Dedicated to: Anirbandha PearlKim705 flawsome110

"Haunted whispers, a soft caress,

A silent symphony, the warmth of a breath.

The shrill cry that echoes on the walls,

The beauty of birth is enclosed within.

Moments fleeting and bright, 

A butterfly's erratic flight;

Introspect beholds the retrospect,

as nuances bloom in an unknown palette.

Blinding white that falls on the prism,

Diverges, revealing the colours of life.

Like a tapestry unknown,

Threadbare and vulnerable, exposed.

The beauty lies, awaiting scrutiny,

The feathery, tangible feel of ephemeral whispers,

Riding through the waves in the sea,

Contemplating and filling each footprint,

Transient and fleeting, on the beach.

An elusive river like none other,

The flow of time is such,

Leaving you to contemplate,

The future that's yet to come.

With each new birth and a new beginning,

That awaits the world,

There's a dawn that lights up the horizon.

The past that navigated us to the present,

Leaving us to learn from reminiscence. 

The words and whispers change with time,

Teaching us to adapt, accept, and keep alive,

The spirit to live and to love,

To have and to hold,

To savour and cherish,

Every moment that brings with it,

A new beginning.

Stop and breathe,

The petrichor that permeates the air,

Letting you take in the surroundings,

Cleansed with the torrent of rain,

Quenching the thirst,

Of a parched universe.

The world's the same, and yet it isn't,

The many whispers convey the change,

You welcome the new, shelve the old,

Share the love,

and try and find more.

The voices in your head echo,

The mind accommodates and grows,

The deluge of newfound love,

Overwhelms,

The strings of the heart,

Play a serendipitous strain.

The journey commences into the void,

Welcoming a new future, uncertain yet beautiful,

Traversing an unknown trajectory,

Like a nameless, nomadic asteroid."

-Elegiac_Damsel

_________

1st July

Third person's point of view:

Kolkata, India

Monsoon in the City of Joy painted the atmosphere in shades of melancholic beauty. The grey skies overlooked the business as relentless raindrops unleashed havoc, cleansing the dust and leaving the scent of petrichor heavy in the air, silently voicing the promise of renewal. 

On a rooftop overlooking the cityscape, the nostalgic lanes of North Kolkata were as busy, but perhaps not as modernised and fast as the rest of the city; the setting sun bled crimson into the horizon, peeking between the heavy grey mist that cast a gloomy air. The rain-washed streets were littered with inky shadows, resulting from the coalescence of the clouds and the setting sun, dancing with the rhythmic wind that was cold yet soothingly warm. Here, amidst the symphony of dripping eaves and a distant cacophony of honking, the weight of the world seemed to ease. 

As the first hesitant stars emerged, winking through the veil of clouds, Debarghya leaned over the parapet on the terrace, savouring the cool and fresh breeze that caressed his skin. The air, charged with the anticipation of change, felt ripe for him to absorb the new beginnings, the whispering secrets of birth, and the quiet introspection that lay nestled within life's ever-turning cycle. 

A cigarette dangled between his fingers, unlit, awaiting its predicament as he toyed with it, contemplating if he could forfeit the temptation to indulge. He had held true to his promise to Mrinalini and had not smoked in more than a month, but his patience was starting to wear thin as the familiar release of endorphins from the toxic addiction called out to him time and again. 

He sighed, trying to cloud his mind with thoughts that would distract him, pulling him away from the addiction that he had been trying to quit earnestly. It had been four years since the fateful monsoon that had acquainted him with the woman he called his wife today. The short conversation that he had with the young woman was something that remained with him. He still remembered how he had met her in her maiden home, sans expectation. With the first glance at her heart-shaped face, complete with big black eyes with the barest hint of kohl, small Cupid's bow-shaped lips, and a nose that was neither long nor sharp, he had been caught unaware. While she wasn't conventionally beautiful, the innocence on her face due to age was apparent, as was the quiet maturity that was perceptible through the pensive gaze that she fixated on him as they had met for the first time. The first thought that had crossed his mind had been regarding her age. She looked too young for him, yet the short conversation they had standing on the verandah of the old house, with the rain in the backdrop, had attracted him to her. Despite their age difference and her absolute lack of experience, their minds had connected, and he had been taken by the wisdom that had been forced onto her young self.

When he returned home that day, his mother asked him about the young woman. He had been nonchalant with his replies, unwilling to share the slight tinge of disappointment that he felt, confident that Mrinalini would never agree to marry him given their age gap and the inevitably unavoidable fact that he was neither well qualified nor highly paid. And then, to his utter shock and partial horror combined with inexplicable joy, Debjani had received a phone call the next day from Mrinalini's uncle, confirming their marriage alliance and asking to discuss their plans to commence the arrangements for their wedding. The naive twenty-one-year-old girl with dreams and clarity, coerced into marriage, had agreed to be his wife.

The day they married, he was still in disbelief; uncertainty and ambiguity had filled his senses. On the one hand, there had been a fear of what he could expect from the future, and yet there had been fuzzy anticipation at the thought of having an equal in the sacred partnership termed marriage. Years of working hard had made him function and helped him get through each day, but the void he had felt in companionship was abstruse and unknown to anyone else who saw him. 

There had been whispers at the wedding regarding their age difference, and there had been doubts that had crept into his mind, asking him aloud if he was unknowingly partaking in a crime that would destroy his young bride's life. He didn't want to be a cradle robber, and yet a selfish part of him had willed this marriage to manifest, to make the young woman he had met briefly his wife. The connection he had felt with her in those moments had been enough to give birth to something warm in his heart that he had felt, something that he hoped to nurture and cherish in the coming days. Perhaps she was too young for him, but she had agreed to the marriage. A part of him had hoped that she had felt an attachment to him as he had, the foundation that could be fostered to create a relationship in the days and years to come. 

Four years had transpired since, and the two of them had indeed forged a bond that was special. 

They weren't perfect together, and incessant disagreements would occasionally threaten the peace in their room. The walls echoed their disproportionate opinions, often punctuated by words that would hurt. And yet the same enclosure beheld the highs of their marriage, just as it silently stood as witness to the lows. The times when they had indulged in the marital act, seeking each other out silently for gratification, warmth, and closeness, or their intimate conversations, exposing their vulnerable selves, sharing secrets and weaknesses. They had never voiced their feelings for one another, never terming or labelling the tangible bond they shared as love. Their marriage had become a monotonous routine in their lives. 

The conversations regarding finance, health, and work came naturally, like two friends conversing at the end of a long day. They did feel each other's absence when one side of the bed remained empty and cold, and yet, they got through the night, sleeping soundly. Star-crossed love they had both read of in stories and heard of in movies wasn't something they experienced or felt. Their relationship was quiet and assertive. They cared and were used to each other's presence, and that was the extent of how they could describe what they shared.

Debarghya smiled to himself, flicking the offending cigarette away. His thoughts had been enough to give him temporary respite, some bittersweet memories aiding him in conquering a moment of weakness and longing. He could still recall the first time that he had started smoking recreationally as a teenager, eventually getting addicted to the release, having been forced into a life that had more regrets, stress, and bitterness than what we could muster facing or admitting aloud.

He reminisced about the first conversation that he had with Mrinalini after their wedding. Their first night together, sharing space had been daunting. The intimacy of sharing a room and bed had been suffocating for both of them initially. The truth of being bound to a stranger had been apparent in her eyes; the distrust and fear, the hesitancy and uncertainty, had reflected his conflicting feelings in many ways. The ice breakers, the small revelations, the insignificantly important memories from childhood that they had shared, and most importantly, the realisation of reality and how entwined their lives would be henceforth. From finances to daily groceries and work to household chores, their lives had become a routine with each other as a part.

He remembered the first morning after their wedding when he had seen her drying her long hair, curly and voluminous, black, reaching her waist. She had been trying to detangle her stubborn tresses, and he had been enthralled by the simplicity of the act, resisting the urge to go closer, lift a strand to feel, knowing that they weren't ready for physical closeness yet. He had been conscious, too, of not making her feel uncomfortable, lest his gaze feel perverse to her, but in a way, through those stolen glances, the attraction had bloomed in his mind and heart. 

For him, Mrinalini had brought fresh air into his otherwise monotonous and lonely life with companionship, curiosity, innocence and mature understanding. He could remember the first time he felt her touch; her soft hand had been given to him during their wedding. There had been a shiver that had been barely perceptible. The tiny ghost of a smile that they had exchanged at the altar and the photographs that had been taken together, the memories were vivid and yet so distant.

Debarghya watched as the last rays of the sun dissipated. The clouds darkened the sky again as the first of many raindrops made their way down to the earth, leaving their heavenly abode to relieve the world of heat and thirst.

He managed to parse through the rain as it grew in intensity, falling heavily, escalating to a downpour from a drizzle in seconds. As he made his way down the stairs, opened the door to their flat and headed straight for their bedroom, he could hear Mrinalini call out as she looked up from ironing their clothes.

"Debarghya, where were you?" she asked him, her hands resting on her hips as she looked up at her husband, expecting a reply. "You are wet. You were up on the terrace smoking again, weren't you?"

Her accusatory tone had a hint of defeat and hurt that made him smile slightly, shaking his head. "I didn't."

Unconvinced, Mrinalini grabbed his hands, bringing them to her nose to sniff his palms for the unmistakable scent of cigarettes. She was surprised to find a mere hint of it, something that clearly indicated that he had been truthful. She let go of his hands and looked up at him apologetically.

