Short Story: The Gift

“Umm... Ravi, can you pick the milk packets today?” she grumbled at the sound of the doorbell. It didn’t feel like it was 6:30 AM, the usual milkman time.
“Let them wait, Priya.” Ravi sank his head deeper inside the blanket. In less than a minute his snoring filled the air. It was difficult for the first two years of their marriage but now his snoring worked like a lullaby for her and she found herself slipping back into slumber. Her right hand inadvertently reached her belly and caressed an imaginary womb underneath as a smile came and rested on her lips. She stayed in that moment of borrowed bliss for a few minutes. But not for long as worrying about the milk interfered so much with her day dreaming that she had to give in.

“That cat...” she got up and walked towards the main door, tying her hair back into a bun. A stray cat in the apartment block had become a menace to the housing society. The milkman now rang the doorbells as he placed the daily quota of milk packets at the residents’ doors so that the milk would get picked before tomcat had a chance to bathe it’s whiskers in it.

She was gone only a minute.

“Ravi...Ravi...come fast...”

He woke with a start as if from a bad dream. He picked the gown lying by the bedside and rushed out towards the door where she stood shivering; looking down at what seemed like a bundle of old clothes lying at their doorstep.

In a cheap plastic basket, wrapped tightly from head to toe in what seemed like the pallu end of an old cotton saree, was a sleeping baby. Soft black curls rested on a broad forehead that must have been a pale wheatish had the chill in the air not painted it blue. The little brown flowers on the saree’s red background slowly moved up and down with the baby’s gentle breathing. It was the only visible mark of life.

Ravi looked around the door hoping to spot the person who left the child at his doorstep. He yelled “Koi hai vahaan? Yek kiska bachcha hai?” (Is someone out there? Whose child is this?)
There was no response.

“Priya, I’ll be back”, he hurried out wrapping the gown tightly around his waist.

She stood there on two cold feet, her gaze fixed at the little bundle, not knowing what to do. Should she continue to stand at the door and wait for Ravi to come back? Could she bring the baby in and shut the door? Her toes curled as a burst of cold air bit into her legs.

At the same time the little head turned and a set of tiny purple lips quivered. Two little arms released themselves from the wrap and two tiny hands reached for the closed eyes, gently rubbing them, their palms facing outwards. The wrap fell open and a little belly lay there, exposed to the bitter cold. She hesitated. But it was only for a moment.

Before the next splash of cold air could find its way inside the house, she picked the basket and brought it inside, closing the door behind her. She wrapped the little girl back into the only piece of clothing she had on and rushed into her room.

In a rush to do the right thing for the moment, she rummaged through the linen closet and decided on a thick cotton table cloth. She lifted the baby and wrapped the folded tablecloth around her stiff body. As she tried to gently place the little bundle back into the basket, something tugged at the neck of her gown. She waited a while for the tiny fingers to uncurl and let go of her gown but the baby snuggled deeper into her bosom.

All these years she had only dreamt about this moment and imagined the feeling of having a baby cling tightly to her chest. Experiencing it was something she wasn’t prepared for. She could hear her heart beat in her ears. The little baby's soft breath played the sweetest symphony on her shoulders as her sweet smell melted into Priya’s body and became one with her.

Her right hand shivered as it gently caressed the soft black curls on the baby's head. She could not give herself permission to hold her as if she was her own. But it felt like the baby belonged right there, in Priya's arms.
Though the mind kept reminding her that the baby was someone else’s, the heart seemed to have synchronized itself with the little heart beating against her chest. Nestled on her left arm, drinking the warmth of her body and sucking her tiny thumb, she looked beautiful. If there were any angels for real, this is how they would look, Priya told herself.

A short while later the colour returned to the little cheeks. Her tiny wails reminded Priya that she might be hungry.

As the little girl reached out and lapped up the contents every time a teaspoonful of milk came close to her mouth, tears of anger and gratitude outlined Priya's face.
She felt a sudden burst of anger towards the person who had abandoned this little girl after bringing her to this world. At the same time she felt gratitude towards the person for having chosen her doorstep.
She thought of the unfortunate mother who, if she were alive, would know at this moment how hungry her baby felt. Nature had her own way of taking revenge.

Planting a soft kiss on the baby’s head, she placed her back in the basket that she had cushioned with a big towel. Just then the little girl opened her big brown eyes and smiled at Priya.

Priya knew this was the most important moment of her life. A little drop of tear fell from Priya’s eyes and found itself a new home - on the little baby’s palm.

