[28] PREGNANT
The final aarti ended with the ringing of bells and a shower of flower petals.
Panditji distributed warm, sugary prasad; everyone took a handful, touched it to their forehead, then ate.
Amisha felt the exhaustion hit her like a soft hammer.
The heavy saree, the early morning, last night's... activities; everything suddenly weighed a thousand kilos.
She found Minakshi Ma near the tulsi platform.
"Maa, bahut thakan lag rahi hai... main thodi der ke liye room mein jaake let jaati hoon.
Koi kaam ho toh bula lena."
Ma patted her cheek.
"Ja beta, kal se tune haveli akeli sambhali hai.
Araam kar."
Amisha gave a tired smile, touched Ma's feet quickly, and slipped away before anyone else could stop her for gossip or work.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Blessed quiet.
She kicked off her mojris, payals chiming faintly, and stumbled toward the bed.
The heavy lavender-pink tissue saree felt like armour now.
She reached back to undo the pins, tugged weakly at the pallu... then gave up.
"No power left..." she mumbled to no one.
She collapsed face-first onto the cool rajai, saree still perfectly draped but now crumpled beneath her, pallu flung over the pillow like a tired flag of surrender.
Within three breaths she was gone,
sleep pulling her under so fast she didn't even manage to pull a sheet over herself.
The room settled into soft silence,
only the faint tinkle of her new payal when her foot twitched in dreams,
and the gentle rise and fall of her back as the haveli carried on outside.
The door opened without a sound.
Abhiraj stepped in and stopped.
Amisha was sprawled across the bed exactly where she had fallen, still in the heavy tissue saree, one arm flung above her head, pallu half on the floor.
Her breathing was deep and slow, but even from the doorway he could see the faint flush high on her cheeks and the way she kept shifting uncomfortably, the thick border scratching at her waist.
He crossed the room in three quiet strides, sat on the edge of the bed, and brushed a loose strand from her face.
Her skin was warmer than it should be, lips slightly dry, cheeks pink.
Worry flickered.
Carefully, gently, he unpinned the pallu, loosened the pleats, slid the heavy saree off her like shedding armour.
He fetched the softest white cotton gagra and her favourite light-blue short kurti from the almirah, changed her the way one changes a sleeping child (slow, reverent, kissing her forehead when she sighed in her sleep).
She never woke.
When he tucked the kurti in and smoothed it down, his palm rested on her lower belly for a second.
Still warm.
He frowned, stood, and went straight to the door.
"Maa!" he called down the corridor, voice low but urgent.
Minakshi Ma appeared almost instantly, followed by Badi Saasuma and Megha.
Abhiraj didn't waste words.
"Amisha ko bukhaar lag raha hai. Doctor ko bula dete hain."
Within fifteen minutes the entire family was gathered outside the room, voices hushed.
Dr. Shukla, the old family physician who still made house calls to the sarpanch's haveli, arrived with his small black bag.
They let him in quietly.
Amisha lay on her side now, curled like a child, lips parted, breathing steady.
Dadi sat at the head of the bed, stroking her hair.
Minakshi Ma and Abhiraj stood close, worry carved deep on both faces.
The doctor checked her pulse, temperature, looked at her tongue, then gently pressed and palpated her lower abdomen.
He smiled, the kind, crinkly-eyed smile that had announced half the babies in the village.
"Pet se hai yeh,"
he said simply.
Silence for one heartbeat.
Then the room exploded into quiet, joyful chaos.
Minakshi Ma's hands flew to her mouth, eyes instantly wet.
Badi Saasuma let out a delighted laugh and touched the doctor's feet in thanks.
Megha actually squealed, then clapped both hands over her mouth.
Dadi leaned down and kissed Amisha's sleeping forehead again and again, whispering blessings.
And Abhiraj...
Abhiraj's face broke into the biggest, toothiest, most boyish grin anyone had ever seen on him, rare, unguarded, shining like the sun had just risen inside his chest.
He dropped to his knees beside the bed, took Amisha's hand very gently so as not to wake her, and pressed it to his lips, then rested his forehead against her fingers.
Outside the door, the whole family was crying and laughing at the same time.
Inside, Amisha slept on, peaceful, flushed, unaware that the haveli already had its newest, tiniest member on the way.
And Abhiraj couldn't stop smiling.
The sun had dipped low, painting the room in soft orange and gold.
The haveli outside buzzed with quiet, delighted voices (everyone gathered in the hall, whispering, laughing, planning).
Inside, Abhiraj sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, just watching Amisha sleep.
