Wild Boar in the Cane Field

by Anniqua Rana

  How often did she meet with Sultan in her dreams? I tried not to wake her while I fumbled around in Sultan’s tin box under my old bed. I could feel the buttons on his outfit folded neatly inside. As I scraped my hand on the bottom of the box, I felt a few pens and pencils and two books.

  My baby kicked me, wanting me to straighten up and give her more space, but I stayed hunched, looking for those earrings. I pulled at the box and pushed my hand farther back until I felt the hook of one earring. The other had gotten separated, and it took me a few more minutes to find it.

  “Who is it?” Amman Bhaggan had woken up.

  “Me, Amman. I’ll be back with your meal just now.” I thought this would be enough to calm her.

  “Just a piece of roti and some tea, nothing else,” she said. But then she asked, “Why are you down there?”

  I stood up, holding the earrings tight in my right fist. I chose not to move the box back under the bed, to avoid Bhaggan’s suspicion. I would return it when she wouldn’t notice.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, and I rushed out of the room.

  When I returned to Saffiya’s room, I was relieved to hear water splashing in the bathroom. She was still preparing for her prayers. I pulled her keys from under her pillow, but just then the bathroom door opened.

  “Pass me the prayer mat,” she said, wrapping her dopatta around her and tightening it to keep her hair securely hidden.

  I had the earrings in one hand and the keys in the other, keeping both fists closed. Very deftly, I managed to push the prayer mat in her direction.

  As I turned, she stood on the mat, and that was when I decided I’d have to return the earrings while she was in the room. I knew she would be looking at the prayer mat while she prayed, so I announced flippantly, “Your cupboard lock seems to be open.” Even though she rarely left her room, she never left her cupboard unlocked. “I’ll lock it before I leave for the night.”

  With my right hand, I opened the lock with the key, slid the earrings under a pile of clothes, then locked the door. Before I left, I placed the keys back under the pillow as if I were straightening the bed and returned to the kitchen.

  I had done it. The next morning, when Saffiya pulled out her clothes, she would see the earrings and would no longer be able to blame Taaj for stealing from her.

  My accomplishment revitalized me. The palpitations of my heart energized me to do the one last thing for the day: take Bhaggan her tea with half a roti, on which I would spread some butter and sprinkle some of Bhaggan’s favorite sugar.

  As I sat down at the stove to make her tea, I felt some moisture in my shalwar. In my pregnancy, my body was no longer fully my own. Things that I could not explain happened to it. My feet swelled, my breasts got larger, my hair grew more than it ever had before. The moisture was probably part of the same changes, and anyway, my due date was a month away. I had just this one last thing to do, and then I would be able to lie down and rest.

  As I walked toward Bhaggan’s room with the tea in one hand, I realized I had left her door ajar when I’d taken the earrings. I hoped no night animal, like a field rat, had strayed into the room. They terrified me. But this wasn’t the season for them, and I couldn’t hear any scuttling. It was a still night. Even the hyenas were quiet.

  I pushed open the door a bit more to make room for my baby to enter, and I smiled to myself. Everyone would spoil this baby: Bhaggan, Maria, Maalik, and most of all, me. I didn’t have too much hope about Bibi Saffiya’s caring for her, but the love she got would be more than what anyone else I knew had.

  The moon was now very bright, and I was afraid that Bhaggan would complain about it. I looked up, surprised at the stillness of the room. No field rats, no snoring, no heavy breathing. My hand went limp, and the tea scalded my arm as the cup shattered on the floor. Still no noise.

  Bhaggan’s hazel eyes were open, and they stayed open. She was looking directly through me. I tripped on the corner of Sultan’s tin box as I moved toward her bed. The noise was jarring, but the sharp pain on my shin made me cry out. As I straightened myself, Bhaggan lay in the same position, eyes unblinking, staring through me. In disbelief, I moved closer, to touch her. To wake her up, even if it angered her. Her hand was still warm, but I knew she would never wake.

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t feel. I couldn’t scream.

