A House for Happy Mothers: A Novel

by Amulya Malladi

  “I can’t wait for this baby to be out,” Keertana said as she watched Asha pace the TV room.

  “Neither can I,” Asha lied. As long as the baby was inside her, she was hers.

  “Are the parents visiting again today?”

  “No, not for a few days. The father is here, and they had some things to do, they said, legal things to take the baby with them to America,” Asha said.

  “Are you going to get medication during labor?” Keertana asked.

  “I don’t know,” Asha said.

  “Get it,” Keertana recommended. “It takes all the pain away. It’s wonderful. Just the thought of the pain and I’m ready to wet myself. But last time I had the drugs and it was good.”

  “But isn’t it bad for the baby?”

  “It’s not my baby,” Keertana said. “Anyway, if it wasn’t safe, Doctor Swati wouldn’t give it to us.”

  “I wonder when it will happen,” Asha said. “It’s such an odd thing, isn’t it? They can put someone else’s baby in my belly, but they can’t predict the date that I’ll have it.”

  PART V:

  LABOR AND DELIVERY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Asha went into labor at one in the morning. The pain started in her back, slow, ringing around her stomach. She knew what it was as soon as it began.

  From her previous two births, Asha knew that the best thing for her in the beginning was to walk. So she got up, tentative because she knew that her water might break at any time. She left Gangamma sleeping in the room and went to find Revati. As usual, she was in the TV room, snoozing on the charpoy while the television was set at a low volume.

  “Revati,” Asha called out, standing next to her lightly snoring body.

  She came awake almost immediately. Revati, everyone knew, was a light sleeper, used to being woken up at all hours.

  “It’s your time,” she said as she sat up, and Asha nodded.

  Asha groaned softly as a band of pain went from up her thighs to her tight stomach.

  “OK,” Revati said, and got up. “I will call Doctor Swati. What do you need?”

  “I’m fine. I just need to keep walking,” Asha said. She was tired, she realized, so very tired, and almost fell asleep standing up between contractions.

  Revati called Doctor Swati at her house and was asked to take Asha to the clinic immediately. She put an arm around Asha and they walked next door.

  “Almost there,” Revati said.

  “How far apart are they?” Asha asked, because she knew Revati was keeping time.

  “About ten minutes,” Revati said. “So you still have time, maybe a few hours.”

  A big groan burst out from Asha then, and she almost doubled over in pain. Her water broke right before they entered the clinic, wetting her feet and her chappals. Revati held her up and got them to the clinic.

  Nursamma was waiting for them, and she asked Asha to sit in the wheelchair. “No,” Asha protested. “It’s better if I walk. If I sit down, the pain is unbearable. And I’m completely wet. My water broke.”

  Nursamma listened to her and then called out for the dai, the midwife. The clinic had five midwives, and there was always one with Doctor Swati in the birthing room. They wore white saris like Nursamma but not a white cap. Pratibha, one of the dais, rushed to Asha’s side and walked her to the birthing room.

  Revati didn’t come with them, and Asha wished she had. She felt alone. The previous two times she had given birth, she had done it at home with Kaveri and a midwife. They didn’t have money to go to a hospital or get a doctor. The village had a dai who had so much experience that everyone trusted her more than they would a doctor anyway.

  In any case, the government hospital near the village was an hour’s bus ride away, and it wasn’t like the doctor always came to the hospital when you needed him. Asha had gone there a few times when Manoj was sick and had found out quickly that it was better to go to the village healing woman.

  Asha had learned to give her children turmeric with milk when they had a cold instead of the pills that the doctors gave, and when they had a fever, she would keep it down with a decoction of ginger and raisins, as the village healing woman had instructed her.

  Giving birth had never really scared Asha. Kaveri had had both her boys before Asha had ever gotten pregnant, so she’d had someone to advise her.

  Puttamma, her mother-in-law, had always been on hand as well, which had been a comfort, because she was always so calm about childbirth. But this time there was no one. No family, no relatives, no one she knew. She was alone in this white sterile room with Pratibha and Nursamma.