"I had taken one in my hand, Mrinal," he confessed. "I didn't light it."

Mrinalini smiled, her hand falling instinctively to her abdomen, which was now showing gradual proof of the growing life that her womb nurtured within. "At least you didn't give in to the temptation to light it."

She turned away from him, picking up one of his shirts she had kept aside for ironing. "I'll iron it, Mrinal," Debarghya told her, gently prying the garment from her hand. 

"Thank you," she replied, grateful at his understanding and affectionate gesture, a simple way he tried to help. He wasn't perfect by any means and was often oblivious to the sheer intensity of housework that she did silently, but he did try to help and take things off her back once in a while, and she appreciated the same. "I need to make dinner anyway. Will you eat okra tonight? Or should I make some cottage cheese? I'll heat some lentils from the afternoon to go with it."

"We can hire someone to cook, you know?" he replied with a defeated sigh. "You don't have to manage work and everything in the household simultaneously. It can be taxing for your health."

Mrinalini rolled her eyes. "I am not the first woman pregnant, and I have already told you that having someone sweep and clean is sufficient for now. I'll let you know the moment I cannot cope any longer. Besides, we live in India and at least have the advantage of hiring help, but so many people live abroad and manage everything by themselves. I'll be fine, Debarghya."

"If we have an option, why not avail it?" he insisted. They had had this conversation previously, and every time, Mrinalini would refuse to hire someone to help with the household chores, insisting that she could do it and would let him know when she needed help. "We need to save up, Arghya," she replied gently. "I will inevitably need help in my third trimester and after the baby is born. We need to save up for that. Having a baby isn't going to be easy on the pocket. There are doctor visits, hospital bills, things to buy for the baby, and diapers. Do you not remember the care kit we gifted Brishti di when Riddhi was born? That had 100 diapers and cost around Rs. 1200, after a discount. Do you know how many diapers our child will need? There will also be vaccinations, clothes, bottles, skincare products, medicines, and more that would be required."

Debarghya suppressed an amused grin at his wife's rant. 

Four years ago, when they had met for the first time, the responsibilities seemed overwhelming, yet today, they came instinctively. The financial concerns that had been initially jolting had somehow settled in her mind. Although they earned more together and their household was prospering in its own way, saving up for a rainy day had become an unspoken norm that they had gotten used to, often choosing to forfeit certain luxuries and choosing essentials over indulgence.

He still recalled the day after they had entered their home together as man and wife when, in a ritual on the Boubhaat, he had been required to give his wife a new sari and a complete, overflowing plate of food, vocalising that he was undertaking the responsibility for her nourishment and needs throughout their marriage. She had been dressed in an ethereal sari. She had a veil over her head, which was both archaic and modest yet traditionally aesthetic, a symbol of her innocence riddled with the forthcoming responsibility of a household. Their hands touched momentarily when she accepted the food and sari that he offered, and she had immediately after bowed to touch his feet and seek his blessings, as tradition dictated. He had briefly placed his palm on her head before helping her up by holding her shoulders and shaking his head. Their marriage had started with him pronouncing his allegiance and responsibility towards his wife. Yet, it had transitioned into a partnership where the two silently did their bit for the household and family. 

He knew in his heart that their home couldn't function without Mrinalini. The irony was not lost on him. He may have taken up responsibility for his wife, yet she was the one who ensured there was enough food on the table for their family and that the clothes they wore were clean and in good condition. It started with him pushing her forward, trying in his limited capacity to help her realise her dreams. He had never wanted her to feel caged in their marriage despite the compromises that she had to make. In the initial days, he had been careful not to violate her personal space and to be attentive to her feelings, reading between the lines, especially after the trauma her mother had to endure had been revealed to her. He was her first sexual partner, and it had been a task to make things fall into place, taking her hand in his and guiding her through their experiences gradually. Through awkwardness and testing waters, they had found their pace and ground, accepting and learning to seek each other for gratification and closeness, both emotional and physical. 

Their bodies, strange and enigmatic as they had been in the initial days, were familiar. Through the darkness in the quiet privacy of their room, they had discovered each other in-depth, comprehensively. He knew how her petite physique, with her soft breasts and abdomen, rounded and curved, felt against his effortlessly tall and lean body. How the ridges of his palm felt contrasting when he touched her supple skin, or how their lips felt moulded together when they indulged in passionate affection, his coarse facial hair touching her smooth face as their warm breaths intermingled.

Her body had become softer now, her face fuller, and the same midriff he had held on to so many times was now rounded. Her abdomen, which had always been curved and never toned or flat, now had a distinct bulge that weighed down on her pelvis slightly, notifying the world of the presence of a little life that would imminently introduce them to a new journey: parenthood. 

The changes over the past few months have been significant yet imperceptible and naturally progressive. He could still recollect how he had felt when she informed him of the pregnancy. At first, sheer disbelief had clouded his senses, followed by uncertainty and overwhelming dread, realising the implication that it would be for Mrinalini. He had come to realise that it wasn't easy for her. While she had been adapting to her body's changes, it was perceptible that a part of her mind was quite conflicted and worrisome. He had caught her often staring at her abdomen, observing her reflection, feeling the bulge that housed their child, a small smile playing on her lips. And then, it would sometimes change into melancholy as she would freeze, her hand laying still, her eyes staring into the void. 

The initial months of her pregnancy had been burdensome, to say the least. From occasional bleeding to constant bloating, nausea, and sickness, it had all fallen on her like an uncontrollable torrent. There were many days in a month that they would be apart, and she would sound like she had been crying whenever they spoke over the call. He knew she was happy with the baby and was equally excited and terrified, much like himself. For him, though, it was perhaps a bit easier given the lack of physical inconvenience, unlike what she was going through. He did have underlying worries, too, and they would often lay together at night, voicing their plans, discussing what they expected of the future, of the baby they would be becoming parents to, and of everything they wanted to do.

Debarghya was aware that the physical changes had made Mrinalini more conscious of her body. He had found her crying twice over a pair of leggings that no longer fit her or over the favourite kurta that had torn when she had tried to put it on, even though the rational part of her brain was aware of the inevitable bodily transformation that she was subjected to. She would often retreat into her shell silently, rejecting his touch when they tried to be intimate or close, citing fatigue and turning to face the wall. Sleep didn't come quickly either, and she would keep tossing and turning at night. She had always been a person who slept prone on her stomach, but with her pregnancy progressing, she couldn't find that familiar position again. As such, she ended up hitting Debarghya multiple times in their bed with her frustrated and restless movements. He had tried to soothe and lull her to sleep but had been rudely pushed away with a frown and plea for peace. A few minutes later, she would scoot closer to him and try to get him to placate her by running his fingers through her hair and scalp or sometimes gently rubbing away the fatigue of her distressed, swollen feet.

All in all, it was an unpredictable phase for the two of them, saturated with overwhelming emotions and too many changes that weren't in their hand. 

Debarghya sighed, folding the shirt sleeves he had finished ironing neatly, bringing himself back to the present.

"You didn't tell me what I should make for dinner tonight," he heard Mrinalini speak as she came to their bedroom door, returning from the kitchen, leaning against the frame. Her eyebrows were raised inquisitively, awaiting his reply. "I forgot to wait for your answer."

He chuckled lowly, seeing his wife's lips twitch in amusement at her silliness. "You can make okra, Mrinal," he replied with a fond smile.

...

"Do you want a girl or a boy?" Mrinalini asked Debarghya in the privacy of their room that night. They were lying in bed peacefully, lost in the tranquillity of the dark room, the air heavy with permeating moisture. The sound of the rain falling steadily was strangely soothing, enrapturing in its rhythm. 

"I haven't given it a thought," Debarghya replied, turning towards his wife, making out her features through the dim light seeping through from the window, her chest and baby bump rising steadily with each breath. "What do you desire?"

"I want a daughter," Mrinalini said quietly, almost as if she was afraid of saying the words aloud with conviction lest it attract someone's evil eye. "If this baby isn't a girl, we'll try for a daughter later, okay?"

Debarghya was taken aback at the sudden twist in conversation. He shook his head, laughing, confident that it was a mere jest to tease him. "I am not joking, Arghya," she replied, frowning. "I want a daughter. If this baby is a girl, I am okay with us raising an only child, but if not, then we either try for a girl later or perhaps adopt one."

"Be practical, Mrinal," Debarghya replied. "We can only afford to raise one child. If I consider the trend of what we earn and the trajectories of our careers in correlation with the  inflation rates in the upcoming years, we can barely afford the best for one child, let alone two."

"I have always dreamed of having a daughter, Arghya," she insisted in a quivering voice. "Why can't we at least consider?"

Debarghya sighed. "Let's wait for our baby to arrive first," he reasoned. "There are good chances of us having a daughter, right?"

Mrinalini bit her lower lip. "I don't know. Based on the pregnancy and old midwives' blogs that I've read, which analyse symptoms and predict the gender, I haven't been able to draw any concrete conclusion yet."

"Don't read that nonsense, for God's sake," he replied agitatedly. "Each body and pregnancy is different. You can't know for sure till you do. Besides, whether it's a girl or a boy, we'll give our best to raise our child, won't we?"

"I am carrying the baby, am I not?" she retorted. "Why can't I want a daughter?"