She was curled on her side, hugging a pillow like it was a teddy bear, lips slightly parted, one foot sticking out from under the light blanket.
Every few minutes his gaze drifted to her still-flat belly, and the biggest, goofiest smile spread across his face.
Father.
He was going to be a father.
The thought made his chest feel too small for his heart.
Then the smile softened.
She would have to go through so much pain... nine months, the delivery...
His fingers brushed her cheek gently, eyes darkening with sudden protectiveness.
Amisha stirred.
A tiny, sleepy yawn, arms stretching above her head like a lazy kitten.
She blinked, saw him sitting there staring, and mumbled in the cutest, drowsy voice:
"Aap yahaan kyun aise baithe ho...?"
Abhiraj's grin came back full force.
"Good news hai."
She snuggled deeper into the pillow, eyes half-closed.
"Kya..."
Voice muffled by cotton.
He couldn't hold it in anymore.
"Ghar mein baccha aane wala hai."
Her eyes snapped open, suddenly bright.
"Kiska? Shatish ya Shushila ka?"
He laughed softly.
"Abhi toh shaadi ko do din bhi nahi hue."
She frowned, brain still slow.
"Toh phir...?"
Her gaze flicked toward the door (clearly thinking of Minakshi Ma and Rajveer Papa).
Abhiraj lightly tapped her cheek.
"Hey! Dimag ke ghode daudao mat."
She pouted.
"Sorry sorry... kiska baccha?"
He leaned close, voice soft, eyes shining.
"Hamara."
Amisha blinked.
"Okay..."
Two seconds.
Her eyes went comically wide.
"KYA?!"
Abhiraj laughed.
"Hamara baccha. Tum pet se ho."
She sat up slowly, mouth open.
"Arre par mujhe toh pata hi nahi... kab hua? Kaise hua?"
"Tum so rahi thi tab doctor aaya tha. Usne bataya."
"Mujhe toh kuchh pata hi nahi chala!"
She looked genuinely shocked.
"Mujhe toh kuchh feel hi nahi ho raha-na ulti, na sar dard, kuchh bhi!"
The moment the words left her mouth, her face changed.
Eyes widened again (this time in panic).
She slapped a hand over her mouth, bolted out of bed, and ran for the bathroom.
Abhiraj was right behind her, half-laughing, half-worried, hand already at her back as she knelt over the basin.
Morning sickness had officially arrived.
Five minutes late, but very dramatic.
He rubbed slow circles between her shoulder blades, voice warm and teasing through her retching.
"Ab feel ho raha hai na, maa?"
Amisha could only groan in reply.
But even through the misery, the corner of her mouth lifted in a tiny, dazed smile.
Their baby had perfect timing.
Amisha stumbled out of the bathroom, face still pale but eyes shining like diyas.
The moment her bare feet touched the cool marble, she let out a delighted squeal and scrambled straight onto the bed, bouncing on her knees like a little girl.
"Main maa banne wali hoon!"
She threw her arms up, laughing, hair flying everywhere, kurti riding up to her thighs.
Abhiraj's heart did a flip.
He stood at the foot of the bed, arms half-raised, panic and fondness fighting on his face.
"Amisha! Gir jaogi, utro!"
She paid zero attention, still bouncing, spinning in a tiny happy circle on the mattress.
"Main maa banne wali hoon, Abhiraj! Maa!"
One over-enthusiastic bounce and her balance tipped.
He lunged forward just in time, arms wrapping tight around her waist as she toppled toward the edge.
"Careful!"
He caught her, pulling her safely against his chest, her feet dangling inches above the floor.
"Khud bachhi ho, bacche ko kaise sambhalogi?"
Amisha looped her arms around his neck, legs kicking in the air, grinning ear to ear.
"Aap bhi toh ho na!" she shot back, nose scrunched.
"Hum dono milke sambhal lenge!"
He hummed, low and happy, the sound rumbling in his chest.
Then, still holding her suspended, he spun her once, slowly, like they were dancing.
She squealed again, clutching him tighter, laughter spilling out bright and unstoppable.
He finally set her down (only to scoop her right back up, this time cradling her properly against him, her legs around his waist, arms around his neck).
His forehead rested against hers.
"Haan," he whispered, voice thick with joy.
"Hum dono milke sambhal lenge... meri maa."
Amisha's eyes welled up instantly, but the smile never left her face.
Outside, the evening azaan drifted faintly over the fields.
Inside, two brand-new parents held each other tight, spinning slowly in the golden light, already madly in love with the tiny life they hadn't even met yet.