  I turned toward the door. In front of the house, the moonlight created a path toward the fields. That was where I would go. I didn’t care how long it would take, but I would find Maalik. I had to tell him what had happened. He would know what to do.

  Birth Canal

  The moon had turned a pale yellow as it began to set on the horizon. I couldn’t tell how long I had been walking, but I had still only reached the canal bank.

  “During a full moon, babies are born before their time,” Bhaggan had said to the midwife earlier that day. Bhaggan was aware of the seasons and the movements of the heavens, but to me they were a backdrop with no direct impact on my life. Bhaggan’s experiences took on a new meaning for me now that she was dead. It was as if she spoke from above, was guiding me toward the cane field. Or was I imagining it? My back pain was testimony to the truth she spoke.

  I should have listened to her. Remembered her wisdom before leaving the house.

  Why had I forgotten myself upon seeing Bhaggan’s lifeless body? Yes, I needed to get to Maalik, but surely he wouldn’t want me walking all this distance in the dark. I should have thought of my daughter. What would happen if my time came now, out here with no one to help me? With no one to care for her? I had made a choice that would leave my own daughter in the same precarious situation in which I had begun my life.

  The hyenas were no longer quiet. I heard a dog bark, responding to their howls. The path in front of me was darkening, and I could no longer tell where I was going. I followed the hyenas’ mourning howls, knowing that the barking dogs meant that Maalik was close by. I stumbled down the path that led to the cane fields. I forgot the pain of my swollen feet. I ignored the liquid creating a trail behind me.

  “Unclean water will leave your body and create a passage for your baby,” the midwife had explained to me. Did that mean the baby would be here sooner than I expected? Before my baby was born, I needed to find Maalik. He needed to know about his mother.

  But how would I tell him? Bhaggan had made the long journey to the midwife’s house to prepare for my childbirth. She had cared for me as even my own mother hadn’t. And I had let her die alone. I should have stayed with her when she was calling out to Sultan in her sleep. I should have held her hand and comforted her, let her know how much she meant to me. But now she was gone.

  I had prided myself on never crying. Now, when I needed to so badly, my tears remained inside me. I had trained my body not to react, and now it was doing what it had learned.

  Maalik would understand. It was nighttime. He would have had his bidi. He would know what I was feeling. I knew it, but I needed to get to him, and I kept stumbling, and my baby kept kicking, excited about the activity at a time when I was usually fast asleep.

  As I stumbled toward the fields, I felt a dull pain in my back. My shallow breathing made my head spin. I stopped and sat on a tree stump to try to catch my breath. I felt a dry heave wrench my body, but nothing came out. I had not eaten since I had had the biscuit with tea that the midwife had served us earlier that day. I stared at my swollen feet, now muddied by the liquid leaving my body and the dust from the path. I breathed deeply three, four times. I looked up at the night sky. The moon was disappearing, replaced with a universe of stars.

  Was Bhaggan now up in the heavens? Could I make her out in the stars above? I imagined her caring for me, even as she was no longer on this earth. I felt her warmth as a protection around me. A gnawing fear began nibbling inside me, but her memory calmed me and gave me the power to move on.

  I reminded myself to breathe deeply before my insides took control of my body again. My back pain became less inte
nse. I focused on the brightest star in the sky.

  Maalik had called me his star. Was I that one? Or the smaller one next to it that kept disappearing?

  I needed to get back up and find Maalik. I imagined him on the charpoy we shared at night. It was a cool night, but he would have stayed outside. He would be listening to hyenas and wondering why they were howling.

  I could hear the dogs, too. Where were they? What had happened to cause such a commotion?

  I pulled myself off the stump and began walking toward the canal. A few fireflies were still dancing on the water. How long would they live? They died when their light went out.

  My backache returned, this time more intense. Heavier. It was as if my baby were pushing against my stomach with her feet and leaning heavily against my back. My breathing became shallow again. The dry heaving returned. I needed to call out for Maalik, for anyone, to come. My voice would travel at this time of night, but I couldn’t bring myself to call out.

