Amrita

by Usha Rajagopalan

  The palm . . . so soft, so tender. What did the doctor want? Calloussed fingers? The face. How could anyone just look at a baby and say there's something wrong? Ammu's eyes only seem chinky because of the harsh sun.

  Kamala held the baby in the crook of her hand away from the shaft of sunlight falling on her lap. She ran her forefinger down the short length of the nose.

  It is slightly flat, I agree. So is the back of your head. Those shouldn't matter. A little rubbing down your nose will make it longer. I remember amma saying that the baby's head is so soft that it gets rounded even while lying on the bed and turning from side to side. Really! How could the doctor say such a thing without conducting some test first?

  She turned to Raghu, who was still intent on the road.

  "I'm sure the doctor is wrong. My baby is just like any of those other children we saw at the clinic. Better than them in fact. They were howling so much! You heard what the woman sitting next to me said? The one whose husband was walking in the verandah with their son? She was amazed that Ammu should be so quiet. 'You are lucky,' she said, 'Your baby is not giving you any trouble at all! Not like my baba. He's scared to see so many people together. I took him for a wedding last month and the same thing happened. He wouldn't let me sit for a minute.' And that girl in green salwar kameez . . . she even took Ammu from me for a while, remember? 'China doll,' she called her. No, the doctor is wrong, I am sure. We shouldn't have gone to her. Let's consult someone else."

  Raghu glanced quickly at Kamala. "She's supposed to be very good. My colleagues had recommended her very highly. Anyway, we'll talk about this when we are home."

  He had had a couple of minor accidents in the past while driving and Kamala didn't want to distract him into another. She kept quiet but couldn't control her thoughts.

  Who is the best doctor in town? Or should I take her home? Appa will know someone good. If it had been so obvious to this Bhatt woman, why didn't anyone else notice it? The woman is a quack, a fraud.

  Kamala shook her head vehemently and turned to her husband again.

  "Do you know of any other doctor?" she asked. "Your friends might know of someone else?"

  "Hmm. . ."

  "Shall I ask my father to come? He will know what to do. Amma's health is not good or else I would have asked her too."

  "Don't get into a panic. Relax."

  "Relax? How can you ask me to relax? Aren't you shocked by what the doctor said?"

  "I am, I am."

  Kamala clutched the window frame as he wrenched the steering wheel sharply to avoid a cyclist who veered nonchalantly and rode away.

  "I told you not to raise the topic now," he glared at her.

  Kamala clenched her hands. She wanted to fly home in a flash. She wanted Raghu to talk, to assure her that there was nothing wrong with their baby. She wanted Ammu to grow up immediately so that the doctor could see how normal she was. She wanted to locate all the babies born on the same day as Ammu, line them up and compare them feature by feature with her daughter. She wanted to shield Ammu from all the doctors in the world. She wanted Ammu to be the first in her school, college, get the best paying job. She wanted Raghu to stop the car right there in the middle of the road, take her in his arms and tell her that the doctor was wrong, that Ammu was as normal as any other child.

  She did not feel the car grind up the steep road. She did not see the snarl of traffic outside the window. She did not hear the medley of impatient horns, the abuses, the vendors' shouts, nothing. She did not feel the weight on her left arm and shoulder as Amrita slept. She was conscious only of the thunder in her mind as thoughts clashed with one another.

  Revabehn was waiting for them.

  "I'll take the baby. How soundly she's sleeping, the poor thing. . ." said the maid.

  "Poor thing? What do you mean 'poor thing'?" Kamala asked her sharply, getting out of the car.

  "Oh nothing. She. . . ."

  Raghu laid a restraining hand on Kamala's arm. "It is all right Revabehn. Take the baby inside. Kamala is very tired."

  "Revabehn, please make us some chai. I am feeling tired. We had to wait for such a long time at the clinic," Kamala said, forcing a smile.

  "You should've gone to the doctor round the corner. He gives injections for every illness."

  "Oh, there was nothing wrong with Ammu. We only had to get her vaccinated," said Raghu.