  “If you want to walk, just walk,” Nursamma said, indicating the area around the bed. “If you want to lie down, you should do that. If you want help with the pain, you should let us know.”

  Asha nodded.

  “For now, we would like you to take your clothes off and put this gown on, and then I want you to lie down for a short while so I can check you,” Nursamma said. “Doctor Swati will be here soon.”

  Asha half listened, half waited for the pain to come back. Pratibha had to help her get out of her sari, which she was thankful to discard, as it was wet with birthing water, and into the pale-blue gown that had ties on the back. They didn’t tie properly, and she felt embarrassed that her behind was bare. The embarrassment was short-lived; the contractions were starting to come faster and faster.

  The baby would be here soon. Priya’s baby.

  “Has anyone called Priya?” she asked between contractions, her face relaxed as a wave of pain passed out of her.

  “We have,” Nursamma said. “You shouldn’t worry about that. Just relax and breathe.”

  When Asha couldn’t stand it anymore, she half sat and half lay down on the bed. Nursamma checked her often, saying that she was quite close now.

  They asked her again if she wanted medicine, but Asha refused. Pain was part of the process. She couldn’t cheat Mother Nature of this right.

  Doctor Swati arrived an hour after Asha got to the clinic. She looked at the notes Nursamma had made on a pad that hung on Asha’s bed, and she smiled. “Looks like you’re going to have a baby soon. You’re nearly ready.”

  Pratibha wiped Asha’s brow and told her to breathe, keeping her calm through her contractions. Asha missed her village dai, the woman who had delivered Manoj and Mohini in their hut. Maybe that hadn’t been as clean as this, and maybe she didn’t have wires on her body measuring the baby’s heartbeat, but it had felt much safer. Funny how here with all the solutions for problems that might arise at the ready, all Asha could think of were the problems.

  What if something went wrong? It was a standard fear every woman had while giving birth. She screamed loudly as the contractions seemed to become harder, stronger, coming quicker.

  Madhu’s mobile phone rang at two in the morning. Asha had gone into labor.

  They had been waiting for this call.

  They were prepared.

  They had the baby’s bag packed. Small clothes, a blanket, diapers, wipes, a woolen cap. The bag was next to a car seat. Madhu had bought it in the States so it met US specifications. In California they wouldn’t let you take your baby home if you didn’t have a car seat for the baby.

  Madhu woke his parents to tell them they were going to bring their daughter home. Prasanna promised to immediately set the house right. She was going to make sure the bassinet was ready with fresh sheets, convert Madhu’s old study table into a changing table laid out with everything the baby would need—diapers, alcohol swabs, baby soap, and moisturizer. And yes, they would have a big meal with lots of sweets. A celebration.

  Madhu drove like a maniac, and Priya took turns laughing and crying.

  “Finally, Madhu, finally,” Priya said.

  The lights at Happy Mothers were on when they got there. Priya had run from the car, Madhu not far behind her. He caught up with her at the entrance and pulled her to him.

  “Priya,” he said. “You kno
w I love you.”

  “Yes,” Priya said, wanting to rush inside, but there was something about how he looked at her, so intently, that she stilled and said, “I love you. Very much. Baby or no baby, Madhu, I love you.”

  “Remember how you said that you were worried I’d leave if something happened to the baby?” Madhu asked, and when Priya nodded, he looked pointedly at her. “I won’t. I never will. But . . . if something happened . . . you . . .”

  “You’re worried if I’ll leave, go back to being baby-obsessed Priya,” Priya said, and put her hands on his cheeks. She pulled him down to kiss him on the mouth. “I learned many things these past months. And one very important thing I learned is that you and I, we’re family. Complete. Our child . . . makes our family bigger, changes the dynamic, but doesn’t change the core of it.”

  You couldn’t wash the past away. They couldn’t just wipe away what had been said between them, what had happened, but they could move forward. They had moved forward, without even realizing it. The wounds had healed. Maybe when it had started out, Priya wanted the baby more than Madhu did, but as the child went from being an abstract fetus to becoming a swollen womb, Madhu was just as invested as she was. He loved this child as much as she did.

