His wife answered, ‘She has been suffering from an awful pain in her chest since the afternoon; she is in great agony.’
‘I should go and fetch the doctor immediately. Any delay may cause the malady to worsen. Ammaji, Ammaji, how are you feeling?’
His mother opened her eyes and spoke in an anguished tone, ‘Son, have you arrived? Now I will not live. Haye Bhagwan, I will not live now! It seems that somebody is piercing a knife through my heart. I have never suffered such awful pain. I have grown old but I have never been ill with anything like this all my life.’
‘I wonder in what inopportune moment this ill-omened child was born!’ said Damodar’s wife.
‘Son, whatever happens is divinely ordained; the miserable child knows nothing about it! Look, if I die, do not give her any trouble. It is better that I am afflicted with the consequence of her birth. Someone had to endure the consequence, so I am suffering. Haye Bhagwan, I will not live now.’
‘Let me go and fetch the doctor. I will be back soon.’
Damodar’s mother wanted only to have her word honoured; she did not want money to be spent, so she countered: ‘No, son, why should you go and fetch the doctor? After all, he is not God that he will administer the nectar of immortality. He will charge money too! No doctor or vaid can do anything now. Go and change your clothes, son; sit beside me and read the Bhagavata Purana. I will not be able to survive this. Haye Ram!’
Damodar said, ‘A girl child born after three sons is undoubtedly malevolent. I thought it was a delusion, merely a delusion.’
His wife joined in, ‘That is why I’ve never spoilt her with kindness.’
‘Son, you should take good care of the child; may God bless all of you. It is good that the evil has befallen me. If I die before you, my soul will ascend to the heavens. How terrible to have the harm befall someone else. God has paid heed to my submissions. Haye! Haye!’
Damodar felt quite certain that Amma would not be able to survive the affliction. He was deeply saddened. Deep in the recesses of his heart he felt that he should not have exchanged the malevolent girl child for his mother. How did a babe in arms, who could not even offer him a glass of water, compare with his mother, who had given birth to him, who had suffered all kinds of hardship to bring him up and, who, despite having been widowed young, had educated him? In a state of profound grief, he changed his clothes and sat by his mother’s bedside, reading aloud the story of Vishnu from the Bhagavata Purana.
That night when his wife got up to prepare dinner, she asked her mother-in-law, ‘Ammaji, shall I make some sago?’
The mother-in-law replied rather mockingly, ‘Daughter, do not take my life by depriving me of grain. Do you imagine I will be able to eat sago? Go and fry some puris. I will eat whatever I feel like eating while I lie in bed; make some kachoris too. Why should I starve while I am dying? Send for some cream as well—make sure it is from the chowk. I will not come back to eat, child! Get some bananas also. They are known to ease chest aches.’
The affliction eased when she had eaten but returned in about half an hour. Only after midnight did she get some sleep. For about a week her condition remained unchanged. All day long she would lie in bed and groan; at mealtimes her pain would ease slightly. Damodar sat by her bedside and fanned her gently with a hand fan, crying over the thought of separation from her. The servant woman of the house spread the word in the neighbourhood. When the women came over to see her, they laid the blame squarely on the little girl.
One of them observed, ‘I must confess, it is a blessing that only the old woman is afflicted; else a malevolent child finds peace only after she has taken the life of either the father or the mother. God forbid the birth of a malevolent baby in anybody’s house!’
Another woman said, ‘My hair stands on end at the mere mention of a malevolent child. It is better by far that God keeps a woman barren rather than give her a malevolent child.’
After a week, the old woman recovered. She had nearly died; in fact, it was the good deeds of her ancestors that came to her rescue. Brahmins were given the gift of a cow. Only after recitals were made from sacred texts to propitiate the Goddess Durga did the situation recover.
Translated from the Hindi by Fatima Rizvi
Money for the Decree1
Naeem and Kailas were as different as chalk and cheese. Naeem was a huge, big tree; Kailas, a delicate, tender sapling. Naeem was fond of cricket, football, travelling, and hunting; Kailas loved reading. Naeem was a glib, fun-loving, uncomplicated youth who enjoyed the good things in life and never let worries of the future burden him. He thought of school as his playground and as a place where he was occasionally made to stand on the bench. Kailas, on the other hand, was a reserved, indolent, thoughtful idealist who loathed exercise and shunned extravagance. He was perpetually tormented by anxiety about the future. Naeem was the only son of an affluent, high-ranking official, while Kailas was one of the many children of an ordinary merchant. Kailas never had enough money for his books. He had to make do by borrowing them from others. Life for one was a happy dream; for the other, a burden of sorrows. In spite of these differences, they shared a deep friendship and felt a selfless, pure affection for each other. Kailas would die rather than accept a favour from Naeem, and Naeem would