  "Did it pain you a lot, my little bulbul? Where did that wicked doctor give the injection? In your arm or leg? What a cruel doctor! Don't be afraid. I'll do 'choo mantar' and make the pain disappear. . . ." Revabehn carried the sleeping baby inside the house while Kamala and Raghu followed her.

  "Now tell me. . . ." Kamala began.

  "Sh. . . I don't want Revabehn to hear our conversation. Wait till she's gone."

  Kamala was horrified. "But she'll leave only in the evening!"

  "Then send her away earlier."

  "Maybe I can ask her to come back after some time, when you have gone to work."

  Raghu tied a dhoti round his waist and removed his trousers deftly. "I'm taking the day off."

  "Are you okay?" Kamala touched his forehead.

  He brushed her hand aside. "Nothing's wrong. Just tired, that's all."

  "It is the tension. I feel exhausted too – as if I have run a hundred miles! Revabehn. . . is the chai ready? Sa'ab is waiting," she called.

  Even as she shouted, the maid entered with a cup in each hand.

  "What happened to the tray? I've told you.

  "That's all right," Raghu took a cup from the maid. "Revabehn, I have taken leave today. If you have any urgent work at home you can go."

  "You mean I can take chutti today?"

  "Well, yes. I hope you have finished all the chores?" asked Kamala.

  "That I have, long ago. I did want to visit my brother. Maybe I can. . ."

  "Good, do that. You deserve a break too."

  Revabehn looked at Kamala and Raghu, smiled knowingly at them and left the room.

  "Did you see that?" Kamala was shocked. "The audacity of that woman!"

  "Well, you wanted to talk and I didn't want her to listen. The purpose is served. How does it matter what she thinks?"

  Revabehn had added too much sugar in the tea as usual and Kamala found it cloying. The idea of having something sweet so soon after hearing such news about her daughter's condition appalled her. She kept the cup down and turned to her husband.

  "What is the meaning of genetic disorder?"

  "Well . . . that there is something wrong in the genes."

  "Genes?"

  "You know, genes. . . that's what we all have. . . some characteristic that runs in the family. . ."

  "There is nothing wrong with my family. We're all normal."

  "Are you hinting there's something wrong with mine?"

  "No, no, I didn't mean anything like that. Maybe there is some cousin or aunt on my side who . . . anyway, the doctor didn't specify what's wrong with Ammu."

  "That's what she meant by genetic disorder. Ammu . . . our little baby won't be . . .like other children," Raghu sank his face into his hands.

  "You mean. . . she will be. . .? She is. . .? You are wrong, the doctor is wrong. The other doctor is just a boy, what will he know? You are all jealous of me, that I have such a lovely baby. She's not like anyone else in the whole world. She's special, very precious to me. You know that and you're trying to hurt me. . ." Kamala had got up from her chair and was screaming at Raghu.

  He looked up wearily at her, "Don't shout. The neighbours may hear you. The walls are so thin. Sit down. Maybe the doctor was wrong after all. We'll go to someone else for a second opinion. . ."

  Kamala did not hear him.

  "But what if she is right?" she continued talking loudly to herself. "What if there is something wrong with Ammu? Why? What harm did we do to deserve such a fate? What did the little one do? Who will marry her? What will become of her? Oh God, why are you doing this to us? Didn't you get anyone else? W
hat sin have I committed that you are punishing me like this? Are you jealous of our happiness?"

  She crumpled to the ground.

  "Don't cry. This is not because of anything you or I did. It just happens. . ." said Raghu, lifting her up.

  "But why us?"

  "Isn't that what everyone will say?"

  "I don't care about others. My daughter. Why my daughter?" She beat her hands on his chest and cried. Raghu patted her back. There was a faint noise from the bedroom.

  "Kamala, control yourself. She's awake. Ammu must be hungry, go and see."

  She wiped her face with the end of her sari pallu and went to fetch her daughter.

  "Don't you think we should go to the doctor once again and find out what to do next?" asked Raghu.

  "No! I don't want to have anything to do with that woman! She doesn't know what she's talking about. We'll go to another doctor," Kamala insisted, as she nursed the baby.

  Just taking a decision, even if it was only to postpone the inevitable seemed to lighten their mood though not for long. That night was one of the worst Kamala auntie had ever experienced.