  I was now crossing the canal and could hear the hyenas. They were calling from the cane fields. What had happened that they wouldn’t stop calling? My fear began reaching for my heart. It was now feasting on my insides. It began to suffocate me, and I covered my mouth with my dopatta to keep my breath from escaping. I needed to move on and not let the fear paralyze me.

  My eyes strained as I peered into the darkness in front of me. Shadows moved, even though the night was still. I tripped over a rock and steadied myself. I was halfway between Saffiya’s house and our hovel. Would anyone find me before it was too late?

  A thin mist descended on the canal. From the fields, a rat-like animal scuttled in front of me and jumped into the water. What could have terrified it so to make it take its own life by drowning? What was hiding low in the fields? Was it someone crouching, concealing itself from the hyenas? Or was there something more ominous? The unimaginable jinn of the night? I squeezed my eyes shut and recited the prayers I had memorized under Zakia’s tutelage.

  The memory of Zakia angered me. I thought of Bhaggan again, but now I found no comfort. Was her spirit following me? Had I created such pain and anguish for her that she would haunt me for the rest of my life? Would my prayers reach her spirit? Would she be with me during the challenge? Hurriedly, I looked behind me, but could see only a darkened blur in the distance. Saffiya’s house. My home.

  I no longer had control over my body. My fear was suffocating me and pushing my insides out. The midwife had said I shouldn’t walk long distances. She had said I should stay with Saffiya until the baby came. I should have listened to her. I should have stayed home. I should have called on Bibi Saffiya when I found Bhaggan. She would have taken care of everything, like she always did.

  My baby was ready to come before I was prepared for her. She didn’t care. My legs could no longer hold up my body, and I collapsed on the canal bank. I clawed at a clump of grass, anything to steady me. But the pain consumed me.

  I lay back on the bank as the pain subsided. I fumbled to open the string that kept my shalwar up and surrendered myself to what was happening.

  The pain returned in phases, each more excruciating than the previous. Never before had I experienced such bodily torture. How would I survive it? It had such power that it had taken over my mind.

  I shut my eyes and imagined the Maryam flower. When the pain subsided for a while, I thought the magic of the memory might be working. But then it returned, even stronger. How had Bhaggan endured this time after time? The calm and confident midwife, with her loving children—she had gone through this, too. I couldn’t imagine how they had continued their lives after enduring the agony. I pushed to end it.

  And then an ecstasy enveloped me like a cloud and I gave in to it. I felt my baby exit my body. I heard a whimper, like a kitten, and then a loud, angry cry.

  I had survived. I pulled myself up to a sitting position and saw a small, bloodied body lying between my legs. Her dark hair was plastered to her skull. And then she opened her hazel eyes and looked into mine. A teardrop trickled down my cheek.

  I took my dopatta and wiped her. She was still attached to me, and I didn’t know how I would cut the cord, but I held her to my chest and she suckled my breast.

  When I lay back with her, my whole being filled with a peacefulness I could have only dreamed about. My body kept depositing liquids, and I now felt light-headed and delirious and drifted into blissful sleep, choosing to ignore, for now, the dangers around and within me.

  THE RED THREAD DISAPPEARS

  Witness

  We, the flies, were witness three times. We witnessed Tara’s desertion, and her death, and her rebirth through her daughter, Shahida.

  On the train all those years ago. Her mother, dressed in a black burka, sat on the train, holding her baby close to her. She scanned the station platform from the window. We distracted her by hovering nearby and wanted her to look down at her baby on her lap. She brushed us aside with the corner of her burka. She leaned over Tara, searching the deep crowds, waiting for someone. Two women walked toward her railway carriage, but she was not waiting for them.

  A whistle blew, and the train engine shunted, as if to begin its departure. Tara’s mother saw someone in the crowd. This excited her. She waved from the window. She shouted. The baby looked up at her. Her mother had young hands, not yet scarred by years of kitchen work. Still soft like a child’s, like the hands of the baby she held. The dirt-encrusted fingernails were bitten to the quick. No rings on her fingers, nor gold wedding bangles.

  The young mother waved and shouted again. Then she looked down at Baby Tara and placed her on the seat. She would come back; we could tell. She wanted the person she was calling to join her.