*

“I looked around everywhere. Couldn’t find anyone. I have informed the security guards in case someone comes looking for a baby..." Ravi was panting as Priya handed him a glass of water.
"Those idiots must have been sleeping when the person entered this colony with the baby.”

“Whoever it was who left her at our doorstep must have meant us to keep her.”

“It is not so simple, Priya. It is an abandoned child. I don’t know what the law says.”

He placed the glass and picked up the cup of tea she handed him.

“Hey! Did you mean -her-? Hmm... I was right then.” He looked at the baby who was by now peacefully sleeping. His heart melted at the mere thought that someone could abandon a child like her.

“This whole India shining business is such a farce. Even today this country still wants only sons. Look at her, she looks so beautiful, so perfect...” he smiled. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. This was the most beautiful face he had seen in his life.

“Hey, was she hungry?“, he remembered suddenly.

“Yes, I gave her some milk with a teaspoon. Just look at her eyes when she wakes. The same colour as mine. Really!” whispered Priya as she gently lifted the baby from the basket and took her to the bedroom.

On her way, she signalled him to stay quiet by placing her finger on her lips.

Sitting at the dining table, Ravi stirred his cup of tea that had already gone cold by then. He was scared for Priya. He couldn't watch her heart break one more time. Three miscarriages in four years. The doctors had suggested them to consider adoption. Only Priya had not been ready to adopt...

Now she looked like she had already adopted this girl in her heart. Was she in for another set back?
What if the child’s parents came by to claim her in a few hours? What if one of the many maids or cooks that worked in the colony came by to pick up her daughter on the way back from work? What if...

“Why don’t you speak to Ramesh Ji today? He is a lawyer. He will be able to give us the right guidance on how to proceed.” Priya said as she came back into the room and wound her arms around his shoulders.

“Okay. I will speak to him today. Do you think Chhutki needs another layer of blanket? It is kind of cold today.”

“She is fine. Chhutki is fine.” Priya smiled lovingly at him.

*

That fifth of January was the happiest and the most difficult day of Priya’s life. It must have been around 11 AM when the doorbell rang again. Ravi had left for work. He had an important meeting after which he was planning to consult Ramesh Sarabhai, their friend and lawyer.

“Didi, kapde hain istri ko? Kaisi ho didi? Itne din ke baad mili...” (Are there clothes for ironing? How are you? I am seeing you after many days.)

She heaved a sigh of relief. It was the dhoban, the ironing lady, who entered the house in her usual quick stride and settled on the living room floor.
Just then Chhutki started crying in the bed room. It was time for the next change of clothes and the next meal.

“Didi, mehmaan hain ghar mein? Baad mein aaoon?” (Do you have guests? Shall I come later?)

“Haan. Shaam ko.” (Yes. In the evening.)

Priya was only too happy to shut the door after her. She did not want to see anyone. She felt like a thief who had accidently run into a treasure chest and was trying to hide it from the eyes of the world.
She would jump every time the phone rang. Her heart missed a beat with each door bell she heard.

The daily maid, who was only too delighted to have a day off, was gotten rid of without much pain.

Around noon there was a visitor. The plumber had decided to turn up twelve days late to fix the dripping faucet in the bathroom.
“Madam, agar aaj nahin kiya to agle 10 din tak kaam nahin ho sakega. Mujhe Indore jaana hai.” (If I don’t finish the job today it will have to wait for 10 days. I am going to Indore.)

She sent him away.

Around 3 in the afternoon, the door bell rang again. Her grip around Chhutki grew a wee bit tighter. She was rocking her to sleep in her arms. While Priya’s empty stomach was churning with anxiety, the little girl’s face had a calm, serene smile.

Thankfully it was the courier boy.

As the sun packed it's bags and called it a day, Priya’s insecurity began to fade. The fear, that someone would have a change of mind and come back to claim the baby, had somewhat diminished. Besides, Chhutki had kept her on her toes all day. She had loved every moment of fussing over her, massaging her, bathing her, feeding her, changing her. Not wanting to let their parents know until things had really worked out, she called an old friend, a mother of two, and took instructions over phone.

It must have been around seven in the evening when the dhoban came back. By then Priya was in a relaxed, good humoured mood.

“Mehmaan gaye kya didi?” (Have the guests gone?) she enquired. The house was exceptionally silent.

Chhutki, as if on cue started crying. Priya rocked her in her arms while the dhoban counted the clothes.

“Kab aayi gaanv se?” (When did you return from the village?) Priya asked the dhoban, primarily to keep her from asking anything about the baby.