  ***

  3

  amala auntie would not concede that Amrita was different from other children.

  "If I had known that I would fail so miserably to train my daughter, I wouldn't even have started it. Raghu did tell me not to waste my time on her," she told me as we sat at the dining table. Now that she had begun telling me about her eldest daughter perhaps she'd tell me about Maya too and, of course, Raghu. That was part of my agenda, finding out as much as I can about Raghu and his family.

  "What do you know about training such children?" he had asked Kamala auntie. "You are not qualified for it. Why do you want to experiment? If you insist on going ahead with this crazy idea, do it alone, don't ask me for any help. I'm not going to waste time on something that may not even succeed. Let's get a trained ayah to look after her and get on with our own lives."

  Kamala auntie had got books instead. With all the earnestness of a student, she had compared her daughter with the case studies, took down notes and drawn a plan of action to rehabilitate her child.

  "We will forget about appa," she told her baby daughter. "We don't really need his help, do we? No. We'll work quietly and surprise him one day. He'll say, 'My precious darling! How did you learn so much? And the doctors thought you were retarded. . .'"

  "I don't like this word 'retarded'. You are only different from others. That doesn't mean you are hopeless, to be written off. Your brain is like soft dough that's all. I'll mould you into a good shape," she said, chucking under the baby's chin and getting a toothless smile in response.

  "I'm also going to talk a lot to you. This is what the books suggest, 'Talk, describe, explain even if the baby doesn't understand.' So I'll tell you what I'm doing with you and why, okay? We'll first concentrate on building up your muscles. You are a floppy baby because your muscles lack strength. This is why you can't hold your head up for long."

  She laid Ammu on a rug in the balcony. Sunlight filigreed through the leaves of the neem tree outside the house and fell on the baby in shifting patterns.

  "Massaging is good for the body. If it hadn't been for Lakshmikutty I wouldn't have recovered so quickly after giving birth to you. How many women complain of backache and stiffness but look at me, like a supple bamboo shoot thanks to Lakshmi's magic hands and herbs."

  Even thinking of that blissful hour while Lakshmi kneaded strength into her body still recovering from her recent parturition made Kamala yawn widely. She would lie on a reed mat while Lakshmi rubbed medicinal oil on her as if pushing it in through the pores of the skin. The bath that followed was no less relaxing, in water that had been boiled with special roots and leaves and cooled to tepidity. Kamala shook her head to rouse herself from the languor that overtook her suddenly and looked at the baby with watery eyes.

  "Oh, I could go off to sleep just thinking of her massage!" she remarked. "You should have seen Lakshmi! Short, dark and fat yet so brisk and energetic. Always dressed in a spotless off-white dhoti, blouse and a length of white cloth tucked in at the waist and thrown over her ample bosom," Kamala told her daughter.

  "Whatever the weather our Lakshmikutty wouldn't venture out without her umbrella. Her hair showed no sign of greying even though she was in her mid-fifties. How I used to envy her long hair! She knew that and took care not to let it down in case I cast an evil eye on it. She knotted it at the nape and kept her head slightly forward to maintain her balance. It made her look meek but there was nothing submissive about her, let me tell you. The way she used to boss over me . . . shooting words like pellets from a gun! But she was a real professional and very, very good at her work."

  On the first day Lakshmi had told Kamala's mother, "Give me an old sari. I don't want oil stains on my new dhoti. I have to share it with my husband. The zari is real, not like the yellow thread you get these days."

  Then she had turned to Kamala.

  "So, you have had a baby. Good. Girl or boy? Girl? Not so good. You'll need a dowry to get rid of her. I have two sons. They brought money home with their wives. Don't feel bad. You are young. You may still be blessed with a son. Don't give a long gap between the two. Tell your husband that. It is good to bring up the kids together. Good for them and for the parents. You won't have to worry about them in your old age. Also tell your husband only two, no more, boy or girl. A woman's body needs rest. She is not a machine. If you take proper care of yourself, your man will not stray from you. Otherwise some other woman will snap him up and you'll be nowhere. Don't smile, girl. Lakshmikutty is not made of hollow words and he knows that, my husband. I have him here. . ." she had thrust her right fist at Kamala and clicked two fingers crisply.

