Of worries and felicities

U Sharma
Babesha, Thimphu
Bhutan

“Oh! No. No! Nothing more than that, I just want to know the gender,” said the lady, trying to conceal her malevolent intentions and trying to cut him short.
“What an out-and-out and a barefaced lie,” he whistled, through his old-spent experience, surveying the lady in glad rags from head to toe. The fair-looking, bespectacled, auburn-haired lady with a lissome waist stood in front of him, waiting for an indication, ostensibly, for a seat.
Without letting the grass grow under the feet, he studied her mind and gestured to sit and relax on a plastic stool that stood beside his revolving chair. He didn’t find her a dork as he was, albeit in disguise. He reminisced the past. He felt guilty_____ simply for the past deeds. A great compunction, it was, indeed. He felt a pinch, prick and a thud on his heart. He spent minutes ruminating.
“Is it that what I have done is all water under the bridge?” he asked to himself. He could not figure out the number of female babies that he had aborted in the past.
“No. Not at all! Nothing of the past is forgotten,” bounded an irate echo within the boundary of the walls.
“You are a killer______ a serial killer,” resounded with the walls.
He almost sobbed, remembering of Mother Teresa, who, from an ordinary girl became the 20th century’s most extra-ordinary woman and was declared as the ‘Saint of the Gutters’.
“How many Mother Teresas and the like have I murdered so far? He whispered a wail, feeling the hot tears in his, otherwise, soft eyes. Long queue of famous women stood firmly on his head. Just an image; yet, pricked him to no endurance.
“We were inside wombs, too,” came an accumulated voice into his ears.
He remembered of contemporary lady figures. Names of Angela Merkel, Aung San Suu Kyi, Tashlima Nashrin, Condoleezza Rice, Ho Ching, Prativa Patel, Tarza Helonea and the like hovered in his memory.

“How many would-be personalities I have discarded?” he asked to himself, repenting, sans doubt, to no avail.
“I lack a daughter myself —a precious gem that I had always longed for. This is the sweet quid pro quo for my work,” he sobbed, hysterically.
“Why? Why, but, do the young would–be mothers prefer to eliminate a female child before the birth? Why do they consider a female birth a burden? Oh! No. I shall not kill any more,” he whispered, feeling guilty at the bottom of his heart.
“Who could have abetted me in this act of cruelty? My profession is me to save; not to kill. I must stop this practice, loss, toss, or cross. I must give an out-and-out goodbye to this cruel act”, he murmured, trying to hide tears from his guilty eyes.
“Excuse me, doctor,” said the impatient lady with gay abandon. She looked at the veteran medic with pitiful eyes.

“I have come only to find out the gender of my would-be child and nothing more,” she said further, exposing her intentions unconsciously.

“Results! A girl _____ daughter,” he displayed a smirk on his face and whispered to himself.
“Should I tell her it’s a girl that is cuddled in her womb?”
Oh! No. I must protect,” he decided.

“If I go on killing unborn female babies, wouldn’t there be imbalance in gender co-existence? I must stop these inhumane activities,” he murmured, cursing himself with an ounce of pity.

He looked at the elegant lady sitting on the stool, unmoved. She behaved as if she was running short of time.
She tried to wheedle the gender-result from the doctor.
“Doctor, please announce the result,” she pleaded in a wheedling and coaxing tone in her voice.
“No, no, an absolute no,” he spoke to himself, adding, “I must discourage this cruel act I wouldn’t do this inhumane act. Not for all tea in China! He made up his mind to save the fetus.
The impatient lady looked at him_____ the look with a latent message “please tell me it’s a boy that I have in my womb.”
“I can’t afford to be the butt of all these inhumane deeds,” he cried the Japanese napkin to the pulp. He stood up from the chair and sauntered around. Standing against the window, he looked at the pedestrians on the road. There were more males than females. Yes, more males and a imbalance in the gender.
“I am partly behind this inequality,” he whispered. He remembered his mother and cried unseen tears.
“She was inside the womb once,” he sobbed, adding, “and she is a respectable lady in the society today.”
He rubbed the stoic tears, still looking at the streets down below. He made up his mind _____ positively.
“I must save this child. She has every right to live I must tell a white lie to this lady. I must say ‘it’s a boy.’ I must,” he stammered. He felt it’s wise on his part to give her the run-around. He turned back and walked to the chair. The lady in question still sat on the stool feeling awfully restless.
“I don’t know what would you best like but I have good news for you. In fact, you are one of the lucky ones. The results clinches that it’s a son that is warmly cuddled inside your womb,” he pronounced, focusing his eyes at her and, at the same time, studying her mood.
A quick line of smiles ran across her face. She looked much fairer than she ever was.
“Thank you, doctor,” said she, adjusting her glasses. Anon, she was gone.