Debarghya laughed as Mrinalini's frown turned into a pout unknowingly, grabbing at straws to continue a childish debate that made little sense. "On a serious note, Mrinal, what's done is done. The baby is growing inside you and will be born as a girl or a boy, as it is supposed to be, as it is destined to be. And we cannot control or change anything with fervent wishes or desires. Keep good faith; maybe we'll be blessed with a beautiful daughter as you desire."

Mrinalini took his hand in hers and placed it over her abdomen gently. "Sometimes I feel ready, and sometimes I don't know how or if I'll be able to handle everything. A few months ago, we didn't know that we'd embark on this journey so soon, and lo and behold, here we are."

She smiled at him. The slight upward arch of her lips was barely visible in the darkness. He caressed her hand softly, running a finger over the curve of her belly, drawing an involuntary shiver from her. "We are going to give everything we have to raise our little one," he said quietly. "It won't be easy, Mrinal, but we'll survive with our mistakes. We still have three months to figure out some of the qualms that haunt us. This will be our first time, and there will be hiccups. We may not know how to hold the baby at first, which side is the front or rear of a diaper, or if the baby's crying for milk or because they want to, but we'll learn.

"I have been praying for so long for a baby girl," she confessed. "I want to experience the bond that I can have with a daughter as a mother, and I want to see her experience a childhood with an amazing father like you so that I can witness her having everything I couldn't."

"That is precisely why I said we should have just one child and raise him or her right," he punctuated. "We are humble earners, Mrinal. We know how to live paycheck to paycheck and manage with meagre savings. Education, resources, and everything else will only increase in cost as our child grows up. Our earnings won't multiply exponentially, unlike inevitable inflation rates and possibly falling GDP in the future. We should channel everything we can into raising our child rather than having more children and compromising their quality of life and education later."

Mrinalini nodded pensively. "I get your point. Join me in praying that we have a baby girl. It's one chance we have; it has to be a daughter."

Debarghya chuckled in amusement. "We can pray, sweetheart, but we'll love our child anyway."

"Maybe," she replied. "I may love a daughter a little more. And I am pretty sure you will, too. Good dads are worse than the softest, overbearing mother hens, or so I have heard."

"My father was," Debarghya attested, remembering. "Brishti was always a little more loved and pampered. Baba would drop her off and pick her up from school. He would ask me to drop her off at tuition and ensure she returned safely. Rishi and I had to manage by ourselves. While he was alive, Brishti hated being sheltered and felt like we were hovering over her, like any other teenager, I suppose, and then once he was gone, that is what she missed. It's precisely why his demise affected her the worst."

"I don't even remember Baba," Mrinalini spoke into the long, heavy, dark silence that had descended at Debarghya's words. "I hope to live all those moments we couldn't, Debarghya, through our child."

"We shall," he replied shortly, punctuating her words, letting the serenity set in. The darkness lingered long after they both fell into deep slumber. Rainfall continued, feeding the earth with promises of new beginnings. The soft pitter-patter against the window and the whistling wind brought with them ephemeral whispers as the impending future looked on in anticipation. 

...

19th August

Seven months into her pregnancy, Mrinalini was dressed beautifully today. Despite the dreary monsoon weather in the city, an ethereal glow shone through her face and demeanour, mirroring the excitement in the Acharya household. It was her shaad, or baby shower. She was decked in a maroon silk sari that her mother-in-law had gifted. The baby shower was an intimate affair with only immediate family present. 

Rai had come down for the occasion, as had Anumegha. Unfortunately, Brindadebi, Mrinalini's grandmother, was sick with a fever, and although she managed to make the journey, she was compelled to rest. In fact, her health had been failing quite often lately, and Rai had made the haphazard decision to shift back to Kolkata, where they could be close to her daughter and her family.

Debarghya and Mrinalini had immediately asked Rai to move in with them, but she had been adamant. "I am not staying in my daughter's marital home, Mini," she had informed her firmly. "I will look for a place for your grandmother and myself with my son-in-law's help. We'll stay somewhere nearby, and I will continue to work in some way or another."

"Ma, I can take care of you and Thamma," Mrinalini had told her mother. "Debarghya and I are both working now, and you are my responsibility, Ma. Why don't you accept the money and take rest? You've worked tirelessly for years."

"Mini, I need this for myself," Rai had told her daughter softly. "Besides, you both are starting a family now. You need to be able to take care of yourselves first. Your grandmother and I can manage. You already send us money every month even though we don't need it."

Reluctantly, Mrinalini had steered off the topic, knowing that her mother wouldn't budge. She could always take up the conversation again when the need would arise, but for now, she settled into her role of a would-be mother who was to be pampered and blessed by her family at the baby shower. 

She looked at her reflection in the mirror, taking in the simple look that she had been able to manage. Her sari had been draped perfectly. She opted for a more traditional drape than the usual Nivi drape with her sister-in-law's assistance to ensure her belly wasn't obscenely visible. The sari's pallu or anchal had been draped twice over her left shoulder, leaving a small part of the free end on her back that she could use to pull to her right shoulder if she felt the urge to cover herself further.

Her enlarged abdomen was defined and swathed in the beautifully textured, indulgent silk, making her feel every bit of the exquisite and graceful mother-to-be on her special day. She had chosen to wear some of the gold jewellery that had been shelved in the corner of their wardrobe since her wedding. Her hair had been parted down the middle, ornamented by vermillion, and the rich, long, intricate braid she had done to complement her looks had a small red rose tucked near the base of her neck. Her eyes were lined with kohl, and a red dot nestled delicately between her eyebrows. Her lips had been touched with a hint of rouge at her sister-in-law's insistence, and the look was complemented by the cavalcade of gold bangles and nuptial bangles on her hands. The delicate red coral and white conch bangles that rarely adorned her wrists went beautifully with her sari, enhancing the look with its subtle presence. Her feet were lined with alta or red lac dye that Rai had lovingly applied for her daughter the day before.

Shaadh, or the traditional Bengali baby shower, was a heritage that went beyond the boundaries of religious practice. Translating roughly to wish or desire, it is associated with happiness and melancholy. In history, when mortality rates due to pregnancy were high, expectant mothers would be pampered by their family members. They would be presented with an array of their favourite food to savour, lest they meet their end during birth. Held in the odd months of pregnancy, third, fifth, seventh, or ninth, the occasion would usually be a despondent affair as it was associated with a precautionary farewell. The expectant mother would be fed by her family, mother and in-laws, blessed and presented with gifts. With years and advancements in science and technology, shaadh has become a celebration of joy and new beginnings. 

Adhering to tradition, Mrinalini's favourite dishes had been made with the utmost care and love. Rai insisted on doing most of the cooking, while Debjani assisted adamantly since the in-laws typically arranged the baby shower. Debrishi, who couldn't be present, had sent his sister-in-law a gift via courier that consisted of an idol of Goddess Lakshmi and Saraswati with Lord Ganesha, a symbol of prosperity, a gift voucher worth Rs 5000 for shopping at a baby store, and a personalised maternity journal that had her Mrinalini's name embossed on the cover. There was also a self-help book encompassing the period from the advanced stages of pregnancy to birth, followed by the post-partum phase sent by Debrishi's girlfriend, Jahnavi, a converted Christian girl from Kolkata who he had met at work in Bengaluru. Mrinalini and Anumegha were the only ones in the family aware of the relationship and had been asked to keep it under wraps. 

Mrinalini's cousin, Abhrajit, whom she was barely in contact with, had sent over a cute, soft, sky-blue blanket to keep the baby warm and some cash as a gift. A note enclosed with the presents stated, "Congratulations, little sis. I'll be sure to make it to my little niece or nephew's rice ceremony. For now, I don't know who will arrive or if the baby will be a girl or a boy, but I do know that you love the colour of the sky, so here's the blanket to swaddle your baby. Take care."

Her uncle and aunt had transferred some money to Debarghya's bank account that Mrinalini had promptly donated to a child welfare NGO, unwilling to spend a dime of that vile man's money, irrespective of whether it was a gift or a token of goodwill. She would never be able to forgive him for what he did, and there was no way that she wanted her child to be associated with Barun.

In the living room of their modest two-bed flat, Mrinalini was made to sit. An elaborate and enormous plate containing her favourite food dishes had been set for her. From ridge gourd cooked in a rich poppy paste to dal cooked with extra sour raw mangoes, accompanied by the customary five fried vegetables alongside cottage cheese cooked in coconut milk and dry fruits, some okra cooked with tangy spice, some sweet rice pudding, and sweets like malpua and kalakand that Mrinalini loved, the food presented perfectly represented the decadence and simplicity of homemade food. 

Mrinalini's grandmother was the first one to bless her granddaughter. She barely managed to sit upright in the chair, given her heavy head due to the fever, but her blessings were sincere. As she fed her a small bite of kalakand, her favourite sweet as a child, Mrinalini was strangely reminded of her wedding and the pre-wedding ritual of aiburobhaat, where she had been cooked and fed her favourite food as a part of the last meal that she savoured in her maiden home. A long time had passed since, and the little girl of the Debnath household was now set to welcome a child.

"May God bless you and your child," her grandmother managed to croak out in Bengali through her sore throat, choked with equal parts of constricted emotions and the cold. "I don't know how long I shall live, but my blessings will always be with you, sweetheart."

Mrinalini bent forward to touch her grandmother's feet, touching the dust she collected on her head. "You aren't allowed to go anywhere, Thamma. You have to see your granddaughter's baby grow and blossom."