  "If I do this he will come running. He knows he cannot play games with his Lakshmi. He also knows that the moment I catch him with another woman, he's finished. So is she, the harlot. I am a tough woman, let them not have any doubt about that. He may be a forgetful Dushyant but I am no forgiving Shakuntala," Lakshmi looked grim, as though she was confronting the culprits.

  Before Kamala could burst into laughter, her mother had said, "Lakshmi, it's getting late. You'd better get started soon. I don't want the baby to wake up and cry for her feed while you're still working on the mother."

  "This is the way Lakshmi massaged me. She took the oil in her hand . . . we don't have medicinal oil but Johnson's is good enough. It has such a nice smell. I want you to become like the Johnson baby, chubby and happy. Lakshmi would pour the oil in the palm of her hand, rub both hands together like this and then. . ."

  Kamala massaged the oil in smooth circular movements like Lakshmi had done. However, instead of the base of her palm she used the hollow on the infant's skin.

  "Lakshmi was a small woman but she had a lot of strength. You, my little baby cannot bear too much force so we'll do it gently. Like this . . . like this. . ."

  Round and round her hand flew like a kite cut loose from its string. Under the even pressure of her hand Ammu's fair skin turned a light pink and then cleared. Her eyes were closed but the baby was not sleeping, only enjoying the massage as much as her mother had done.

  Kamala was cautious while oiling the head, her fingers barely skimming over the gently throbbing fontanelle though she cupped the back of the head and ran her hand from side to side. She warmed the oil with the heat of her palms and massaged up and down the short neck, across the rounded chest, the fat thighs, dimpled knees and down to the toes, so close together that not even her little finger would get through. Soon the baby began to slip and slide on the mat and Kamala had to hold her in place with one hand while massaging with the other.

  "There you are! Now we'll do some exercises," she said at last, catching the slippery little feet firmly in her hands and stretching the legs. She then slowly pushed them up till the knees touched the belly. She pulled them out once again and gently crossed them, right over the left; left leg over the right. It was then
the turn of the hands. Ammu monkey-gripped Kamala's thumbs as her mother brought the hands over the little chest, raised them, brought them down and held them to the sides.

  "Like an army man doing his exercise . . . except that you are on the floor. You have so much to learn, my little one. How to turn over, crawl, stand without support and how to walk. Then you'll run, jump and skip. . . . Let's begin. This is how you turn over."

  Kamala rocked the baby from side to side like a seesaw, singing all the while.

  "Like a ship a-sailing, a-sailing in the sea.

  See the ship a-rolling, rolling o'er the sea.

  The sailors are all falling, tumpittee, tumpittee dee

  Ammu's come to help them, him and him and he.

  See the ship. . . ."

  "What are you doing?" asked Raghu, standing at the doorway.

  "Oh, I'm teaching her how to turn over. She's already eight months, high time she turned onto her stomach."

  "She'll catch a cold before she does that. You'd better give her a bath now. Is lunch ready? I'm getting late. Today's Sunday but I have to meet a couple of clients."

  "Everything's on the table. Help yourself . . . if you don't mind," she added and turned to the baby once more, "Now, let's give you a bath."

  That took long too since Kamala was still talking to her, sprinkling water on her and massaging the flat head and nose. By the time she brought the baby out of the bathroom wrapped in a thick Turkish towel, Ammu was very sleepy. She nodded through the elaborate process of getting dried, powdered and dressed. She didn't want her feed but Kamala would not let her sleep on an empty stomach. She tickled her soles, scratched her ears and blew on her legs forcing Ammu to suckle. Kamala didn't mind the time it took to nurse Ammu, just as she did not grudge spending several hours every day, teaching her daughter what a normal child would have done routinely in the process of growing up.

  It was only when she sat down to eat did she notice that once again Raghu had left home without having his lunch. It used to worry her at first but soon it was her daughter who was causing her greater concern. When Ammu should have been standing without support and trying to take a few steps she was still crawling on all fours, unsteadily and laboriously following her mother around the house like a puppy. Kamala tried to be positive about the delay.