Two Days Make a Woman!

There is a limit to empathy. And writing this story has helped me realize that.

Sketch by Anurag Arora.

My feet are cold.

The blanket couldn't keep up with my growing length. Au contraire, my brothers are well under its snug spread, curled up like babies competing in a snoring contest against Papa. Every night Maa gets caught in the middle of this crossfire of cacophony. Maa doesn't mind. She doesn't have the strength to mind after her daily spar with struggles for her family's survival.

I am right on the edge of the cot that Maa scoured from the household where she works as domestic help. Every night we sleep in this order, with Papa and me laying on the edges of the cot. The cot is not any less harder than the ground but keeps the cold at bay. Papa couldn't care less about the cold. Every evening until morning, he lends his facilities to inebriety.

It's not going to be an easy night. If I curl my legs, I'll be in Earth's embrace, so I'm better off with my feet cold. As much as I love the sound of rain hitting the ground, at this cold hour, it is a noise that I don't wish to welcome. To make matters worse, Papa hasn't fixed the tarpaulin leak at the door. He promised Maa last month that he would bring some scrap from the construction site where he worked, but the spread of a certain illness took his job away. Sometimes I wonder what's more ill, having a job and catching the disease, or losing the job and struggling to survive.

Nevertheless, our house now has an added attribute; a puddle at the door. Now, Maa is the breadwinner in the family. However, the scant amount she brings home leaves us at the mercy of the do-gooders, whose sporadic appearances are a sight for sore eyes. I wish the next visitors would bring us a Blanket, for I miss dreaming.

Dreamworld trumps the real world anytime; this world of make-believe delivers me a freedom that I dare not fathom in the earthly world. In a dream that I had a few days ago while sleeping under the sun, I saw Papa like never before; he cared for Maa, even helped her cook food, buy groceries but then I was awakened by their hurling abuses and curses at each other, which culminated into Papa hitting Maa. Maa fainted and fell to the ground. Papa crouched by Maa's side, and to my amazement, he unclenched her hand, took a 200 Rupees note from her grip, and vamoosed from the sight. I hurried to her, tapped gently on her face, nudged her lightly, and then sprinkled some water on her face before she regained consciousness. However, it took another half hour for her to recover from her mournful squall. Those two hundred Rupees she attempted to safeguard were for food for the family for the next three days. Later that night, Papa returned home, barely able to stand on his feet, his hands wrapped around the shoulders of two equally frail men with dastardly mien. They staggered as they reached the Jhuggi and dropped Papa outside by the wall adjacent to the door and momentarily after departed as they continued their staggering walk and disappeared into the cluster of jhuggis. Maa, squatted by Chulha as she began to prepare dinner, was utterly indifferent to Papa's drunken demeanour and even more apathetic to his slurred speech. I watched this domestic affair in absolute awe as I fetched wood for the Chulha. Sometimes, Maa's conviction for this relationship renders me confused. Notwithstanding Papa's actions that day, she served him dinner. Every time, upon questioning about this unilateral gesture of solidarity towards the relationship, she shushes me with the words, 'You'll understand whence you become a Woman'.

Maa and Papa never sleep past dawn, giving me an extra two or three hours of warm sleep in their blanket.

I woke up to sun rays forcing their way through slits in the door and the gaps from the door left ajar, and this view makes for my very personal twilight every morning. I do sleep past dawn, but I never miss twilight. It is the first thing I always wish to experience every day of my life. The door is always ajar. It is not hinged to the wall; we drag it open and close. Our door is a union of Tarpaulin, Bamboo, wooden board, rope, and sundry nails. It's a magnificent piece of art, as a do-gooder once called it out.

Despite the pleasing effect the twilight has on me every day, today is different, for the pain in the abdomen has returned. For the last two days, I have been troubled by this excruciating pain, unlike anything I have felt before. There have been days with absent meals, but that pain is still tolerable. This one is new.

I told Maa about it yesterday while she applied cow dung to the walls and the floor. She murmured a response, but I could only understand a few words; 'papa', 'work' and 'money'. I am sure she never heard me complaining about the pain, so I left her be. The fits of melancholy have changed Maa over the last few months. We have adapted to her behaviour, as the frequency only keeps growing.

But right now I have a fit of unbearable pain in my abdomen that has left me incapacitated to remove the blanket and stand where I lay. I shout a scream calling Maa, only to be answered after a few minutes. She hurried inside the Jhuggi, cursed at me for screaming, and stood irritated and annoyed at the door. I still dared to mention my pain, and in response, she pulled away the blanket, leaving me cold again. Suddenly her anger turned into rage, and she struck my cheeks with a hard slap. I couldn't fathom what had happened. And then she pointed at my crotch, blasting the words,' you had to do this on our only mattress?'.