She pulled up the portcullis and entered in. She unlocked the main door of her bungalow. Her uxorious husband had not returned from office. She looked at the wad of notes.
“Oh, God! I thank you for the help. My money is also safe and back. I shall now keep this money for my would-be son,” said she, shoving the wad of notes into the piggy bank.
There was a persistent tap on the door. She dashed out from the kitchen clacking her heels on the marble floor. She had to leave the tea to simmer on the stove.
She welcomed her husband with a broad smile on her charming face. A broad one that a deviation from the usual ones.
No sooner had he relaxed on the settee, she offered him a cup of tea. She served one for her too. There was a hush in the room pro tem. In a little while, she offered a bouquet to her knackered husband who still was in his office dress.
“Golly, what’s this!” he asked, looking god smacked. He fixed his eyes on hers.
“It’s just a token of love. Why? Isn’t it good enough?’ aid she, proffering the bouquet.
“Oh! No. NO! It’s the best thing since sliced bread.”
He accepted the gift, nollens-vollens. He felt it would be churlish to refuse such a generous offer.
“What could have happened to her? It’s amazingly awkward,” he thought, biting his lips to prevent from laughing.
“It’s neither my birthday nor any day of special significance,” he whispered, looking at the ceiling.
“Would the change in her behavior narrate her activities of the day?”
The husband, albeit shrewd, had a tough time trying to deduce the possible reason for her unwonted offer.
“Sweet heart, I know you are giving me this gift out of happiness. How was the day, anyway? If my guess is all correct, let our love remain everlasting till we die. I have nothing to add on,” said he, pecking her quickly on the forehead. He then, continued. “I don’t know nor do you know as to what gender our progeny boasts of. Anyway, no gender will affect me for it is the gift of the Creator. I am prepared to accept whole-heartedly either gender with equal love,” said he, rubbing squishy hair of his wife.
For a while, silence surrounded the room.
“Looking at the trends in the evil society and the faces of the wicked would-be mothers, I am sure you are wishing to give birth to a son. God can not be everywhere: so he made mothers,” he spoke the sweet words, still holding the bouquet in his hands. His clincher touched her thick nerves.
“Am I in the wrong track? Or is he an odd-man out? Does he, in reality, wish for a daughter? How should I ask him? What does he mean by ‘mother’? Does he mean ’me’ or the ‘progeny’? If it’s the latter, then I will be in a bind,” she whistled on her part, looking at the ajar door.
“Should I disclose the reality? What, if his desire is for a daughter? It’s high time I found out his choice of gender. I must do something,” she spoke to her jaws.
“A mere piece of clue or just a smiden of hint would ease me,” she whispered further, turning away from her husband.

The next day, the husband returned home in time, as usual. He looked ecstatic, happy and excited. There was clear attitude and demeanor in him that day. He placed the bundle on the table and sat on the chair.
The wife looked nervous. She had reasons to be so. She preferred not to ask what the bundle contained in it. In no time, she engaged herself in the kitchen preparing tea. Meanwhile, the husband petrified the walls of the living room with newspapers and posters. At the center of one of the walls, he hung a life-sized photograph of a girl. The photograph faced his computer that stood on a Mahogany desk on the other side.
The duo of an uxorious husband and a gorgeous wife relaxed on the couch and sipped tea with a side dish of cream-laden biscuits. Their pets, the black and white-stripped tomcat and a brown-colored female hamster frolicked on the floor, occasionally looking at their masters. The husband offered a piece of biscuit to the hamster. In a silent reciprocity, the wife offered two pieces to the feline kid. The two strange friends, soon, were on their claws frolicking and chasing ease other in turns. Occasionally, the cat purred; and in answer, the stout hamster simpered at the cat, raising its long tail in the air.
The couple enjoyed watching the pets play. The wife tried a ‘mew’ and the cat looked at her and answered with a sweet ‘purr’. She offered the last piece of biscuit to it. The husband looked at the hamster with hidden love.
“Don’t worry, my little girl. The whole world will be yours soon. You will get the best of foods,” he said to himself, wishing to have a baby girl.
It was apparently clear that the wife loved the cat more than the hamster while the husband loved both, albeit he had a preference for the hamster. He alone knew the raison d’ etre of his choice and liking.

Sitting on the couch, the wife sunk her anxious eyes at the decoration on the walls. The photograph of a girl-child hung on the wall called for her attention
“Could it be the only photo in the shop? What could have inspired him to buy a female poster?” she asked a riddle to herself, looking at her husband with lecherous eyes. She expected something concrete but was unconsciously deprived.
“He acts strange at times. Really, he does. Had the poster been the only one in the town, it would have a Hobson’s choice for him. What a thudding effect? This picture and the one in my womb are of different genders. Does this picture indirectly portray his choice of progeny? Anyway,, if he had picked it at random, it’s fine. If he has bought it as per his preference, there will be a problem. Oh, God! Help me. How do I know his preference?,” she said to herself, sobbing.

