Custody (8 page)

Finally they were ushered in.

Smaller than the ants on the ground, smaller than the motes of the dust in the sunlit air, smaller than drops of dew caught between blades of grass in the morning was Ishita as she sat in the gynaecologist’s office with her mother-in-law, watching as the doctor sketched out the messages concealed in her body. Here were the tubes, here the eggs, here was where conception occurred. The loss of normal anatomy meant fertilisation could not take place without intervention. Fortunately, the couple had youth on their side. Often people turned to alternative methods only after years of trying, by which time age had reduced their chances.

They could first go in for IUI, intrauterine insemination, where the husband’s sperm would be washed and injected into the woman’s body – a simple procedure, with a minimum of discomfort. It was a comparatively cheap, less invasive alternative, and the success rate ranged from 5 to 40 per cent. It all depended on the quality.

‘My boy is young and healthy, his sperm will be good,’ said the mother.

If that did not work, they could go in for IVF, fertilisation that took place in a culture medium outside the body, with egg and sperm extracted from respective donors. Including the cost of the embryologist, the package worked out to 60,000 rupees, with a fifty-fifty chance of success. Other clinics charged less, but had a lower success rate as well. If that didn’t work, some people went in for a surrogate womb. She gestured to the pictures behind her: look at all those newborn infants conceived with our help. Here were some pamphlets on the subject.

‘Beta, just wait outside for a minute,’ instructed the mother-in-law finally, after she had followed everything the doctor said with the attention of a hawk, lazily circling the sky, alert to the movement of small innocent creatures scampering below.

Ishita got up. She could hear the shuffle her feet made as she left the room and despised her leaden legs. As she sat on the well-worn chairs she noticed she was trembling. She knew why she had been sent out. Her mother-in-law wanted to know all the long-term prospects, all the financial implications, before she decided to get rid of her daughter-in-law. They called it the sword of Damocles. Its tip was now grazing her hair, she wished it would fall and slice her in two without further ado. Hopefully the doctor’s information would hasten the process, because she didn’t think she could live in suspense for very long.

‘Mummy says we must go in for the IVF,’ said Suryakanta that night, after they made love – the love that was never going to lead to a pregnancy.

‘She did?’

‘I told you she would be supportive.’

Nobody had mentioned how painful the procedure would be, how tedious, how embarrassing. At the start of her menstrual cycle she was injected with fertility drugs to stimulate her follicles. The more follicles, the more eggs, the more chances of retrieval, the greater the chances of pregnancy.

Every two or three days she visited the doctor, with hope in her heart. Her blood had to be tested, ultrasounds taken. Are things going according to schedule? Are there enough follicles?

More injections. More hormones.

When it was time to harvest the eggs, she was given an anaesthetic. To extract them from the follicles, needles were inserted through the vagina into the ovaries. Once they were retrieved, she could go home, pumped full of antibiotics. After this the action shifted to a laboratory, where her egg united with her husband’s sperm which had been collected, washed and prepared.

For six days her baby lay in the IVF lab. Days of tension, days in which in the deepest recesses of her mind she allowed the faintest of hopes to flicker. She whispered to herself, my baby. Also known as an embryo.

Back to the embryologist, back to the doctor, back to lying on her back and having a catheter inserted into her. The catheter which contained her baby. Three in fact, out of which one might develop.

Prayers, prayers, more prayers. Please stay, please grow. You are my only chance of happiness. So many people to love you, just come into the world. I beg you.

But it wouldn’t. Even with more hormones it wouldn’t.

Her period. Her bloody period. Each sanitary napkin soaking up thousands of rupees, hours of energy, months of expectation, now to be wrapped in old newspaper and discreetly disposed of.

Not so discreet was the reaction when it was known she had her period. No, there was nothing subdued about that.

She hated this baby, hated it. Even living for a few months was beyond it.

Ever since the fertilised egg had been implanted, Mrs Rajora had been asking every day, how do you feel, how do you feel? In her desperation Ishita had begun to feel nauseous, though she had yet to throw up – too soon, opined the mother, but God is with you, the biggest thing is not to worry, stress is very bad for pregnancy.