Brindadebi smiled feebly, knowing in her heart that she wouldn't be able to. Her health had been declining rapidly. She would perhaps linger around till her great-grandchild would be born, but for how long after was something no one could predict.

Debjani followed next, and as Anumegha blew the conch thrice, emanating a sanctifying resonance throughout the household, Mrinalini felt sudden tears springing up in her eyes. She dabbed at them wildly, overcome by emotion, as her mother-in-law lifted her chin slightly. "Don't cry, Bouma," she rebuked her softly. "It isn't auspicious to shed tears during a joyous affair."

From the corner of her eye, Mrinalini could see her husband roll his eyes at his mother's words. He wasn't one for superstitions. Debjani presented her daughter-in-law with a small gold coin with a Baby Lord Krishna engraved on it. Managing a faltering, watery smile on her lips, Mrinalini bent forward to touch Debjani's feet but was asked not to. "Don't bend to touch my feet, my child," she told her daughter-in-law softly. "It puts pressure on your abdomen. My grandchild and you shall always have my blessings and best wishes."

Debjani's sisters-in-law, who had arrived late to the occasion, followed next, presenting Mrinalini with a new silk sari. Rai held back tears as she knelt on the floor next to her daughter, reaching for the trefoil leaves and husked rice to place on her head in blessing. "May God fulfil all your desires, my love," she spoke in a low, choked voice. "May your child always prosper and be in good health, Mini."

Mrinalini smiled widely at her mother when she reached out to feed her a spoonful of the rice pudding she had made, knowing it was her daughter's favourite. She reached into her purse to retrieve a small gold pendant shaped like a delicate lotus. "Your father had it made for you shortly after you were born, baby," she told her daughter. "I had lost track of where it had been stored all these years. I found this in an old jewellery box where I had kept a few things carefully. I want you to have it back, sweetheart."

"Thank you, Ma," Mrinalini said sincerely. She nestled the pendant in the palm of her hand, observing it closely. "Having you here means more to me than anything else, Ma."

Anumegha and Srijit, who were accompanied by their son, gifted Mrinalini a couple of books and a gift card like Debrishi had. 

"We should have called a professional photographer today," Anumegha said later in the afternoon when they were all sitting in the living room, having had lunch. "It would have been beautiful to document the occasion better than using our phone cameras. Boudi could have also had a maternity photoshoot done."

Debjani choked on the water that she was sipping at her daughter's words. "What is a maternity photoshoot now? You click pictures of the expecting mother?"

Anumegha nodded, unperturbed, explaining her mother. "Well, it is to document moments of a pregnancy journey. The mother can cradle her belly and click photos, and then the father can be clicked in a frame together as they both embrace the child in the mother's womb. There are multiple beautiful poses that you can do. I got one done when I was pregnant with Riddhi."

Mrinalini stifled a giggle as she looked at the horrified faces of Debjani and Rai. Although the two of them were city-bred, they were unfamiliar with the Gen Z trend of maternity photoshoots. To them, pregnancy had been an intimate journey that was not to be boasted of or shown off but instead protected and often kept a secret. The idea of a mother having her showing abdomen clicked in private poses with the father of a baby seemed preposterous, almost blasphemous to the conventional outlook that they had.

"You are not getting that done," Debjani announced at length. "I don't want any nonsensical extravagance before the baby arrives. In our time, we would be embarrassed at the prospect of showing off a pregnancy, and you kids nowadays have to sensationalise everything. Some things are meant to be kept private and intimate rather than publicised."

"Ma, we aren't going to do that," Debarghya told his mother reassuringly, his ears slightly red in embarrassment. "Mrinalini and I are both against these Western ideas of unnecessary profligacy."

Mrinalini nodded, attesting to her husband's words. The possibility of getting a maternity photoshoot done professionally had never occurred to them. She had often fondled her baby bump in the privacy of their room, getting acquainted with the baby's movements, feeling the little kicks and momentary hiccups that would feel like a sudden and sharp jump inside her womb, startling her. The little stretch marks that appeared all along her abdomen were something she would look at while taking a shower, sometimes regarding them as flaws but appeasing herself later, knowing that the changes in her body were necessary for her baby. 

Mrinalini often took several minutes talking to her baby, trying to share her feelings, forging the bond deeper, and willing her child to experience the warmth and love her heart overflowed with. Sometimes, she would see Debarghya looking at her belly, reaching out to caress it gingerly, almost like he feared scaring the resting baby nestled inside. 

They had ultrasonography scans from the regular appointments, and Mrinalini had made it a point to store everything in a carefully labelled file, writing against each scan how old the baby was, creating a scrapbook of the incoherently significant black and white tapestry for the rainbow that was yet to light up their world. 

She had even photographed herself cradling her belly a few times, unbeknown to anyone else. The moments were captured and saved in a private album on her phone for her to cherish later. There was one instance when she had been leaning against the headboard of their bed, resting her aching back, her legs spread out, when Debarghya had wordlessly taken a seat next to her, starting to rub her swollen and aching feet from carrying the weight of their baby. He had leaned in to brush his lips in a transient kiss on her abdomen, pouring his affection in a rare intimate gesture. She had managed to capture the moment with her phone, and it was one photograph that she knew she would forever reminisce about and adore.

They could pay thousands to have a professional maternity photoshoot done, but it wouldn't be natural or private the way those moments were to her or her husband. The captured moments would forever remain unique and important in their lives, more than any moment they could artificially create, and Mrinalini was content with the same.

"We'll at least do a photoshoot once the baby is born, Ma," Anumegha told her mother, continuing the discussion. "We need cute photographs to frame and put on the walls."

"We'll see when the baby gets here," Debarghya intervened just before his mother pointed out that it wasn't recommended to click photographs of a newborn till around 21 days after birth, an old midwives' tale that Mrinalini had been made aware of by her mother and mother-in-law. This was a crucial period, and as much as the mother stepping out of home with the baby is considered sacrilegious. 

Dating back to ancient times, mothers and their newborns would be confined to a separate bed chamber during and after birth for three weeks. It was done to avoid external contact with the frangible baby, which could lead to infection or, what was considered even more dangerous, contracting someone's evil eye or nazar. The tradition was followed to date, but within reason that was in accordance with the modern day and age, and a new mother was expected to stay home with their child, resting and recuperating from the tumultuous journey of pregnancy and childbirth.

"We can click pictures, Ma," Anumegha rationed. "We did when Riddhi was born, too, because Dada and Rishi weren't in town. We won't post it anywhere, and following all these rules to the T seems a bit extreme to me. It's a joyous occasion to welcome a baby home. It's not some nuclear reactor."

The conversation was closed abruptly as Archisman came barrelling into the room on his little feet, demanding everyone's attention. Earlier during the day, when they had just arrived, he had looked up at his aunt innocently before asking about her stomach. He was informed of the arrival of a baby and had since been asking if the baby wanted to play every five minutes, concerned about how much longer it would take for them to be there.

Mrinalini had laughed at his naivete, explaining sweetly that it would be another couple of months before his little cousin arrived, and they could play to their heart's content later. The sweet, innocent toddler that he was, who had recently started going to pre-school, couldn't grasp how long two months were and was still asking if it was time for the baby to come and play with him.

Debarghya and Mrinalini exchanged a small smile as their gazes met. Two months may have seemed to be a long time to a toddler. Still, they knew in their hearts that it would pass by instantly, alarming them with the generosity of parenthood as it would arrive inevitably soon, bringing joy in the little nuances and additional responsibilities. Their silence conveyed the whispers often haunting them as parents-to-be, yet they were sure they wouldn't give up the journey in exchange for anything.

...

Later that night, after the guests had left, Mrinalini walked back to their bedroom, clutching her lower back with a hand, arching in pain. Her feet were swollen yet again, and she was extremely exhausted. 

She let out a sigh, as she sat on the edge of the bed, lifting her feet gingerly, the simple manoeuvre made difficult due to her bulging abdomen. She winced as her back touched the back pillow she had kept on the bed, leaning against the headboard for support. She closed her eyes, trying to channel all her fatigue to dissipate. 

A sharp pain in her uterus made her gasp silently, her eyes popping open before she could stabilise herself. 

"I am tired, sweetheart," she said to the baby. "It's night. Mumma and Papa need to go to work tomorrow in the morning. Can you try to sleep so that Mumma can get some rest?"

"Does that ever help?" Debarghya's voice interrupted the one-sided conversation as he entered their bedroom, locking the door behind him. "Does the baby listen to you?"

Mrinalini laughed. "What else can I do, Debarghya? I read somewhere that babies in the womb can feel their mother's voice, and they find it soothing. I am just trying to get our baby to settle down for a bit, or else there's no way I will catch up on any sleep tonight."

"I'll get the pain relief gel. It may help with your backache," he said, smiling sympathetically. After all, there was little that he could do to help her. The physical strain her body was handling could not be fathomed or felt by him, and it was only wise to leave her be, helping silently when he could.

"At what time do you leave tomorrow?" Mrinalini asked him as she scooted and sat upright, allowing him to help her apply the pain relief gel to her back. She shivered at the cold gel as it made contact with her skin, wincing as the ache resurfaced at her movement.

"The train's at 10 am. I'll leave by 8.30," he informed her. "I will have breakfast outside." Debarghya was leaving for work for two days in West Midnapore. He was going to be accompanied by the zonal sales head and had been quite worried about the impending tour for quite a few days. "When does your maternity leave start, Mrinal? You are seven months through, and the pain is already too much to bear. How much longer can you manage to go to work?"