As I tried to take stock of the moment and looked at my crotch, my salwar was covered in blood, and so was the cot underneath. I was even more confused and unaware of what had happened to me. Before I could say anything, Maa hurried out of the room faster than she had entered, only to return shortly afterwards. Her demeanour had changed entirely, she seemed rather calm, although with a touch of sombre. In that moment, she became the caring mother I once knew and had almost forgotten. She caressed my face with a compassionate warmth and said, 'A lot is going to change now for you and the family. She added that I should refrain from sharing this with Papa and brothers or anyone else outside the family. In her other hand, she held a piece of cloth that she handed me and asked me to wear it underneath my salwar after I took a bath. She soon left the Jhuggi and headed for her day's work after we turned the mattress upside down.

I have so many questions. Why did I bleed? Do I have a disease? Am I going to die? How much blood did I lose during my sleep? Why did Maa say that things would be different going further? Why can't I tell Papa and Brothers about it? I can't even think clearly at this moment. I have never felt like this before. Who could tell me what is going to happen to me? These questions would bleed away, nothing unlike the unsolicited and unwanted discharge from my vagina.

It's afternoon, and since the bath, I have not moved from the door, as Maa asked me to stay at Jhuggi today. Her tone was assertive, antagonistic, with a touch of compassion. I'm highly uncertain about compassion, but I wanted to see it for my contentment. It is a blessing to feel loved in moments of chaos and sadness. If not given, I create my own.

I hadn't felt this sadness and contempt for myself and my body before, for I had never thought that my body would deceive me into acting without my permission. Maa said that the discharge would happen sporadically over the next few days and recur every few weeks; moreover, I won't be allowed to leave the Jhuggi.

Since this unsolicited stunt that my body performed this morning, I am left preoccupied with an unending string of thoughts, trying to articulate what had happened and is still happening. For the past few hours, I laid still on the ground and gazed at the sun as it shifted towards the horizon, sporadically hiding behind the clouds. For a moment, I had forgotten about the unfortunate event and rode the sun on top of the clouds, but I returned to reality with a sudden pinch in the abdomen. In that moment of pain, I realized the truth of the unsolicited lifelong companionship of the 'unknown'. Despite the blood leaving my body, I felt heavier than ever.

I see Maa returning home with her Chappals in hand and walking barefoot through those muddy alleys meandering across the slum. Her face is inscrutable as always. I joke with my brothers that a sculpture could exhibit more expressions than Maa. We determine her mood by the tone and tempo of her speech. So I waited until she reached home to figure out her mood and check whether she would be willing to talk about my bloody situation.

She returned with the news of 'Chacha Ji's' visit to the family tomorrow. Her mood seemed relatively neutral, which is undoubtedly good. Maa favoured his visit, for she rested her trust in him to bring Papa to reason. And to tend to him properly, she implored her employer to lend her money so that nothing lacked in hospitality towards the man who could bring order in the family. Despite the unfavourable and unwelcoming circumstances, which haven't been different since the distant past, Maa stuck to her principles. She would see to decent hospitality. As I found her mood favourable, I prompted the much-wanted discussion, only to begin and end with further instructions from her; first, to frequently change the cloth as it soaked the blood, and as she spoke, she handed me a few pieces of fabric cut out from an old Sari. She added that it is now my responsibility to wash them and reuse them upon need in the future. Second, to take the painkiller, she brought me from her employer.

The evening passed with the usual routine; I would call it less eventful than my head. Papa returned home in the state he most favoured. Brothers enjoyed the game of marbles, covered in mud, after their return from daily jaunts from places unknown to me. I would know if I were allowed to wander like boys. Maa sat by Chulha as she flipped Rotis. And then there was I, trying to make sense of the events since I woke in the morning. Soon after dinner, we let sleep take over for the night.

An uproar from lightning woke me from my slumber this morning. The morning was absent twilight as the sun hid behind the dark clouds. I am grateful to the painkiller for providing the resting sleep I desired. I should also be thankful to Maa for having it fetched from her employing household.

I love the shadow of the overcast and the rain that follows. The weather turns the whole world into my room, where the noise of rain subdues my thoughts, brawl between my parents and insignificant speeches of others around me, while the shadows give me a sense of safety as I wear it like a cloak. At this moment, I witness the sky's attempt to touch the ground as it roars and sings in the union of tiny droplets. It makes for a vista that makes me joyful and in love with the weather.

Maa left for work early so she could make it back in time for preparations for Chacha Ji's arrival. She intended to cook a proper meal for him with the borrowed money she successfully hid from Papa. Today Papa took a break from his liquor buddies and stayed home. Stayed in bed is more apt.

By noon I had changed the cloth twice. The pain had receded, which was a certain relief. Chacha Ji arrived an hour after Maa, right in time for lunch. He seemed pretty content at devouring the delicacies that Maa prepared so passionately for him. After lunch, he demanded an hour's sleep, so he was invited to our mattress. As Chacha Ji passed into Siesta, Papa turned to stroll in the rain despite Maa's frequent objection, and my brothers followed him. Papa had a knack for ignoring Maa's words, and my brothers had one for bringing mud home. Maa and I sat under the Chajja, although at opposite ends. She tended to pots and utensils beside the Chulha while I sat on the other end admiring the weather I so dearly loved. I usually lend a hand in kitchen affairs, but my bleeding has become a blessing in disguise, for she restricted my access to the kitchen during this period. I am more than happy not to work. However, if I were given a choice, I'd still prefer to work than bear the pain, but apparently, I am devoid of one.