‘Never talk to me of miracles again, Mama,’ cried Ishita when she gave the news. ‘This is my karma. Nothing will break it.’

‘We can pay for another attempt, after all, these things are not so easy,’ said the father breaking his heart over his daughter’s despair.

‘There is no guarantee, Papa, you know that. What is the point?’

‘The point is your happiness.’

‘Which is doubtful in this case. And why should you lose everything you have saved? No, if they really want to try, they should pay themselves.’

‘They have paid. Now maybe it is our turn?’

‘We didn’t explore every option. We didn’t go in for frozen embryos. That would have made it easier the second time round.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

Because the mother-in-law hadn’t wanted to waste endless time and money trying, because the doctor might have told her that repeated attempts don’t increase the chances of success, each try remains at fifty-fifty.

Had there been something wrong with SK, they would have moved heaven and earth to get a son’s defect corrected. In an ideal world, the same resources would have been put at the disposal of a daughter-in-law. But this was not an ideal world.

It didn’t take long for the loving atmosphere around Ishita to grow so thin that it became hard for her to breathe. Was it possible for them all to change towards her, SK, Chandrakanta and Tarakanta? Hadn’t they valued her for herself?

Of course they had, replied the mother-in-law when Ishita’s pent-up heart burst with wounded feelings in front of the most powerful member of the household. They were simple, warm and affectionate.

Unfortunately Ishita knew that was true.

‘For us the girl’s qualities were everything. You know we asked for no dowry?’

A small nod directed towards the floor.

‘For us money is not as important as family. But beta, it is essential that Suryakanta have a child. As the only son, he has to make sure that the bloodline of his forefathers continues. And now’ – she hesitated slightly – ‘I need to talk to your mother.’

Ishita sat as though a mountain of stones were pressing upon her.

‘I will visit her tomorrow. I am sure something can be worked out. You are a sensible girl.’

‘Yes, Mummy.’

In the night she asked Suryakanta, ‘Why does Mummy want to talk to my mother?’

He merely grunted and she was too disheartened to insist on an answer, sure that it would make her even more miserable. Might as well live in the dark a bit longer. She would know soon enough.

Her mother phoned her as soon as her mother-in-law left. ‘They want a divorce.’

‘He also?’

‘She says he also.’

‘Then I should come home?’

‘Don’t be silly. They are not getting rid of us so easily.’

‘What do you mean? Have you found a new fertility cure?’

The bravado in her daughter’s voice broke the mother’s heart. She tried to say a few encouraging words, which Ishita heard impatiently before putting the phone down.

Mrs Rajora wandered onto her tiny veranda. Discussion with her husband was useless: no matter how justified her anxiety, he accused her of needless worrying. It was his way of protecting himself, she thought.

Now she sat alone, staring at the many children playing in the square below, assailed by their rising voices, their excitement, their quarrels, their play.

The bell rang. She got up, half ready with her social face. She who loved company had not exchanged a word with anyone for weeks now. But neither Mrs Rajora nor the co-operative housing society was designed for solitude. It was Mrs Kaushik at the door demanding tea, determined to find out what the matter was.

All this was not to be resisted. The end result was that an appointment was made for Ishita and her mother to go and see Leela Kaushik’s astrologer. ‘See this jade – he got me this stone – I wear it because my mercury is too strong. Now I am not taking tension.’

‘Is there something for infertility?’

‘Of course. He will suggest something, he is very, very good, not at all money-minded.’

Next week Mrs Rajora dragged her daughter to the astrologer. There is a child in her hand, he said, after turning her palm over several times, scrutinising it carefully by the light of a lamp.

‘She is young and healthy,’ pleaded the mother.

‘She will know the joy of motherhood.’

‘A son?’

‘One girl.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘That is what the stars say. There is something I can give you that will help.’

The mother looked eager.

‘A stone. She has to wear a white stone – pearl or moonstone – to counteract the influence of the moon. It has to be two carats, and get the setting such that it touches her skin. It has to be made correctly, only then will it work.’