"I'll make you breakfast before you leave, and to answer your question, my maternity leave starts in the last week of September, Debarghya," Mrinalini replied, closing her eyes as the pain reduced considerably, the applied medicine taking its desired effect. "Based on the last scan that we did, Dr Mitra predicted the due date to be around mid-October. I applied for leave accordingly. Next month's visit to New Delhi around September 15th would also be the last tour that I make before going on leave. Official maternity leave is just two months at the institute, after which I'll coordinate online. Like I told you before, I'll receive my stipend until around December."

"Will you be able to manage working another month?" Debarghya asked her out of concern. "We can manage if you need to take a leave without pay, you know that, right?"

Mrinalini nodded, smiling. "I know that we can manage, Debarghya. You earn more than me, and that is what runs our household and takes care of the monthly expenses. However, each day that I work is important to me. I'll get bored at home, and the demons of my mind will probably eat me up. And I must work up until my maternity leave begins. Each penny that we save will help us in the future. You already saw that my grandmother's health has been failing. Our child will be here in a couple of months. We think we can manage now, but we'll be jolted and unaware if anything unprecedented occurs."

"Do you at least promise to take a leave if you are unwell and feeling up to it?" he asked her as he rubbed her feet at a rigorous tempo, massaging the swollen ankles to try and relieve her of the pain. Mrinalini moaned in approval as his fingers glided over the tender region of her feet. "I will, Debarghya. Don't worry about me."

"Do you not worry when I am out of town?" he retorted. Mrinalini smiled at him fondly. "You know I do. There's always that fear and dread that settles in momentarily when I can't reach you over the phone," she confessed in a whisper.

"You have shared my number with your colleagues, right?" he asked, reminded as she mentioned the phone. "They need to be able to reach me if there's an emergency."

"I did. Your name and number are also mentioned as my spouse and guardian in the official records," she reassured him. "There won't be any emergency. Our child and I are going to be fine."

"Please take a cab to and from work starting tomorrow," he told her as they settled in for the night. The lights had been turned off, and the air conditioner hummed in the background as they lay in bed silently next to one another. "It is safer for you to avoid the crowd on a bus or the metro. You can be hurt or injured in the horde. No one cares to look at fellow commuters or have enough time to be concerned about anyone."

Mrinalini sighed. "I will be fine, Debarghya. As for your request, I will not take a cab to and from work. Travelling by road takes a long time due to the unavoidable traffic. The metro is much faster. Being stuck in a taxi for two hours won't help me. It's just bound to give me an aching back and inevitable nausea. I am seven months pregnant. There is still time, and I know I may have to change my decision soon, but till then, I can function alone without you worrying about me."

He was silent for a moment before he turned towards her, placing his hand on Mrinalini's belly. As his fingers fluttered over the warm skin of her protruding abdomen, he spoke in a whisper, "I know you can function without me hovering around, but I think it is well within my rights to be concerned about you and our child. That being said, I won't coerce you into doing anything against your wishes. I don't mean to overstep or dictate your life. It would just be good if you tried to be considerate towards your convenience."

"I am sorry, Arghya," Mrinalini replied softly. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"I know that," he answered. "I got you a gift for today. I didn't want to give it to you in everyone's presence."

"Can I see it tomorrow?" she asked, stifling a yawn. "I am sleepy."

He smiled at her. She was lying on her side, one hand resting under her face while the other lay on her abdomen. Her eyes were closed, and her lips slightly parted. He knew that she was going to drift off soon. The extra weight she carried in her body often made breathing difficult at night, so he was sure she would start snoring soon, oblivious to the world around her. Painless sleep was rare, and the nights she slept for hours at a stretch without experiencing pain or discomfort were a welcome blessing. Debarghya ran his fingers through Mrinalini's hair soothingly, lulling her further into sleep. "It's kept in the first drawer of the study table. You can check it out in the morning."

A soft snore greeted him. Mrinalini had fallen asleep, throwing herself into the deep abyss of bliss, where the brief whispers, fear, and regrets ceased to matter.

...

September 20th

New Delhi, India

It was Mrinalini's last working day at the research institute before she went on maternity leave. She had her noise-cancelling headphones on as she sat down to eat lunch at the cafeteria. The headphones were a gift from Debarghya that she used daily to play soothing instrumental music or positive manifestations that made her feel optimistic and well. 

The weight of her abdomen on her pelvis was unbelievably heavy with each passing day, and the journey she had made from Kolkata to New Delhi this time around, even via flight, had been immensely excruciating. She had to seek help with her luggage as the doctor had asked her to avoid lifting heavy objects. She was primarily fatigued and waddling through her day, her feet seeking respite after a little walk.

When she saw her colleagues approach, Mrinalini was fiddling with the food on her plate. Turning off the music she had been listening to, she lowered her headphones, looking at them expectantly. Zain and Chitra were carrying a cake and a wrapped present, respectively. The entire group had broad smiles on their faces.

"We couldn't throw you an elaborate party, but here's our mini baby shower for you, Mrinalini," Zain clarified. "Congratulations in advance," Chitra added. "We'll miss having you around. Now, are we having cake or not?"

Mrinalini was made to cut the cake that had Mom-to-be written across. She laughed as the others clapped, chiming in with their congratulatory wishes. They had cake and clicked pictures before the wrapped box was presented to her.

"It's from all of us," Chitra said. "For you and your baby. Send us pictures of the little angel without fail, okay? I am rooting for a girl so that you know."

"I don't know what the world has against boys," Zain muttered under his breath. He had become a father two years ago, and his wife had been solely disappointed after giving birth to their son. "We are so misunderstood and undervalued."

Mrinalini giggled. "I understand your pain and sympathise with you, Zain, but I want a daughter more than anything else."

Chitra raised her hand for a high-five, making Zain glare at them. Dr Matthews, who had been silent during the celebrations, stepped up front to shake Mrinalini's hand. "You should leave early. I noticed that you were in discomfort. Congratulations in advance, Mrinalini. May your child be born healthy and happy. May God bless you, my dear."

Grateful and happy as she was, Mrinalini felt a touch of disappointment when she left the research institute. She would be away from the research that meant the world to her for months and the friends she had made along the way. There would be countless seminars and conferences that she could have attended to gain more experience or perhaps even present her papers. Still, maternity leave was crucial, and she knew in her heart that childbirth and the subsequent recovery would take her months. It would take her a while to settle into motherhood and figure everything out. The journey ahead was long and complex, but she fervently hoped to simplify it for herself and her child to ensure she never had to choose between her family and her ambition.

Her maternity leave at the CFSL was due to start in a week, and a part of her felt the forthcoming emptiness. She knew that giving birth and taking care of her child would be difficult as a first-time mother and would perhaps take up all her time, leaving no void for her to wonder about the other things that she would miss out on, but it was pretty daunting to think of sitting idle at home. 

...

25th September

The monsoon in the city had paved the way for the beautiful autumn. The seasons were changing, and the yellowing leaves on the trees that had been a vibrant green barely a month ago were testimony to the same. The pale and cool breeze combined with the hazy sunlight that shone down upon the earth, lighting it up with its brilliance, the fragrance of kaans grass permeating the air, and the unmistakable aura of festive anticipation lingering in the hearts and minds of thousands of Kolkatans. Durga Puja, the most celebrated festival of the year, was around the corner.

Despite the busy schedules of examinations and harried academic or professional commitments and fulfilment that demanded completion before the festival's commencement, the crowds thronged the pavements and streets, littering numerous shopping malls, arcades, and hawkers' markets.

Debarghya and Mrinalini were out together. Being a Saturday evening with barely more than a week to go for Durga Puja, the markets were loaded. After much procrastination and contemplation, the two of them finally decided to go and shop for their unborn child. 

Initially, after numerous Debjani and Rai's advice to refrain from buying anything for the child before birth as it wasn't considered auspicious and could be a harbinger of inevitable evil eye on their happiness, they had decided that it wasn't practical to hold off buying basic necessities and essentials for their child as they would have to be prepared. Starting with a few onesies and cloth nappies followed by a pack of around fifty size Small diapers, suitable for a newborn, that would last them the first week; they had gone forward to splurge on a few miniature bedsheets made of soft cotton and muslin. They also found a small bed for their baby with a built-in foldable mosquito net and a tiny, flat pillow that would provide the proper support for the delicate neck column of a newborn.

Debarghya walked ahead with most of the bags in his grasp as Mrinalini gasped, trying to keep up with his pace. The weight of the baby on her pelvis was feeling increasingly heavy with each passing day, and juggling their shopping bags and managing herself felt like a daunting task.

"Debarghya, please wait," she called out to her husband, stopping to catch her breath. She pressed a hand against her abdomen and another to her lower back, straightening herself. "I need a break before we can continue."

"Are you okay?" he asked, the concern apparent in his voice. "We can return home now and resume shopping for the rest later. We can also order online."

"I just need a minute," Mrinalini replied. She held on to Debarghya's arm, stabilising herself. She winced, her grip tightening as she let out a gasp.

"Was that a contraction?" Debarghya asked his wife. His face reflected the panic that he couldn't diminish. "Do you want to take a seat?"

Mrinalini nodded. "It hurts," she cried in a gasp. She hid her face in her palms, unwilling to attract attention from those nearby. "I am not in labour, am I?"

Around ten minutes later, they managed to hail a cab. Debarghya called up Dr Mitra, explaining to her about Mrinalini's pain and his concerns that she may be having contractions.

