoiding the red colour. This year, we will go with purple as the predominant colour”. Revathy nodded in consent. In Revathy, she found a second more mature daughter rather than the traditional daughter-in-law type. Should she share the truth with her crossed her mind several times? No, it was best to leave it cooking in their minds, with all the ingredients she had thrown in, for that extra effect.
Sampath looked as though he had seen a ghost. “I’ll accompany you,” he said, concerned with the turn of events. “That’s not necessary. I can handle this on my own. I have booked an Uber. It doesn’t look right for both of us to be away from the house during the Navratri festival.
A post-graduate in Political Science from Madras Christian College, the Supreme Court’s decision on legalizing abortion did not sit well with her. Progressive as she was, this would rip apart the social fabric of the nation and legalize acts of irresponsible sexual behaviour amongst the youth. Why youth? A blank cheque to all to nip lives, like cutting off the buds from trees, leaving a barren look…barren wombs in other words. In her opinion, not at all desirable for a society still mid-rise on the maturity curve.
About the Author:
Snigdha Agrawal (nee Banerjee) is a Bengali born, raised, and educated in a cosmopolitan environment, with exposure to the eastern and western cultures, imbibing the best of both worlds. With more than two decades of experience working in the corporate sector, her outlook on life is balanced, which reflects in her writings. A versatile writer, she writes all genres of poetry, prose, short stories, travelogues, and hotel/restaurant reviews on Tripadvisor. She is a published author of three books. An intrepid traveler, her travel diaries can be accessed in word press blog: randomramblings52. She lives in Bangalore (Karnataka), India.