‘Please will you get it made for us?’

So, no son. Suryakanta’s bloodline was not going to be passed on through her. Besides which, she would be forced to wear an ugly ring, sitting fatly on her finger.

‘See, what did I tell you?’ they demanded of each other as they left.

‘You lose hope too easily,’ continued the mother. ‘I am doing special pujas to overcome your bad karma. There is a child in your future. Miracles do happen. We will get the stone, then we will see.’

‘These people just tell you what you want to hear,’ retorted Ishita. ‘I can’t go on living like this. He doesn’t look at me any more.’

And what was more important, though she didn’t say it, he doesn’t even touch me any more. In bed all she saw was his back. And last night, he moved into his parents’ bedroom. She felt degraded, a non-person, certainly a non-woman. He was determined there should be nothing left between them.

She was only twenty-six. She could look for a job, but the meaning of her life came from SK. For three and a half years she had been surrounded by his shy and tender love, she had set down roots in this home, the thought of being expelled from it was heartbreaking.

Her parents encouraged her to stay. In time sex would wield its magnetic attractions. How long could SK ignore the wife who lived in the same house as him?

But staying was not easy. The mother began to call her shameless, the sisters refused to talk to her, the father and SK avoided her. She only saw her husband at the dining table – a place to which she now seldom came. Who can eat if they are treated as invisible? She stayed in her room, reading magazines, flicking through TV channels, waiting for it to be late enough so she could take a sleeping pill. And not have the fantasy that Suryakanta would creep into bed, put his arms around her and tell her that he loved her, now and for ever.

A month of this and it was clear that his love must be completely dead for him to treat her so cruelly.

She took off the stupid gigantic pearl ring her mother had got for her as she decided she need be humiliated no further.

If her parents did not want her to kill herself they would have to see reason.

The parents changed their tactics. Did the family think they could marry and divorce as they pleased? They wanted a cash settlement. With their wealth, 10 lakhs was nothing. They can’t get rid of us so easily, if you come home we can kiss goodbye to everything. What about your future?

Now besides barrenness his mother accused her of money-grabbing. Did we take a dowry, did we, did we? We were too simple for worldly types such as you.

You must have known you couldn’t have a child.

You will never get a paisa from us.

How long do you think you can go on eating our salt?

There are ways to deal with shameless women like you.

In the dark watches of the night Ishita thought they were right, she was shameless. Who stayed where they were not wanted? When she looked in the mirror she saw a plain unloved face, eyes without expression, dull skin, dry lips. She had lost all the weight she had put on since her marriage, her collar bones stuck out, her breasts had shrunk. Even the beggars at the street crossings looked more lively than she. Was this the person holding out for happiness?

She appealed to the back of the man who now never spoke to her. I can’t go home, I can’t stay here. Just make it possible for our parents to settle, and then I shall get out of your life for ever. I will agree to divorce by mutual consent, otherwise you know how long that can take. I need to leave with dignity. For the sake of the love you once had for me.

‘What about you? Asking for 10 lakhs.’

She heard the disgust in his voice, and for a moment she hated her mother who made her do this. But then in the West did they not give alimony?

‘Give what you like. I don’t care. But I must be able to live with some independence. You can marry again, what can I do? My life is over,’ she tried to say without pathos, stating a simple fact.

The back did not respond, the shoulders drew a little inwards. But Ishita knew Suryakanta had understood her position. He still cared for her, no matter what his parents might maintain. Had they been living by themselves, how different it could have been.

Poor Ishita, still believing in love, even after circumstances had raked their steely claws across her marriage.

*

Two days later, her mother called. ‘They are offering 5 lakhs. What is 5 lakhs—’

Ishita cut into this: ‘Five lakhs is the price they are willing to pay. And it is me they are paying it to. If you do not want me to come home I will live as a tenant somewhere. I am leaving this house in one week. In fact,’ she lied in a low controlled tone, ‘there is a family close by willing to take me. I will die, or be killed if I continue to stay here, is that what you want? A corpse? You can have it today.’