As the rain stopped pouring, Maa also left for a stroll to keep herself from boredom. And there I was, left to bleed in solitude. I was instructed to wake Chacha Ji in one hour, so I did. I went inside, turned the bulb on, and called him to wake up. As he heard my voice, he turned, looked at me with squinted eyes, rose and rested his back against the wall. As he regained from sleep, he enquired about the presence of Maa and Papa, and I supplied him with the answer. For fifteen minutes, we had a conversation, most of which I faintly remember. I recall him asking my age, to which my response was thirteen. I had asked my age from Maa when I was ten years old, and I have kept track since. I longed for Maa to return as I was annoyed by the conversation and bored even. If that conversation had lasted another ten minutes, I would have fallen asleep where I stood. However, fate served me differently. Chacha Ji entreated me to sit beside him on the mattress, and I thought it better to sleep on it. I manoeuvred around the mattress to sit beside him, and as I closed upon him, I felt an extremely hard grip around the wrist of my right hand. With that grip, Chacha Ji pulled me down, and I fell on his lap. The grip was painful. I shrieked but was certain it couldn't overcome the sound of rain droplets that landed on the tarp overhead. As I laid unbalanced in his lap, my wrist still in his grip, I was confused, angry with the insolence as I pondered over the meaning of his actions. Before I could think more, I froze to his touch of hands on my face, which continued to skim down over my neck to reach the chest. This act spurred a million thoughts in my head while I rested in his lap. While my thoughts couldn't gather meaning, my instinct did. Instincts appraised me of the danger, and in that split second, I felt violated, and a multitude of emotions tumulted in my mind. Never before had I felt so vulnerable to a touch that it left me terrified to the core.

All that tumult in my head sent a jolt of energy in my body, and I bolted towards the door. As my hand escaped his grip, I bumped into the wall, just a few inches from the door. I let out a scream but to no end. I felt a sudden pain ascending in my forehead, and as I brushed my temple with my hands, I witnessed another sight of blood. Yet another day, my blood frequented the outside world, a vicious one at that. I had not yet reasoned with the blood of yesterday, and here I was offered to chew on more. Yesterday ended with me in a state of confusion, curiosity, sorrow and solitude, and this day added misery, dejection, agony and shock to the bunch. As the blood drained from my body, and my spirits along with it, I couldn't but call it 'The Gore of Gloom'.

As I regained from the hit and stood up, I heard the clattering of pots outside, which delivered me a mild relief but only to see Papa drunk fallen on them. Chacha Ji refrained from further advances as he heard the noise and curled back inside my blanket. I left the Jhuggi to wash the blood off my face and temple, and as I removed myself from under the Chajja, the rain did the job of cleansing.

I stood defeated and deceived in the rain. The usual happiness that this weather bestowed upon me felt far-fetched. I questioned my senses to be able to like and welcome this sky in the future. The spread of the cloud that I so deemed as my safety cloak stood defeated against the disgraceful and brazen actions of Chacha Ji. The sound of rain droplets with the backdrop of thunder, to which I so eagerly listened to seek music, stood guilty for silencing my shrieks. I feared I had lost my love for the weather that alone had served me calm and peace when others had failed. It saddened me to lose something so dear to my heart.

At a distance, I saw Maa return home, shielded from the rain by our only umbrella. As she drew close, I spotted an expression on that erstwhile expressionless face. She was furious at the sight of me in the rain. It wasn't the sight of being wet that troubled her and made her uncomfortable, but that of blood on my salwar that traversed its way out from the blood soaked cloth underneath. She hardly noticed the blood on my kameez from my temple. She scolded me for my actions and quickly turned to Jhuggi as she caught my arm. She requested Chacha Ji to catch his brother where he had fallen whilst we changed clothes. Out of his superficial respect for space for women and apparent good mannerism, he offered us the room. As I changed my clothes, I brought up Chacha Ji's transgressions of the last hour. When I spoke, I saw Maa's anger turn to compassion with almost teary eyes as she hugged me. In her embrace, I received a sense of safety; however, it was short-lived. As I questioned the recourse, her response left me bewildered. She said, 'Chacha Ji is a man of good heart and loves his brother dearly, but the actions of the last hour are also a part of his nature, and by extension all men, and so it is the responsibility of Women to tread cautiously and preserve their honour.' She further added that the events of the last hour should die under this roof, never to come out. As the circumstances and the new knowledge have unfurled themselves before you, you are born anew, a Woman.

She weighed again,' You are a Woman now.'

As I heard these words, I was swept by a cold shiver, and for a moment, I felt detached from reality inasmuch as it felt like a nightmare. Maa's words persistently rang in my ears as I lost hope for support. My ears that had turned eagerly receptive to seek the sound of support, compassion & warmth, and reason from Maa received an utterly unpleasant lesson on the insidious nature of men.

I changed to dried clothes and warmed myself while still trying to make sense of the recent events that culminate into one thing, according to my mother;

That, I am now a woman.

My feet are cold.