Her husband had left for office. She closed the door that had remained ajar since his departure. She sat on a chair and recalled the advice given by a friend of hers.
“Why can’t you go and get the gender of your child clinched and confirmed from a doctor? I know a doctor who is a cinch to carry out abortions should you desire. His fees are nominal too,” her so-called crony had said, brain-washing and abetting the first-timer.

The words of the doctor followed suit in her memory.
“I don’t know what you would best like to have but I have good news for you. In fact, you are one of the lucky ones. The result confirms/clinches that it’s a son that is being warmly cuddled inside your womb.”

Her face displayed a second round of smile.
She, then, remembered her mother’s words.
“Daughter, life is a conundrum. You are now going to experience by some inches than that of a man. She has to, one day or the other, leave her parents and live at a distant from them. But always remember that it’s the distance that lends enchantment to the view. You just have to be brave_____ brave, to face the reality. At this moment, I wish you a long life with your husband. May you be an adorable wife and a caring mother? Last but not least, I bless a son as your first child.”
She shuddered and looked around suspecting some flies on the wall.
“Should there be a discussion on gender issue, I shall tell him that that I am dependant on his desires,” she consoled herself.

Time was 11 a.m. Roshan was jolted out of his reverie as the telephone rang on his office table. He picked up the receiver.
“Hello,” he said, jerking his sleepy head.
“——-“
“Oh, I am sorry this time. I am not in a position to leave the station for at least a month or two,” said he, trying to explain the bare bones of his domestic situation.
“——-.”
“Yes, next month, as per doctor’s findings.”
“——.”
“No definite choice as such. I would be happy with either gender. If I ever had to opt or if wishes were horses, as Shakespeare has said, I would love and long to have a room-friendly one,” he said.
“——.”
“It’s fine. I shall give you a call once things settle down. Bye!” he said and replaced the receiver.

He heaved a long sigh of relief. He brought to his memory the EDD. “Just next month,” he murmured. His heart throbbed, sans doubt, with excitement.
“How do I know I know the gender preference of my wife? How should I entertain her to wheedle a clue of her hankering? How should I read the pages of her mind?” a series of questions itched and irked him.

“If nothing works out, I would say that I looked for a pair of photographs in the shops the other day but there was just one. I tried today too. There was none that would pair up with the one we have on the wall,” he spoke to the walls of his office and displayed a foolish smile.
I would tell her that had it been a pair of opposite sexes, it would not only have decorated the walls, but given extravagance, elegance and meaning to this room,” he expressed his feelings albeit unheard by any.

Back at home, after office hours, Roshan started tossing a small piece of coin-shaped wood with ‘B’ and ‘G” written on either side of it. She stood outside the room unnoticed by her husband. She watched him making a trial of ‘favorable’ and ‘unfavorable’ outcomes. Every toss with a ‘G’ on its upper face was accompanied by a sweet smile on his face. She stood and watched. The ultimate outcome was in favour of ‘G’. A big smile ran across his broad face.

The inseparable duo of Roshan and his wife had awaited enough. It was, finally, her delivery time.
“Operation is a must. Looks like the baby is overweight. It’s not serious anyway,” announced the doctor on duty.

The would-be-mother was taken to the maternity ward. The would-be and anxious father waited outside clanking his feet on the corridor. He would have better endured the weals of lashes rather than the unseen agony.

“Oh, God! Please give us a daughter,” he had whispered three times, when the nurse on duty came out and called him into the ward. He looked at the newly-born kid. She looked as pretty and cute as he had imagined. To him, it was a little like waking from a long coma. The doula whispered to the mother in a language that was better understood by the mothers alone.

The mother was sobbing in agony. Nobody, except the husband, knew why she was sobbing. The cascades of tears were a rivulet of happiness that had many miles to flow to reach the ocean of felicity and bliss.

The shrill cry of the baby alerted the mother. Roshan looked at the eyes of the new—born and her well-shaped ears.

“Thank you, God,” he said he said, continuing, “and, thank you, Ishmrita. You have fulfilled my long-awaited dream and the ‘unshared’ wish.
He patted his wife hinting to her that his choice was a baby-girl.

“Ishmrita, You had given me everything in life but. You had always kept me happy. I knew you would give me the most precious thing one day_____ yes, I knew you would. And, you gave it today. You gave me a daughter that I always wished and prayed for. I had always wanted to tell you that I opted for a daughter but I lacked courage,” he confessed his, otherwise, untold feelings. Ishmrita stared at him pro tem without a word. She looked at her baby; then, at doula, and back at her husband.

She quickly recalled. The hamster and the tomcat, the outcome of repeated ‘Gs’ while tossing the wooden coin, the photograph of a girl on the wall of their living room and her husband’s words.
“The doctor did the right thing, “she spoke to her husband, sobbing into the tears of eternal felicity.

“The worry is gone,” Roshan muttered, caressing the squishy hair of his wife.

Tags: Bhutanese Literature Story U Sharma