"It may be Braxton Hicks or false contractions," Dr Mitra replied. "Either way, bring her to the hospital as soon as possible. You can go back home if it is nothing, but if she is in labour, we'll have to see our options depending on the situation."

"Don't panic, Arghya," Mrinalini told her husband gently, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "The doctor said that it could be false contractions. We'll be fine."

"Do I call home and let everyone know?" he asked. "I don't know how you are so calm."

"I am not," she snapped in response. "It just won't help if the two of us are equally frazzled. And to answer your question, do not call home and say anything yet. Let Dr Mitra take a look first. There's no point worrying everyone for nothing."

The drive to the hospital took almost an hour, given the traffic. Mrinalini was having pain on and off with varying intensity that made her more confused than worried while her husband was trying his best to keep his frantic self in check. 

They were waiting in Dr Mitra's consult room for her to enter. She had taken Mrinalini in immediately for an ultrasonography and had gone to collect the report.

"You are getting on my nerves with that foot tapping," Mrinalini snapped at Debarghya, clutching her dress as a wave of pain hit her. "If you can't help, just go away and let me be in pain peacefully."

"I am sorry," he replied immediately. "I don't know if we are ready, which worries me. Our baby is going to be born premature if you are actually in labour."

"She is going to stay in here till it is time," Mrinalini replied with a conviction that she did not feel as she pointed at her belly. "There's no way she is taking birth while we are still unprepared for her to go home. There's so much to buy, and I just ordered her feeding bottles online. What if they don't arrive in time and..."

"You are not in labour," Dr Mitra's voice cut short her rant as she entered the room regarding Mrinalini's USG scan. "It is Braxton Hicks, as I had thought initially. These contractions shall pass soon, and you'll be good to go. Looks like your baby isn't ready to come out just yet. Maybe they know that there is still a lot of shopping left for their parents to do."

Mrinalini blushed beet red, knowing that the doctor had heard most of her frantic monologue. "You sound confident that you are having a girl, Mrinalini?" Dr Mitra teased her patient jovially.

"I want a daughter," she replied with a smile. "I am praying to all the deities out there to bless us with a little girl."

Dr Mitra smiled. "We'll see. The D-day's not far away. It's just not today."

"What is the projected due date, doctor?" Debarghya asked, his demeanour normalising as he realised his wife and baby were well. "The last time, you had given us around October 15th as the possible date."

"Well, I would still predict the same. Around mid-October, for sure. The pregnancy can even go on a few days longer, so my call would be anytime between October 12th and October 18th. However, this is Mrinalini's first pregnancy, and there has been spotting and bleeding before. Premature labour is very much possible. The baby seems to do well, though, so I would still say there are minimal chances of that happening.

"Doctor, Durga Puja is starting next week. Out-patient departments would all be closed during that time. Do we come here in case of an emergency?"

Dr Mitra nodded, affirming. "I will be on-call on all three main days of the festival, i.e., Saptami, Ashtami, and Navami. On the other days, I will be at the hospital on duty. If there's any urgent situation, you can bring her here directly to the ER and get her admitted under me. When I am on-call or away from the hospital, I get in touch with my junior, Dr Mukherjee. He will be on duty when I am not around. I suppose you know him, Debarghya. He will inform me if the need arises, depending on the situation at hand."

"Thank you, doctor," Mrinalini replied, getting off the examination table with Debarghya's help. 

Both of them returned home, shaken slightly from their experience. Mrinalini was immensely exhausted, and she nodded off to sleep in the backseat of the cab, her hand instinctively lying on her abdomen. The shopping bags were littered across the seat and the car floor. Debarghya's nervousness was palpable in the air. They were both prepared for parenthood, and yet the possibility of a sudden birth had been terrifying. 

While new beginnings brought forth happiness, excitement, and adventure through what awaits in life, they also bring with them a sense of foreboding, fear, and possibilities that may be ambiguous and sinister in nature. The future was as hazy and unpredictable as ever before. They just had to make it through with their eyes closed and faith intact.

...

"You know that what my mother said is right?" Debarghya asked Mrinalini as they prepared to retire for the night. "You have to be taking rest. What if you had gone into an early labour?"

Mrinalini rolled her eyes. "False contractions haven't got anything to do with rest, Arghya. I am fine, and so is our baby. Moreover, I am already taking it easy. How much more cautious can we be?"

Upon her husband and mother-in-law's insistence and advice, they had recently employed someone to help with doing the dishes, helping out in the kitchen with some strenuous chores like chopping vegetables, grinding spices, and anything else that Mrinalini would need help with. The maid was also kind enough to her volition to help with drying the clothes as it required climbing a flight of stairs to the terrace with a heavy bucket of clothes in hand that wasn't recommended for Mrinalini in her advanced stage of pregnancy. Debarghya was helping with ironing, while Rai often came over with food to lend her daughter a hand.

For Mrinalini, having her mother close by had been a blessing in the days leading up to her giving birth. The journey was easier with her closest confidante nearby. After all, despite her husband and mother-in-law's presence, nothing could replace her mother.

"We need to buy a few more things for our baby," Debarghya continued, ignoring his wife's protests. "A crib for starters, some bibs, and burp clothes. Do we need any more clothes?"

"We'll need some shirts and pyjama sets," Mrinalini said. "Till the stub of the umbilical cord falls off, it will be difficult for the baby to wear onesies. Why do we need a crib? We have already bought an enclosure enabling our child to sleep on the bed with us. It has an in-built mosquito net. What is the problem?"

"It isn't safe, Mrinal," Debarghya sighed. "I know that you want our child to sleep next to you, but our bed is barely big enough for the two of us. Our baby will be too fragile and delicate in the first few months. We can't risk injuring them unknowingly. The movements we make in bed while sleeping aren't voluntary, and could hurt the baby. A crib would enable the baby to have their own space, and we can put it right next to our bed. That way, we can be nearby when they cry at night. You can sleep with the baby next to you during the day and the nights that I am away."

Although Mrinalini wasn't thrilled at the prospect of making her baby sleep in a crib, she did see reason in her husband's justification. They were both restless sleepers, and although they woke up at the slightest noise or movement, their baby was safer next to their bed than on it. After all, injuries and accidents are never planned; they happen despite precautions.

"Cribs are expensive," she replied after some consideration. "Do we buy a big one that can be used till the baby's around four years of age, or do we buy something like a bassinet or cradle instead that can be used till they're around two?"

"We need to buy based on reviews and recommendations online," Debarghya reasoned, sitting next to his wife on the bed. He unlocked his phone and ventured onto Amazon to find the ideal options. 

"Sort the results based on average customer reviews," Mrinalini instructed, looking over his shoulder. "Are you serious?" Debarghya exclaimed as he looked at the results. "How on earth does a crib cost more than Rs. 1 lakh?"

Mrinalini giggled at the incredulity that reflected on Debarghya's face. "We might as well buy a bigger bed at that amount," she joked.

"Let's get a small bassinet cum cradle?" he offered, keeping his phone aside. "Our baby can sleep there for the first few months, and once they get stronger and crawl and move around, we'll explore further options."

"We'll not explore further options, Debarghya," Mrinalini replied firmly. "We are buying a bigger bed. Our baby is sleeping next to us. That is how we were brought up as children, and that is exactly how our child will be raised. I am not too keen on adapting to the Western norm of independent sleeping or whatever it is called."

"We can also buy a miniature bed," Debarghya offered. "You don't understand, Mrinal. I am scared of hurting the baby while sleeping. I know they'll grow up in a few months and be strong enough, but even so, what if something happens unknowingly?"

Realising his genuine fear and anxiousness, Mrinalini took his hand in hers, clutching it reassuringly. "Nothing will happen to our baby. We might be scared now, but we will change as people when we become parents. These fears and situations you are so scared of right now would be coming instinctively to us."

He sighed. Taking their conjoined hands to his lips, he gently pecked the back of her hand, silently expressing his fond affection and appreciation. "I hope we can make it, Mrinal."

"God be willing, we shall," she punctuated with a smile.

...

October 4th

"I don't care if I have a niece or nephew, but they are going to be a supporter of FC Barcelona," Debrishi announced. He had just arrived in Kolkata for Durga Puja, surprising everyone as he had initially been informed that his leaves weren't approved. The Acharya household was filled with activity as the younger son's arrival had brought forth more joy than what could be expressed.

Debjani was over the moon, and an immediate call had been made to her daughter, Anumegha. she had wasted no time coming over with her son and husband to spend some time with the brother who had been absent for months, having been engrossed in work. Rai was present too, having come over earlier to check on her daughter and had stayed back at everyone's insistence, enjoying the banter of the siblings and the activities of the little toddler, Archisman, who had more energy in him than a nuclear reactor. The little guy was running hither-tither with his father following close behind, ensuring he wouldn't get hurt.

"And Brazil," Debarghya said, adding to what his brother had said. Like most Bengali households in Kolkata, the Acharyas were ardent followers of football. They had firmly loyal fandom when it came to football clubs and the ever-famous Brazil-Argentina rivalry that infested the City of Joy, dividing its citizens inevitably every time there would be a match on. 

"And East Bengal," Debjani added, making her daughter-in-law laugh and son-in-law protest. Srijit was from a family that supported Mohun Bagan, while the Acharyas had their ancestry rooted in Bangladesh, formerly East Pakistan, which made them natural supporters of East Bengal. The crazy football rivalry, starting with El Classico to the Bengali derby that often made the City of Joy erupt into fun chaos, was an essential part of heritage. To each family member, it mattered that the unborn child would be a supporter of their favourite teams.

