Chapter 43 #2
Soon all of them had a suggestion to help and a story to go with it.
As I walked around the room, sometimes bending my knees and bouncing up and down, I realized they knew far more about my situation than I did.
The Spirits had claimed my mother so long ago, and I hadn’t spoken to Tara yet because I’d thought I had more time.
But these women knew.
They had seen this before and knew they would see it again, and they were determined to see me through it.
Gone were the frazzled, conflicting orders to each other.
Calm reigned as they took shifts walking with me and applying the heat pack as I leaned on the sturdy arms of my jute sofa and chairs until Tara arrived.
She surveyed the room critically but gave an approving nod. “Keep a kettle on the fire. Two, if you can. And we’ll need clean cloth. As much as you can get.”
“The baby can’t be coming,” I said. “It’s too early.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “You don’t get to choose.”
Before I had a chance to craft what I was certain would be a stinging retort, my baby made the truth in Tara’s words abundantly clear: There was a popping feeling inside of me—as if a bubble had burst—and a gush of liquid poured down my leg.
“What is that?” I stared at the puddle that was still growing at my feet. “That can’t be normal.”
“It’s very normal.” Tara ignored it, and she kept her hand on my stomach as she listened to my heartbeat. “Now shush.”
Two women rushed to my side, each taking an elbow.
“Why are you—” I understood before I could finish my question.
A pain unlike anything I had ever experienced tore through my back and forward to my stomach, and I would have collapsed had it not been for the two women beside me.
My bones wanted to split open as a fire seared through my marrow spaces, coursing its way through my body, and I fought the urge to fall to my knees. I screamed with all my soul.
“It is a wave, Rani,” Tara said. “It will crest and then it will fall. Breathe.”
I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, riding the wave I was determined to tame.
Power surged through me as I rebuilt myself and made myself stronger. This baby would not be born to a cowering mother. My child would be born in defiance; they would be forged by it, and resilience would be impregnated in their bones.
One of the women next to me quietly began to sing, and the others took up her song.
I couldn’t understand their words as I focused on my breathing, but I loved their singing.
It gave the moment a rhythm, a tempo I could sway to.
A way to let time slide over me as I glided on their melody, refusing to succumb to the pain.
Tara shook my shoulder. “Rani, lie down, now!”
I was lowered onto my bed, and Tara positioned herself by my feet.
The short girl with blushing cheeks held one of my hands, and an older woman with crinkly black eyes kept hold of the other.
The waves had built up now, and they crashed one after the other with only the chance to take a few deep breaths in between.
“Push!” Tara said.
“Push what?” I screamed back at her. Sweat streamed down my face and plastered my curls to my skin as I squeezed the hands of the women with a stronger grip than I knew I had.
The young girl winced but had the wisdom to stay silent, and the older woman just put her other hand over mine as she nodded encouragingly.
“Push down!” Tara said. “When you feel the wave coming, push as it builds, then breathe as it retreats.”
I did my best to listen, strange as it was. It was surreal: the crushing pain inside, the soft sheets cradling my rock-hard stomach, and the circle of women around me ready with hot water, cloth, and hands to hold, all the while carrying the melody that had kept me from losing myself.
I pushed with all my might as the women around me called out their encouragement and Tara nodded her approval. I screamed all the words that my uncle had commanded I forget when I overheard them in the practice rings, and I pulled my knees toward my elbows.
“Baby’s head is out!” Tara cried triumphantly.
The women were clapping, but I didn’t see any reason to celebrate.
“Just the head?” I screamed. “What about the rest?”
“Push as hard as you can with the next one,” Tara said. “Once the shoulders are out, it’s easy from there.”
“None of this is—” I stopped short and let loose a guttural scream. “Aaaaaaaargh!”
There was a huge relief of pressure, and Tara scooped something into her arms, rubbing it with a warm, wet cloth. After a few moments, a smile lit up her face, and there was a fierce little cry as a fist rose out from the fabric that was wrapped around my baby.
“She is small,” Tara said. “But she is strong.”
A girl. The Spirits had blessed me with a daughter.
Tara gave me my precious little girl. Her hazel eyes were as round as Ektha’s, and she had thick black hair. Her tiny hand gripped my finger with surprising strength.
“My little miracle,” I said. “If only you knew how the world shifted to make sure you were born here.”
At the sound of my voice, she quieted and curled onto my chest, sharing my warmth as she lay over my heart.
As I held her, I told her of all the beauty she would soon see for herself.
She would grow up in Ullal, among its forests and fields and the beaches that tasted of salt and spice.
She would hear the crashes of the waves on our shores and the howls of the winds whipping through our trees.
She would taste sweet mangoes at the peak of their ripeness and revel in the scent of the freshly bloomed jasmine blossoms. Ullal would flow through her blood, as it had for me and my sister, for my uncle and mother, and for generations and generations before us.
“Trimuladevi,” I said, stroking her forehead in awe. “The next rani of Ullal.”