  Madhu kissed her on the nose. “Should we go see if our daughter has arrived?”

  As they walked inside the Happy Mothers clinic, Priya’s heart was pounding.

  She was scared. What if something went wrong? What if her baby died? What if Asha died? Would it be better if Asha died or the baby died?

  Maybe this was why some parents chose not to know the surrogate. Priya was worried not only about the baby but also about Asha. She had gotten to know Asha and her family, had slept in the same bed with Manoj, held his hand and talked about his dreams with him. Asha was now family, and Priya wanted her to be as safe as her own child.

  “We’re ready to push,” Doctor Swati said, her hands covered in long gloves, a green hospital gown over her sari.

  “Push?” Asha said the word like it was alien to her; she rolled it on her tongue and felt a pinch. It was time to let the baby go. It was time to push it out. She wanted to say she didn’t want to. She wanted to keep the baby inside.

  “Come on, Asha. With the next contraction, you must push,” Doctor Swati said.

  Pratibha took Asha’s hand. “I will count, and when I say ten, you must push, OK? Okati, rondu, mudu, nalgu . . .” She went through the numbers in Telugu. When she said, “Padhi,” Asha pushed with all her might. It felt like her insides would tear.

  “Come on, once more,” Doctor Swati called out.

  It began again, the counting and the pushing. Asha couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop wanting to hold this baby inside her, keep it for herself.

  But after just four pushes, she felt the baby slide out of her and heard its first cry. It was the last time she felt the baby, the last time she heard it, the last time she was connected to it. Once they cut the umbilical cord, it was like a dam had broken, and Asha started to howl.

  “Are you in pain?” Doctor Swati asked.

  Asha closed her eyes and shook her head. God, please don’t make me see the baby, she thought. Please, let them take it away, far away from me. I can’t bear this.

  Even as her arms ached to hold the tiny life, making her cry in a pain more terrible than the contractions, she didn’t ask to see the baby, couldn’t ask for it. It wasn’t hers. It wasn’t hers.

  “Asha, you need to tell me if you’re in pain,” Doctor Swati said.

  “Is the baby here?” Asha asked, sobbing.

  “No, we had to take her to another room to check her,” Doctor Swati said. “Do you want to see her?”

  Asha shook her head. “No.” She tightly shut her eyes, shut out the world around her.

  “OK,” Doctor Swati said, and leaned down to hug Asha. “You did good, Asha. You did very good. You’re going to be fine.”

  “Oh God,” Asha said, opening her eyes for the first time since the baby had slid out of her. “Oh God, Doctor Swati.”

  “It’s over,” Doctor Swati said. “And the baby is—”

  “Don’t tell me,” Asha said. “I don’t want to know.”

  “OK,” Doctor Swati said. “Priya and Madhu will be here soon. Do you want to see them?”

  Asha wanted to say no, but she felt like she owed them one last meeting and said it would be OK.

  It was three in the morning. It had taken just two short hours to give birth, to give the baby up. Two hours. Nine months and two hours.

  Asha lay crying softly, unable to stop the tears as Doctor Swati delivered the placenta. Pratibha massaged her belly to remove any excess blood, and Asha didn’t speak, didn’t say anything, just lay there, a weeping doll.

  She put her hand on her stomach; it wasn’t flat, but there was no baby inside. It was soft, like wet clay, and saggy. It looked bruised, black, like it had the previous two times she had given birth and held her babies to her bosom.

  Nursamma opened the doors for Madhu and Priya.

  “Is everyone OK?” Priya asked in English.

  “The baby is born and Asha is well,” Nursamma said in her thickly accented English. “You want to see the baby, I think.”

  “Already born? So quickly,” Priya said.

  “It was an easy labor,” Nursamma said as she walked them to the nursery. “Asha didn’t even take any pain medication. It went really fast.”