"How about you guys finish drinking your tea, and then we can decide what else Dada and Boudi's baby should be supporting and doing?" Anumegha broke the fun banter as she set down a tray on the table. The tray had cups of tea accompanied by some assorted biscuits.

"Mamma, when are we going out pandal-hopping?" Archisman asked, coming up to his mother and plopping down on her lap. "I want to eat ice cream."

Mrinalini laughed as she brought her nephew a cup of milk in which she had used a chocolate-flavoured powder in. "If you finish drinking this, we'll get you ice cream later, won't we, Brishti di?"

"You heard your mami (aunt, maternal uncle's wife)," Anumegha told her son gently. "Drink up the milk. We'll count till 30, okay?"

"While my nephew's finishing his milk to help him grow and play football, can we circle back to where we were?" Debrishi asked as he set down his cup of tea. "I am serious about my niece or nephew being an FC Barcelona fan. I have even ordered a onesie with the FCB logo printed on it. Once you name the baby, I will even get them a jersey."

"I assure you that they will support FC Barcelona, Rishi," Mrinalini answered her brother-in-law. She was a football fan herself and would often stay up late with Debarghya to catch up on La Liga and Champions League matches to catch up on matches. They were both fans of FC Barcelona and Lionel Messi, and despite his leaving the club, they were still loyal, much like millions of fans across the globe. "Although, I am hoping my child turns out to be more of a lawn tennis fan," she added, grinning sheepishly.

"What's that phrase about buying cattle for a field yet to be purchased?" Debjani teased, referring to a Bengali idiom that roughly describes going forward in planning the future by daydreaming without touching the present reality.

"Ma, this is going to manifest into a reality," Debrishi defended seriously. "Your grandchild will be here in a few days. We have to make plans. Are we deciding on names? I need to place an order for the jersey."

Everyone laughed aloud. Mrinalini sat back on the armchair in the living room, resting her head and back. The house seemed lively and complete, and the anticipation of the child coming home was permeable in the air. It was Shashti, or the sixth day of the waning moon, the first day of Durga Puja, and the neighbourhood was filled with the happy, festive air that radiated throughout Bengal and the rest of India, celebrating Sharadiya Navratri.

"Are you alright, my child?" Rai asked her daughter as she let out a sigh. "I am fine, Ma," Mrinalini replied with a smile. "I just get exhausted easily."

"That is to be expected, Boudi," Anumegha commented. "As you get nearer to your due date, the exhaustion will progress more rapidly."

"Mami," Archisman's voice interrupted the conversation. "Am I having a sister or a brother?" he asked innocently. "I finished drinking my milk. Can I please have a brother?"

"We wouldn't know, sweetheart," Mrinalini replied, suppressing a laugh at the little kid's words. "It could be a brother or a sister. Either way, you are going to be a big brother. Would you not love and play with the baby?"

Archisman nodded eagerly. "I want to play with the baby."

"Soon, baby," Anumegha replied, lovingly stroking her son's cheek. "Why don't you go down to see the idol of Goddess Durga in the pandal with your father? We'll buy you an ice cream later."

"Can the baby come too?" he asked, looking at his aunt expectantly. Mrinalini got up from her seat with a sigh, extending her hand towards the child. "Come along, sweetheart. Let's go down."

She could feel Debarghya take her arm gently, helping her as she descended the stairs with their nephew. Srijit followed behind, ready to go after his son should he decide to run or make mischief that he often did. And sure enough, the moment they reached the ground floor, Archisman shot away, yanking his hand from Mrinalini's grasp and running towards the group of older boys playing football.

Mrinalini balanced herself, her hand grasping the handrail. She laughed as Srijit followed his son, shouting behind him to stop running. "This will be us in a few months," Debarghya pronounced, letting out a shudder. "My word, we'll get some cardio done daily."

...

October 6

It was Ashtami, the eighth day of Sharadiya Navratri and the most significant day of worshipping the Mother Goddess. 

Durga Ashtami reverberates with an unmatched sanctity. It's a day whispered of as a potent new beginning, where the embodiment of feminine energy, Durga, vanquishes the demons, Chando and Mundo, along with her pursuit of destroying the evil Mahishasura. The air thrums with the love and reverence of devotees as elaborate pujas unfold. Offerings ignite, symbolising the burning away of negativity. The epitome of Shakti, Durga pulsates with unbeatable energy, a birthing force that promises a world that is cleansed and renewed. She is worshipped in the form of Mahagauri, which translates to "extremely bright." This radiant manifestation signifies the immense purity needed for new beginnings. Clad in pristine white, the colour of fresh beginnings and motherhood, Mahagauri embodies the transformative power that allows us to shed our past and emerge anew. Just as a newborn arrives, innocent and untainted, Mahagauri reminds us that within us lies the potential for rebirth, a chance to wipe the slate clean and embrace a future filled with possibility.

Unlike the inexplicable energy that radiated off most of the people in the City, Mrinalini had arisen to a long day after a sleepless night. She had been sweating profusely throughout the night,, and her racing heart didn't help the anxious foreboding coursing through her. She was quiet through the proceedings of the puja when she went down to the neighbourhood's Durga Puja pandal to pay her respects to the Mother Goddess. 

She was dressed in a long, intricate cotton dress, which she had chosen to wear at the last minute instead of the usual sari she donned during festivities, as she had no strength to dress herself. Her hair was wet from the shower she had taken earlier, and the thin streak of vermillion on her parting was the only adornment on her body. She had been helped down the stairs by Debarghya while Debrishi assisted his mother. The worship altar was full of devotees who had respectfully given space for Mrinalini to stand, taking note of her pregnancy and the evident discomfort that she was in, possibly due to the pain and heaviness that was apparent in her pregnant belly.

Rain showed up from nowhere as the overcast sky began weeping in the middle of the puja, making most youngsters groan about their plans being foiled.

"I can't go out in the rain while wearing a sari," one college-going girl from the neighbourhood exclaimed. Mrinalini could hear a boy speaking to someone over the phone in hushed whispers, apologising for a possible delay, probably talking to his girlfriend.

Mrinalini shuffled in her seat slightly, biting her lip to keep from expressing a whimper as a sharp sting of pain shot through her pelvis. She looked around to check, looking for Debarghya, so she could excuse herself and return home. Debjani, sitting next to her daughter-in-law, engrossed in conversation with one of their neighbours, leaned over to Mrinalini, noticing her perceptible discomfort.

"You can go back home and rest awhile, Bouma," she said with an understanding smile. "I'll let Deb know if I see him around. You can go up and lie down. The last few weeks of pregnancy are the toughest."

Smiling gratefully at her mother-in-law, Mrinalini gingerly got up from her seat, walking out of the enclosure after excusing herself and greeting the neighbours. It was drizzling slightly, and she had to walk a few yards to get to the stairs of her building. She balanced herself carefully, avoiding the slippery ground and waddling cautiously, the weight at her midriff slowing her down. 

She took hold of the bannister and began climbing the three flights of stairs that led to their home, taking slow and calculated steps. The pain in her abdomen was intensifying, and her pelvis seemed to contract slightly, which left her to fall back and take a seat on the stairs that led to the third floor from the second floor. She gasped as she felt something trickle down her legs and watched in silent horror as a brownish-red stain appeared on the front of her dress, appearing menacingly as an unforgivable premonition.

"Mrinalini di, are you alright?" she heard a familiar voice ask her. Looking up, she saw that it was Sagnik, the boy she used to tutor. "What's that?" he asked in a horrified tone as his gaze wandered to the unmistakable blood stain marring Mrinalini's dress. 

Mrinalini could see that he was dressed in new clothes, having come home from college for the festival, and had been prepared to head down to go out with his friends probably. Alas, he had to encounter her as she sat defenceless and vulnerable. A tear escaped Mrinalini's eye as she gasped once again, this time letting out an audible whimper as her pelvis contracted severely. The blood trickling down her legs made her feel uncomfortable, sick, and undoubtedly scared.

"Please call him," she whispered, requesting the boy who stood there frozen and scared seeing her in such a position. 

Snapping out of his daze, Sagnik nodded, rushing down the stairs, taking two at once, calling out for Debarghya and Debrishi aloud. The stairwell echoed his urgent shouts as Mrinalini leaned against the stairs, taking a deep breath. The wall before her seemed to blur as she fought back the tears that had welled up in her eyes.

"It's going to be okay," she told her baby as she clutched her belly protectively. "You are going to be okay, sweetheart."

She could barely perceive her husband's voice as he rushed up the stairs, followed by her brother-in-law. She was helped onto her feet by Debarghya as she leaned against him, suppressing the pain that she felt. The blood continued to trickle down her legs, progressing from the slight wetness that she had felt on her crotch to a sticky, uncomfortable feeling that made her slightly faint. 

"There's blood," she whispered to her husband. "I know. Sagnik told me," Debarghya replied urgently. "He has gone to fetch us a cab. We are going to the hospital."

A cab had been called in less than 15 minutes, and Mrinalini was helped into the backseat. She requested her brother-in-law to fetch her medical files and some essentials that she had kept packed in a bag in her bedroom right from the 34th week of pregnancy in preparation for an emergency. The next few minutes passed by in a blur as she closed her eyes, feeling faint and exhausted. She could barely make out as Debarghya stepped into the backseat with her, having grabbed the bag from his brother's hand, saying something to reassure his mother, who was frantic in worry looking at her daughter-in-law.