“Aaj subah hi ko to aayi didi, das baje. Dekho to bas aate se hee kaam pe lag gayi. Yeh aadmi log ke bas ka koi kaam na hai humaare bina.” (I came this morning at 10. Look I’ve been working since then. These men can’t manage anything without us.)

“Iss baar to bada time laga ke aayi gaanv mein. Tu hi kiya kar press, voh tera pati Ghanshaam achche kapde press nahin karta. Ruk, tujhe iss baar Diwali bhi nahin dee. Le rakh le.”
(This time you spent a long time in the village. You iron clothes much better. That husband of yours, he does not do a good job. Here, take this. I didn’t give you anything for Diwali this year.)
Priya handed her a fiftee rupee note.

“Thank you, didi” she said folding it and tying it at the end of her pallu, blushing like she always did when she spoke in English.

“Subah ko leke aati kapde. Iss baar chakaachak press karoongi.”
(I will bring the clothes tomorrow morning. This time the ironing will be perfect.)

*

“Congratulations new mommy!” Ravi hugged her as he handed her the clearance papers. He sounded like a seven year old.

It had been almost a month since the morning of January 5. The Juvenile Welfare Board had given their clearance and Chhutki was legally ready for adoption. Ravi’s hard work and running around had finally been fruitful. The Child Welfare Committee had paid two surprise visits. They had also advised Priya and Ravi to get a thorough medical check-up of Chhutki done, to rule out the possibility of any congenital defects before they made up their mind.
Their decision to adopt Chhutki was unfaltering but Priya and Ravi got the medical check up done. She was little Miss Neha Mehta already and legal adoption was just a signature away.

Priya teased Ravi. “I knew it all the time that everything would work out just fine. You had been unnecessarily worried.”

“Oh is it? I still remember how many times I called you from work that day but you didn’t pick up the phone – the scared little woman that you were.” He laughed.

“Now, if Papa darling doesn’t mind, we have some shopping to do. We are out of diapers again.” she said handing over the car seat to him.

*

“But I don’t want to leave... Ravi, I love it here.” Priya grumbled. Her face had the sullen look of a six year old who was being sent to bed while Tom and Jerry was just starting on Cartoon Network.

“Priya, this is an amazing opportunity for me. You know how much we both love travelling. And imagine, moving to Chicago. It will be so good for my career.”

“I know Ravi. But everyone’s here – our families, friends...”

“Just think about Chhutki. Everyone here in the neighbourhood knows. Sooner or later, maybe accidently, someone might break it to her. Do you want her to come to know of it this way? Look at her, she is only five and a half.”

Priya looked at Chhutki. She was playing with her dolls on the sofa besides her. With two little pigtails on her head and in a pale pink frock, she looked as adorable as ever. Occasionally she lifted her head to smile at Priya and her broken front tooth peeped out between her lips. She was learning to tie her doll’s hair into a braid. Each time a strand of golden hair slipped through her little fingers and messed up the braid, she would shake her little head in disapproval and pick it up again and start afresh.
Just watching her closely was a lesson in patience and perseverance for Priya. After three instances of giving up and starting again, she learnt the trick. She wound the strands around her fingers and unrolled them as and when needed for the braid. By the time the braid was nearly done, Priya had made up her mind.

“Yes, I think that would be the right thing to do.”

She smiled at Ravi. She couldn’t bear the thought of someone telling her daughter she was adopted until Priya herself was ready. She wondered if she would ever be ready for that as she cleared the tea mugs from the table.

Dinner was a quiet affair as far as she was concerned. Neha was busy teaching Ravi the mudras she had learnt at her bharatnatyam class. He enjoyed immensely as she correctly positioned his fingers with her little hands and scolded him for not focussing enough. He would crack his usual joke about having two left hands. He said men couldn’t curl their fingers beyond a point because they themselves were usually wrapped around women's fingers.

After dinner she spent, what seemed like an eternity, staring at the night sky. This was her favourite part of the day. After clearing up dinner and cleaning the kitchen, she would toss a tea-bag in a cupful of sugared water, warm it in the microwave and sit in the balcony with her tea and stare at the night sky. Some days it was clear and she could make out the Orion. Today it was exceptionally murky. She sat there talking to herself long after Ravi and Neha had gone to sleep.

*

“Photty nahin, Forty...for...tee”.