  Two women entered the carriage. One was dressed in expensive clothes, and the other looked like her maidservant. And then the train started to move and Tara’s mother never returned. The women looked in our direction as we covered Tara, protecting her from the evil eyes of the passersby.

  The women came close and swatted at us. They picked up the baby and gave her a piece of raw sugar to suck. The train moved faster, leaving the station, and from the window we saw the burka-clad figure, Tara’s mother, rush toward the carriage. She never made it, and her screams were muffled by the shrieks of the train picking up speed as it left the station and sped toward the countryside.

  We witnessed Bhaggan and Saffiya rescuing Tara and naming her. We witnessed all of Tara’s short life.

  We witnessed her death, and the birth of her daughter, Shahida, herself a witness to her mother’s death. But Tara never realized we were there for her. Her daughter knew from before she was born that we would protect her for all eternity.

  Shahida, Tara’s only daughter, was born of two fathers at the canal bank. And then a third, the maulvi, came to love her like his own.

  We saw what happened that night when Tara drifted into the eternal sleep of ecstasy after the baby came. Never knowing that her husband, Maalik, lay broken at the edge of the fields, having endured his own trauma concurrently with hers.

  While Tara staggered toward the cane fields to tell her husband about Bhaggan, we observed Maalik on his charpoy near his hovel from all around—from our lowly perch on a dung pile near the buffalo, and from the heights of the neem trees planted to shade them in the summer heat.

  Maalik reacted to the howls of his two guard dogs and walked toward them. One lay near the border of the fields, and the other hovered around. They beckoned Maalik to help, but he didn’t know which direction to go in. Hyenas had begun their night call, too.

  Somewhere between his dreams and the reality of the night, Maalik walked toward the edge of the fields. He knew something was amiss, but he didn’t know what. He would never have imagined that his wife would not return that night. He assumed she was safe in Saffiya’s house. He figured the dogs were barking to alert him that he needed to protect the buffalo. Tara would be sleeping in the same room as his mother, as she had done until a year earlier, when she had joine
d him in the hovel in the cane fields. She would eat a meal cooked by his loving mother. His baby would be safe with her.

  He didn’t care whether or not the baby was his. He had a family. He had never thought he would be so lucky as to have Tara as his wife. She had wanted Sultan, and then she had slept with Taaj. His brother could have had her forever, but he had left, and Maalik now had a life he could never have imagined for himself. He recalled that early morning when he’d hidden behind the bushes to watch Sultan pinning the chameli garlands to Tara’s luscious braid, which swung erotically when she went to the hand pump every morning.

  Lost in the pleasure of his memories, Maalik picked up his gun and walked away from the buffalo toward the dogs. He entered farther into the darkness and saw a pair of beady eyes glinting from the fields. He pulled his gun closer to his side and moved toward the dogs. A baby boar lay next to his dog. It must have been pulled from its nest in the field. Its mother’s eyes glistened from beyond, and the cane around her stirred as she waited—for retribution for those responsible for killing her young.

  Maalik looked at his faithful surviving dog and then at the one that the mother had attacked. The hyenas’ howls became louder. They smelled blood and were waiting for more. Maalik knew he would not be able to outrun the boar. He’d never shot the gun and wasn’t even sure how it worked. He had never thought he’d have to use it, and now he needed to protect himself and his dog.

  We witnessed the horrific eruption of a mother’s fury and the helplessness of a man and a dog facing that rage. We watched the foolhardy loyalty of a dog for its master, and the disadvantages of a man with a gun that he had never learned to shoot. We watched the orgy of blood and guts as the hyena orchestra played in celebration of the feast that awaited them.

  We, the flies, the witnesses, observed the beloved of Tara lying near the buffalo chewing their cud, oblivious to the severity of their owner’s condition. We flew toward him to see if he still breathed. He was covered in blood. His life had been spared, but the horror of having been mauled by a boar emanated from his wide-open, hazel eyes. He had seen and experienced terror that erased all his loving memories of Bhaggan, Tara, and the baby whose birth he was awaiting.