"Stay here, Rishi," Debarghya urged his brother. "Call up Brishti. Once she is here, get someone to stay with Ma at home and come down to the hospital with Mrinalini's mother. I'll keep you updated over the phone."

"It's going to be okay, Boudi," was the last thing that Mrinalini heard as the cab drove away. "It will be okay," her mind whispered back to her. And in her heart, through the pain and anxiety and the ominous sinking feeling that weighed down her gut, she fervently prayed and believed that it would be true.

...

Debarghya rushed Mrinalini into the hospital's ER, asking for Dr Mukherjee as Dr Mitra had instructed them. His mind was frazzled and anxious as he looked at his wife, lying pale and quiet, barely conscious on the immaculately clean white hospital bed. A padded sheet had been placed under her by a helpful nurse to absorb the bleeding that had intensified. It had taken them almost a quarter to an hour to reach the hospital, given the traffic on the roads due to the puja and unseasonal rain. Even so, they had been helped by the traffic police when notified of an emergency, and a part of the road had been cleared off by cooperating citizens who sensed the magnitude of the situation. 

Dr Mukherjee, who was in his early forties, stepped in to examine Mrinalini, asking the nurse to fetch a portable USG so he could assess the situation. He looked at the young woman with her apparent pregnant belly with a pale look on her face. The stethoscope he placed over her heart revealed a shockingly slowing rhythm that made him frown. The sphygmomanometer that the patient had been hooked to revealed an alarmingly high blood pressure. The USG confirmed the initial prognosis that he had been expecting. 

Mrinalini had a placental abruption or placenta previa that had caused her bleeding. The baby was in distress. The shifting of the placenta towards the opening of her cervix had caused the baby to move, and the umbilical cord was coiled around it dangerously. He notified the nurse to get someone to get in touch with Dr Mitra, who was on call and lived within a distance of ten minutes from the hospital.

"We need to take her in for an emergency C-section," Dr Mukherjee informed Debarghya, looking up momentarily at the expectant father, who was undoubtedly nervous and scared. "Her placenta has detached from the uterine wall and obstructed the opening of the cervix. Since this is the third trimester, the baby is developed enough to survive well if we deliver it early. Labour cannot be induced as the mother is bleeding out and her blood pressure is excessively high. I would recommend putting her under general anesthesia to keep the bleeding under check. This procedure poses some risk, but we'll try our best to do everything we can. The nurse will get you some papers to sign off your consent, as the patient isn't in a position to decide. Do we have your go-ahead, Mr Acharya?"

Debarghya managed to nod barely, stunned at the doctor's words. He knew that placental abruptions weren't uncommon and that, in most cases, the baby survives when intervened early, but there was no denying that his fear and anxiety outweighed the rational mind that urged him to be calm and collected.

"Will she be okay? And the baby?" he asked the doctor as Mrinalini was being wheeled away to be prepared for the surgery. 

"We'll do our best, sir," the doctor replied reassuringly.

"Arghya," Mrinalini's croaky and barely audible voice called out. She beckoned him closer with a slight wave of her hand. "We will survive this," she told him softly. "If I don't, take care of our baby."

"Nothing will happen to you, Mrinal," he replied, clutching his wife's hand. "Placenta previa isn't abnormal. We read about this. Both of you will be fine," he insisted.

"If you have to choose," she continued, looking at her husband with glassy eyes. "Choose our baby. I won't survive sleeping next to an empty cradle."

With those haunting words, Mrinalini smiled faintly at her husband through her pain. He blinked through the tears that welled up in his eyes, mouthing, "You have to be okay. I need you. Our baby needs you."

Debarghya was left standing in the blindingly spotless corridor of the hospital. He was made to sign countless papers that required his consent for the surgery being performed on his wife, notifying him that he understood the risks involved. He also signed mechanically for the blood transfusion that Mrinalini would need to undergo to compensate for the blood loss. She had O-ve blood type, the universal donor, for which blood was rarely available in the bank, but the hospital did have the couple of units that she would require, which made him sigh in relief, thankful for the small mercies. He stood up when Dr Mitra rushed in, ready to go to the OR, having been summoned to the hospital for Mrinalini's case.

"We are going to do our best, Debarghya," she told him as she hurried past. "We are going ahead with the general anaesthesia for the caesarian. She had an incredibly high blood pressure. We couldn't risk her bleeding out on the table during the surgery. An epidural or local anaesthesia wouldn't have helped her calm down, but complete sedation would, hopefully."

He nodded, dazed, overwhelmed with all that was happening around him. Just this morning, he had awoken to whisper into Mrinalini's ears how beautiful it would be when they became parents, and here was the sheer horror that he was experiencing and living through. He was scared for his baby and his wife, terrified at the possibility of living the next day without either of them by his side. 

An hour passed, and he was barely aware of his brother coming and sitting next to him. His mother-in-law, Rai, followed behind. She had obviously suppressed her tears, as was apparent from her bloodshot eyes, and had her hands folded, her lips moving silently in fervent prayer. 

"Dada," Debrishi addressed his elder brother. "Boudi will be fine. Don't worry."

"What if something happens?" Debarghya whispered back, voicing his nightmare for the first time since they had stepped into the hospital, letting out his demons from the confines of his mind.

"Nothing will happen," Rai replied firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Lord Krishna can't be so unkind. She will live through this and raise my grandchild. My Mini will survive, as will her baby."

"I hope so, Ma," Debarghya replied, sighing in exhaustion. A couple of hours passed, followed by another, and their fears intensified with each passing moment when, finally, a nurse stepped out of the Operating Room's corridors, closing the door behind. She was still in scrubs.

"The mother is being operated on to heal the bleeding originating from the placenta," she started. "Her blood pressure is steady now, and the doctors anticipate a clean surgery with a probably long but full recovery with adequate rest."

"And the baby?" Rai asked earnestly, her eyes watering in relief as she optimistically heeded the first piece of news. Her daughter would be fine. She felt it in her heart.

"A baby girl," the nurse informed with a smile. "She is safe and healthy. The doctors are running some tests on her. I'll get her for you once she has been cleaned and swaddled."

A cumulative sigh of relief escaped all three members of the family who had been waiting patiently. Rai folded her hands, praising the Lord, while Debrishi embraced his shocked brother, whispering his congratulations.

And as the holy chants of Durga Ashtami echoed in the air, a miracle unfolded, whispering of the new beginnings. A radiant baby girl, blessed by the strength of the Divine Feminine, entered the world, a testament to the circle of life, rebirth, and boundless gratitude. 

"The Mother Goddess has blessed our home," Rai punctuated with a soft murmur, smiling as she looked at her son-in-law, tears of joy shining in her eyes.

The ephemeral whispers celebrated the arrival of two little feet and a steady heart embodied as a tiny angel, as the future shimmered, a canvas waiting to be painted with the vibrant hues of beauty, blessings, serendipity, and the enduring miracle of life itself. 

...

To be continued...

PUBLISHED ON: June 27, 2024

Author's note:

Hi everyone. How's the monsoon treating you?

Here in Mumbai, the rains have been sporadic, unlike the usual continuous showers for which the City of Dreams is renowned. I always find the rain to be strangely soothing, a reminder of the beautiful nature that the Almighty has blessed the world with, a phenomenon that speaks of new beginnings and cleansed pasts, paving the way to a beautiful future that ought to be welcomed with open arms.

The petrichor permeating the air is the most familiar scent that inspires me to write more than anything else in the world.

The theme of this chapter was centred around the rain in the form of retrospection, introspection, birth, and nurturing, strangely in resonance with new life and nativity. For any human being, parenthood is natural, strange and yet familiar. I wanted to write this chapter to speak of the less talked about, less-than-beautiful births that so many mothers across the globe have to survive through, physically and mentally. The cycle of life is beautiful but often downplayed and not respected as much. Through this, I hope to reach out to mothers who, despite odds, strive to give their children all that they can and to mothers who have unfortunately been bereaved.

Words, I know, are poor comforters, but I hope the Almighty gives you strength and that the world you live in gives you some remnants of comfort and joy to help you sustain and survive for the sake of those who love and live for you.

New beginnings are terrifying as they are welcoming, and through this story, I hope to share the same with all of you. Thank you for being here with me and Mrinalini along the journey.

The story's yet to be completed, but well onto the beginning of the end. 

TASK FOR YOU ALL!!!

So, Team Boy vs Team Girl, sorry, but I vetoed the Team Girl votes:). It is crucial to the storyline. How about some cute nickname suggestions?

SUGGEST NICKNAMES HERE. :)

The name's already decided, but the nickname portal's open. Drop in your ideas, guys.

Thank you once again for reading. And I hope that Mrinalini's story continues to touch your heart. 

The chapters are unedited, so please do notify me if you come across errors.

Stay safe and healthy. Live life to its best. Life is a blessing, so please understand that failures and successes don't determine your ability. You are a blessing to those around you. Do not let the demons in your mind overpower you or steer you into decisions that shall hurt and leave the people around lamenting. 

Take care and thrive.

With love,

Elegiac_Damsel

P.S. Please do share your thoughts with me.

P.PPSlease do VOTE, COMMENT, and SHARE if Mrinalini's story has been able to touch a part of you.