Sadashiv and his wife, Vimal, took care of the cousin even though he wasn’t very close to them. They sent the son a telegram, informing him of his father’s demise. But the son never replied. Nor did he come. This particular camel had occupied the only bedroom in the house for the past three months. During that time, Sadashiv had slept in the balcony. He did some mental arithmetic to see if the camel had brought him any benefit at all. He concluded that he had saved some money, because Vimal hadn’t needed to take contraceptive pills for the last three months!
This is what I meant by the caravan of camels.
All they need is for the Arab to be patient.
Some camels come in the form of relatives, some as friends. One can ignore them if push comes to shove, but what about the government-owned camels?
They enter your mind and your pockets.
They eat up your mental peace and your hard-earned money.
The camels then enter your private domain.
They decide the number of children you’re allowed to have.
Government advertisements issued the diktat from public hoardings. What, earlier, was a strictly personal matter was now being publicly discussed.
There was no more romance and poetry left in the discussion.
The charm of the blessing ‘ashtaputri bhava’ was sacrificed at the mundane altar of affordability. We welcomed this camel too. We watched plays about birth control with our children in our laps.
How did we start giving in so much?
The credit goes to the caravan of camels. We mortgaged not only our homes but our self-esteem as well.
It was for this very reason that Sadashiv decided to visit a doctor after having two children.
‘I suggest you get the procedure done. Then you’ll be totally safe.’
That was the doctor’s advice.
Sadashiv kept quiet.
He knew that the procedure would be irreversible, and that he would never be able to have children in the future. The power bestowed upon him by nature would be extinguished forever. It was a huge sacrifice.
But then, one had to be aware of current realities: lack of space, increasing inflation, barely adequate income, etc.
It had to be done. It couldn’t be helped.
But if…
Sadashiv didn’t dare pursue that thought. For that thought led to ominous things. We curse ourselves for getting such thoughts, but it’s difficult to stop them once they start.
It happened to Sadashiv too.
The moment that ‘if’ entered his head, the fear that he may lose one of his children followed, leaving him shaken. When Sadashiv didn’t say anything for a while, the doctor asked,
‘How old are your children?’
‘The elder one’s a daughter, four years old, and the younger fellow is one and a half.’
‘Then don’t get operated.’
Sadashiv understood why the doctor was saying this. He, too, must have been thinking about the consequences of a mishap. That made the thought even more appalling. In order to stop this line of thinking, he said,
‘Doctor, you needn’t worry. I’m willing to go ahead with the procedure.’
‘I wouldn’t advise it. Your son is young. I suggest you wait for another five years.’
‘As you say.’
The doctor was silent for a while.
‘I’ll give you some pills. They have the dates and days written on them. Your wife will need to take them for twenty-one nights. She should take care not to miss them. If she follows the instructions, you don’t need to worry about anything else.’
Sadashiv left, feeling happy.
The doctor gave him detailed instructions – on when to stop, how many days to skip before starting the next course, and other such points.
A caravan of twenty-one camels was now a permanent fixture in Sadashiv and Vimal’s lives.
The cousin who had been unwell and had lived in Sadashiv’s house, had said once, ‘Don’t fall for any family-planning techniques, okay?’
‘But why do you say that?’
‘You might have to face a situation like mine. That’s why I like what Janardan did. Do you know him?’
‘No.’
‘I’m telling you, he had foresight. He has many children – most of them sons. He had to struggle a bit initially, but he lives like a king now.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Arre, all the children are earning now. One of them is with the state transport, one with the railways, one a doctor, one a lawyer, one a film-maker and one a shop inspector. Janardan has no troubles now. He gets tickets when he has to travel. There’s a doctor at home whenever required. He gets everything from shops at the lowest price. For his every need, he has a son who can take care of it. He was smart. We were fools.’
‘What happened in your case?’
‘I had just one son. So the responsibility for taking care of his old parents fell entirely on him. Do you know why he doesn’t keep in touch with us?’
Sadashiv didn’t reply.
‘He’s not afraid of his father. He’s afraid of poverty.’
The cousin began to weep.
A few days passed. Sadashiv and Vimal were discussing possible careers for their son. Vimal said, ‘The way people crowd the trains, I feel he should be an officer in the railways.’
The cousin interrupted,
‘This is what happens when you have only one son. All the responsibilities fall on him. We want him to fulfil all our dreams.’
‘But we can’t afford to have more.’
The cousin erupted,
‘We don’t feed ourselves – the Lord does. It is our ego which makes us believe that we raise our children. It will be difficult in the beginning. You’ll have to manage. But then the future will be bright. If I had two more sons, do you think I’d need to take shelter in your house? I truly believe we need more children. If one refuses, we can go to the other.’
He died soon after. But he left behind this piece of advice.
It was logical but unaffordable.
It was easier to live with the twenty-one camels.
The times are changing, as I’d said earlier. With the changing times come changing needs and changing
