Those three years

This story has been written by my father – Sudhanshu Pathak, originally in Hindi and has been translated by me.

I belonged to that kind of family which was entangled in the age-old customs and prejudices since ages; a middle class society where desires were big but habits lowly. To break free from traditions and fight against the irrational thinking was not something that was present in my blood. Being meek in front of elders was taken as being well-mannered and courteous.

It was the time when, with the encouragement from the elderlies, women had started seeking education and tried to change the shape of this world. It’s a different issue that the encouragement was not actually intended for education, but rather for a good marriage, since men in those days preferred a well-educated girl over others. Despite these stepping stones of social progression, the dadi-nanis of our homes used to be the same – orthodox, conventional, cruel at times, chauvinistic, superstitious and sometimes even brutally gender biased. It’s another thing that we used to seek God in their cotton-like white hair and wrinkled face.

I used to live with my maternal grandparents. They chose a postgraduate girl for my marriage – Sudha. She had done her honours in economics and it brought our family immense pride. Time went by and it didn't take her much time to adapt in my family.

1989. It had been three years of our marriage, and still, we had been issue-less. No kids until three years meant suspicion – not just for us, but for the entire family. As expected, my grandmother’s brain started going topsy-turvy. She had started crying for a baby just after the first year of my marriage, and by the end of two years, she had lost all of her patience. As a matter of fact, we didn’t have any plans to delay the conception for some years. It was just that Sudha was taking some time to conceive, while I, leaving every worry upon God, was somewhat carefree. At first silently, and after sometime blatantly, my grandmother started complaining, ‘Why don’t you take your wife to a doctor? So much delay is not good.’

Due to these frequent vicious remarks, Sudha started being worried constantly and this worry trickled down to my in-laws, who too became bothered. They were daunted about what would happen to their honour if their daughter could not bear a child? And all the while, I was utterly helpless. I neither could stop my grandmother from constantly ribbing nor could I make my wife feel any better, despite standing for her. My grandmother’s tone towards my wife became more and more bitter and once, she even cited examples of people who had been married twice just because the first wife was unable to produce kids. In a male-dominated society, no-one ever questioned my potency or advised me to go see a doctor. I started wondering what would have happened if, like Maupassant’s famous tale ‘The Story of a Farm Girl’, the flaws were in me and it was my wife who had to face the miseries. After being persistently tantalized, one day, Sudha remarked sarcastically, ‘I am not able to give you kids. Why don’t you remarry?’

I was flabbergasted, words stopped coming to my mind. After sometime, despite knowing precisely the very origin of the sarcasm, I said helplessly, ‘Come on. God knows what brought this thought into your head!’

And one day, God heard us. A soul had started twisting and turning in my wife’s womb. A wave of happiness ran throughout the family. Sudha went to my in-laws, since it would give her proper rest and more importantly peace. Those days, I was posted in a rural town called Bikramganj, and it took me quite a while to negotiate with my stern boss for leave, whose counter-logic was, ‘It’s your wife who has to deliver a baby, not you. What’s your use there?’ After much persuasion, the leave was sanctioned and I rushed to my in-laws’ place – Hazaribag. The doctors had given the expected delivery date to be 5th September plus minus 5 days.

29th Aug, 1989. That day became the most important day of my life. Two days before the estimated date, labour pain had started and I realized that the time had come. At 4 o clock in the morning, when the doctors took her inside an operation theatre, there was no-one else other than me present in the hospital. My in-laws had gone home to fetch breakfast. One hour went by, while the red bulb outside the theatre glowed ferociously. I was moving to and fro across the corridor all the while, my mind absorbed in various speculations, excited as well as worried at the same time. At about 5 in the morning, my wait was finally over, when a nurse came out and shouted, ‘Who is the attendant of Sudha?’

My feet started trembling in excitement and I ran towards her instantly when she gave me the best news that I’ve ever heard in my entire life. She said, ‘Congratulations. Your wife has given birth to a boy. Please stay here, I’ll just bring him.’

I was jumping in joy. I was happier at the fact that there was nobody else around and I could spend the next few hours with my child all alone, hugging him, kissing him and talking to him. Only I would be there, his father. Just then, the door opened and a nurse waved at me and I ran towards her, ‘See your son. The operation has been caesarean.’

I adored him. How delicate and tender did he seem? He was lost in a deep sleep. He was so soft that I felt scared even to touch him. The nurse prevented me to hold him saying, ‘He has contracted infantile jaundice. We’re moving him to neonatology ward, where he would be kept in an incubator for the next seven days.’

Ill-thoughts clouded my head. I started praying for his well-being. I saw through the glasses. Before being laid down into the incubator, I saw his eyes open for just a moment. They seemed to be in search of me, just to reassure me that there was no need to worry, everything was going to be fine. They seemed to be telling me, 'Go and look after Ma, she is eagerly waiting to see you; one week later I would be playing in your lap.'

Just then, my in-laws came when I shared the good-news. Their eyes got wet in ecstasy. I touched their feet. My father-in-law asked me, ‘So, did you see your son? What does he look like? Fair or dark, strong or frail, thin or healthy? Did his features go upon you or Sudha?’

A nurse, who was passing by, said to him, ‘The baby is very weak. He will be under our supervision in an incubator for about one week.’

But then suddenly a voice stirred me from within. I said to everybody around, ‘I don’t know whether his features resemble me or Sudha. If you trust my words, he resembles himself who has the power to break all the traditional bondages. Don’t think of him as weak! He is very strong, powerful and impactful; so powerful that the moment he came in the womb of his mother, nobody dared to say a word against her; so impactful that his birth brought so much relief to me that I even forgot to meet his mother after delivery; so strong, that his father has got a new strength the moment he saw his face – the strength of confidence.’

Really, how joyous it is to be a father.