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Unfortunate Child... contd

by Dishari Neogy
(Kolkata, India)

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Goddess Hera had seven children with Zeus, despite her inappropriate relationship with Him, but my fate was in total dissimilarity with Her. Some questions often lingered in my mind and hovered over my head with excruciating pain. “Couldn’t she see my pain?”, “Couldn’t she remove me from the curse of barrenness, with a twist of her hand?”, “Dad said, She was my sister, then why was she witnessing my anguish as a silent viewer?”, “Is that how Goddess treat their vulnerable and miniature counterparts?” – all these questions were left unanswered and I doubt they would ever be.

According to Hindu tradition, a marriage between a man and woman can only be sanctified and acknowledged after their respective ‘kundli’ or horoscope were matched my renowned astrologers and priests. As per his prophecy, my bond with Pratik would be of pleasure, excitement and love and my in-laws would adore me as their own daughter. But now I realize, these duplicitous premonitions about my marriage was to satiate our sense of curiosity and happiness, and there was not a slight tinge of sincerity and verity in his remarks. On hearing these rapturous evaluation of my conjugal life, my father unhesitatingly paid him more than he demanded.

Once I had the urge to contact the astrologer and wanted to ask what more he lied about my future. Despite all my vehement protestations and loathful outbursts, I knew quite well only God could heal me from this wound. The medical treatment was nearly unresponsive but the doctors always found a way to delay the proclamation, thought it might shatter my heart. They thought their direct declaration would hurt my sentiment, but they hardly knew how much I endured the sharpness of words and harshness of tone as daily ingredient of my recipe. My in-laws and to some extent Pratik as well were against Test Tube Baby, IVF, Surrogacy or even simple adoption. They adhered to the conventional method of production, where they blindly negated the womanly problems as a mere curse due to my adulterated and promiscuous life.

I often times thought to surrender or to take my life, but the next moment, the fear of seven torturous births chilled my spine. I never wanted to die a gruesome death, but opting suicide would surely plunge me into seven lifetimes of repulsive and abominable death, so I must live on.

Since the gods have decided to tormented me in their created Tartarus, without an outlet to vent out my emotions, so I became more like a stationary being, deprived of any heart feelings. Going though the regular pregnancy test in every month and witnessing my husband’s usual mortification had hardened my soul. Only miracles could reverse my situation and my inevitable fate. As time went, I lost all hope of becoming a mother, but god graced me abruptly and spared me a little happiness, when my last pregnancy report turned positive. I told my partner not to
overjoy, as it might turn otherwise, so I underwent a retest to check its authenticity. But quite surprisingly, it again appeared positive, and I was unable to believe my own eyes and hold back my tears.

But life is not how as we always expect it to be. Everyday is a new page with a new beginning which has the potential to turn the wheel of time. Since, my pregnancy report, I was constantly under doctor’s medication and check up. Though I was quite aware of my complications, yet she relentlessly reminded me and my husband to be more conscious. Since the age of sixteen, I had been a patient of PCOD (Polycystic Ovarian Disease), so fatty ovary prevented me from conceiving for so long.

Post-pregnancy, I received unrestrained love and attention, those women who mocked me at my back and strived hard to slander me at every juncture of my life, were then showing me with their unalloyed blessings. I often times wondered at their complete transformation, but to speak candidly, I did enjoy that span of jovial ambience and insurgent love.

I always dreamt of holding my baby close to my heart, would never let it go. But life being life stunned me at the operation theatre. Due to some unprecedented complications, I couldn’t make it, but fortunately, my child endured the surgery and got better of the situation with flying colours. Hence, my life until then was a profound vortex, where happiness was ephemeral but was soothing. But now from behind the grave, I see my baby boy leaping in joy in his father’s lap. Since my death, I always desired to ask one question, “Will Pratik ever remarry?” , “Will my son know what I went through to have him?” , “Will my son remember me or I will be forgotten like all dead people had been?” – though these questions are insignificant now, but the very thought of them prick my heart. As I don’t have the access nor the power to read others’ minds, but I genuinely feel, my son deserves maternal love more than anything.
Life under the ground is so tranquil, sans chaos of daily life, where I’m beyond rash criticism and meticulous scrutiny. I wish, I could live a little longer to hold my child, but I was destined to part ways with my new born.

Once Eleanor Roosevelt said :
“If life were predictable it would cease to be life, and be without flavour.”,

This famous quote of Roosevelt sums up my entire life. Life’s prediction can only be predicted by god, who is the Omniscient, we as mere vulnerable are too innocuous to understand its impact. This is the story of my life and of all the mothers who was suffering in silence without being noticed. Life is ruthless if we are unable to handle the intricacies of life but its bearable if we can discern the ciphers and put up a magnanimous fight against it.


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Nov 14, 2021
by: Gayathri Devi Dutt :

A candid narration that reads like an autobiography, bringing in the the instinctive longing for motherhood by most women, though of late we come across women who do not want to have kids; The tone of narration is gripping and readability is established. No one can stop in between reading the story. The first person narration from a graveyard is astonishingly interesting.

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