Neha corrected her as the dhoban counted the clothes. This was a ritual, a playtime of sorts for both of them. The dhoban came almost every day – one day to pick the clothes and the next day to deliver the ironed clothes. Neha would sit on the floor besides her and count while the dhoban placed the clothes one piece at a time on a sprawled bed sheet and counted them after her.

“Didi, bitiya ne to humein English ki ginti sikha di. Chalti hoon, didi.”
(Didi, your daughter has taught me the English counting. I’ll get going now.)
She said tying up the bundle with her deft fingers.

Priya was busy on the phone and motioned her to stay for a minute while she talked.

“Haan Maa, do saal ke liye jaana hai... agle maheene... bees tareeq ke tickets hain. Aap log aa jao usse pehle yahaan. Chhutki ko dekhe hue bhi kitna time ho gaya hai aapko...haan, ghar bhi rent pe dena hoga. Kitne kaam ho jaate hain... Theek hai... kal call karti hoon.”
(Yes Maa, we have to go for 2 years... next month... the tickets are booked for the 20th... you must come and stay with us before that. You haven’t seen Chhutki in a long time. Yes, we have to put up the house on rent. There is so much to do... alright, I will call you tomorrow.)
Priya placed the receiver back.

“Didi, door desh jaa rahe ho?”
(Didi, are you going far away?)

“Haan, do saal ke liye jaana hai. Bhaiya ki company transfer ho rahi hai.”
(Yes, we have to go for two years. Bhaiya’s company is getting transferred.)

“Kahaan laut ke aata hai koi itni door jaakar. Aap bhi vaheen ke hoke reh jaaoge.”
(Who comes back after going that far? You will also settle there.)

She said sadly as she lifted the bundle and walked out. Priya stared at the door long after she was gone, lost in a forlorn thought.

*

“Arre didi, aap yahaan? Koi galti hui kya? Koi kapda kho gaya humse?”, she put the knife down and wiped her hands with the end of her saree.
(Didi, you are here? Have I made a mistake? Did I misplace some cloth?)

The dhoban was cutting vegetables for dinner when she saw Priya enter her one room house. A place originally meant to be a garage inside the apartment block until the residents' welfare association decided to rent it out as a servant quarter.

The room smelt of coal and musty clothes tinged with an exquisite aroma of spices that carried with it the promise of an immensely satisfying meal - something that most commonly well equipped kitchens in rich houses are pathetically deprived of.

She quickly cleared some clothes from a rickety plastic chair and wiped it with the end of her saree to make room for Priya. She unrolled a ten rupee note from her pallu and sent her four year old son away to fetch a bottle of cold drink from the nearby general provisions store. The boy was only too pleased to shove his books aside and run for freedom.

“Baitho na, didi”
(Please sit.)
She sat on the floor next to the chair and tied her dishevelled hair back into a bun.

“Ek kapda dhoondh rahi hoon. Jaanti hoon tumhaare paas hai.”
(I am looking for a cloth that I know is with you.)
Priya sat on the chair and smiled as tears slowly welled up in her eyes.

“Iss saree ka doosra hissa yaheen milega na?”
(“The other end of this saree belongs here. Isn’t it?”)
She said, taking out the pallu half of an old looking and worn out red cotton saree from her purse. The tiny brown flowers printed on it looked as alive as they had the day they wrapped the greatest gift Priya had received in her life.

Her head fell as tears outlined her face. The dhoban shivered with intense emotion as she sat there at Priya’s feet. The events of a night many years ago unfolded before her eyes. Sneaking out with a two day old clung to her chest when the village was sleeping... catching the midnight train to the city to save her new born from what was destined to be the fate of all girls born in the family... when she had left for the village carrying a 3 month old womb, Ghanshaam had made it clear to her that she needn’t come back if it was a daughter. Sitting in the train that night she had remembered the longing she had seen in Priya’s eyes... and she had made up her mind...

Priya got up from the chair and lifted her from the floor by the arms. Taking her hands into hers, she joined her hands and said the two words she had been waiting to tell her; the woman she had seen every single day since that January morning.

In a voice muffled with tears, Priya said “Thank you”.

“Didi...”

Priya placed a finger on her lips.

“Shhh... Apni beti se Bye nahin bologi? Teen ghante mein humaari flight hai.”
(“Will you not say Bye to your daughter? We fly in 3 hours.”)

The two women stood there hugging each other with their eyes. The good earth beneath their feet soaked up their tears as it does for all of them, for she is a mother too just like these two mothers who were bound together in one thread – the thread of gratitude.

I really couldn’t tell who was more grateful of the other.