  Madhu grabbed Priya’s hand.

  The nursery was on the far end of the hallway where the examination and delivery rooms were. There was only one baby in one of the four cots. They had put her in a pink cap and a white onesie. She was asleep, a little pink burrito. On the side of the cot it read BABY RAO.

  “Come, here she is,” Nursamma said.

  Priya picked her up, awkwardly, not sure how to hold her, but magically, she thought, she knew. She put her palm under Ayesha’s head to support it; how did she know to do this? She looked at her in wonder and then at Madhu.

  “She’s ours,” she whispered.

  The baby opened her eyes briefly before closing them.

  “She has blue eyes,” Madhu said.

  “And dark hair,” Priya said.

  “She’s . . . my God, she’s all here. Hello, sweetheart,” Madhu said, tears rolling down his cheeks.

  “Hello, Ayesha,” Priya said, and hugged her close.

  Madhu hugged both of them and dropped a kiss on Priya’s head. “I love you both,” he said. “I love you both so very much.”

  “It was a very good labor,” Doctor Swati told Asha as she brought some Fanta for her to drink after they had cleaned her up and moved her from the birthing room. “Have some; you’ll feel better.”

  Asha drank obediently through a straw, lying against soft pillows. She was in another room now, like a regular hospital ward. Sometimes the room had two or three women if they had all given birth at the same time. Doctor Swati had predicted that Asha would go into labor in a week or so. But nature had been in a hurry to part her from the baby.

  “Why are you crying?” Doctor Swati asked.

  “I don’t know,” Asha lied.

  “It’s normal to feel sad after giving birth,” Doctor Swati said. “But you’ll get over it, I promise. Sooner than you think, you’ll not even think about it.”

  “Priya and Madhu are here?” Asha asked.

  “Yes,” Doctor Swati said. “They just came. They’re very happy to see the baby. Will you see them?”

  “Yes . . . but without the baby,” Asha said. “I don’t want to see the baby.”

  “OK,” Doctor Swati said. “You did very well, Asha.”

  “Thanks,” Asha said primly, in English.

  “She’ll see you, but she doesn’t want to see the baby,” Doctor Swati told Madhu and Priya when they met with her in her office.

  Priya was still holding Ayesha, couldn’t imagine letting that warm weight go. Nursamma had already made a bottle of formula, and Priy
a found that she knew, just knew, how to hold Ayesha and how to give her the bottle as she talked to Doctor Swati.

  Why had she panicked so much? Why had she worried that she wouldn’t know how to care for a baby? Yes, yes, the sleepless nights, the difficult days, they would come, too, but Priya wasn’t worried. Madhu was with her.

  “Is it normal for the surrogate to not see the baby?” Madhu asked.

  “Yes, some see them once and some say they don’t want to,” Doctor Swati said. “She just gave birth. There are hormones involved. Of course she’s emotional. But Asha is a strong woman and she did beautifully.”

  “Is she OK?” Priya asked.

  “She will be,” Doctor Swati said.

  Priya put the empty bottle down on the table. Ayesha was asleep again.

  “She’s like family. I mean, I know her family, her son, and . . . I had hoped . . . ,” Priya said, looking at Ayesha’s beautiful face. Asha had given this to her. Had given birth to this child just a few hours ago. She had pushed her out of her body, nourished her for nine months, soothed her when she fluttered in her womb.

  “Look, she’s going to want to move on; this is normal. You shouldn’t pressure her for more than she can give,” Doctor Swati said. “Just because you sent presents and did all those things for her son, she isn’t going to be your friend or your family.”

  Doctor Swati sounded snappish, irritated with them. It wasn’t overt; she was still as patient as she had always been, but there was an undertone.

  “I can leave the baby with Nursamma,” Priya said reluctantly. “And then we can go see Asha.”

  Nursamma took Ayesha to the nursery, and Doctor Swati took them to the room where Asha was. There were three beds there; two were empty.

  She looked small in the white bed. This mop of black hair and black flesh, huddled, lying on her side, looking away from the door.