Tuesday, September 20, 2016

“There is only one perfect child in this world…and every mother has it”.

d3f534c7b70efba66ecf0aef0e97a9a217 hours had passed before she opened her eyes. There were tubes in her mouth and she was lying on a hospital bed. She could hear the beeps from a machine that was probably hooked onto some support system and could feel wires and needles attached to her body. She managed to turn her head a little and saw a fuzzy white figure moving about. It took her a while before her eyes could adjust with the light in the room and to gather that she was not alone. The moving white blob was a nurse. She tried to call her but could only manage a mewl. A stinging pain ran from her throat down to her stomach, sharp enough to make her cry. However, the muffled gargle that she could muster was enough to draw the nurse’s attention. The nurse walked up to her and asked her if she could see alright. She nodded. The nurse went across to the machines, noted the readings and went outside, probably to call the doctor.

She looked around again at her sorroundings and a faint recollection of the recent events made her realize that she had failed. She was not supposed to be here – with doctors around trying to keep her alive. A paranoia of being suffocted engulfed her and she suddenly felt desperate and claustrophobic. She wished she could just vanish into thin air. Had it been possible for her to control any motor functions, she would have gathered herself up and thrown herself out of the hospital window on a cold, concrete floor.

Cold – her head swirled at the thought of a cold body. Her fingers felt frozen as if they were stuck together. Her head started playing the reel of the last events that had happened before she had dozed off and woken up on the hospital bed.

She rememberd having gulped the entire glass of water in one go and throwing it away and the sound of glass crashing on the floor as she swallowed the entire bottle of her prescription pills. She recalled coming back into the bedroom and lying down next to her daughter and holding onto her tiny little hand before she passed out. Her fingers could still feel the clasp of her daughter’s fingers when she held them, that last time. She closed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek and suddenly things started flashing in her head.

She could see her five year old daughter sleeping peacefully in her pink blanket. The child was pretty as a picture and her mind played the memory of the time when she had held her daughter for the first time after twelve hours of a grueling, complicated delivery. A tuft of white clouds with a tinge of pink, crying in voice that could have been the song of an angel. Her baby had a pair of brown eyes that could make any heart melt. She was a proud mother that day and wasn’t her husband the happiest father in the world. How they sat there watching her all night long and argued about the name till the first rays of sun streamed in through the curtains and drenched them all in a golden shine. It was blissful and she could still remember how she prayed that moment and wanted that happiness to last forever.

Her throat swelled at the child’s memory and she couldn’t stop her tears anymore. She wanted to stop her train of thoughts. She wanted her brain to go dead that very instant and go blank forever. Much as she tried, she couldn’t hold back the visions of the days gone by.

Six months after their child was born, she had moved with her husband to a smaller house in a bigger city and that was just about the time when their lives changed forever. As time flew by, they began to suspect some development delays in their daughter. Their family doctor observed that their child’s reflexes, motor development and coordination was not optimal and recommended a few tests. Neuroimaging and MRI confirmed their worst fears. Their angel was diagnosed with incurable mixed cerebral palsy with a combination of athetoid and spastic palsy with neuromuscular mobility impairment. The specialist they went to with the reports confirmed that their precious princess would never be able to lead a normal life, be the normal child that they desired and will forever require assistance in doing her daily chores – holding things, walking, standing or even sitting.

To hope is human and the family continued battling with their angel’s impediment. They consulted multiple specialists, neurosurgeons, consultants in various hospitals; tried natural therapies, surgeries and practically everything that anyone and everyone suggested. The next stage was to resort and hope for divine intervention. They visited temples and shrines and mosques without a discretion, made offerings, prayed, fasted and distributed alms as they thought necessary.

Nothing helped.

There were times when she would look at the little one and exclaim that she was perfect in her own right. The child looked at everyone the same way and responded by whatever emotion she could manage in her limited palette. There were times when as a mother, she could sense that her daughter was able to comprehend what went around her and knew that she wasn’t like the rest of the world and this made her sad. During all such moments any affection that she would bestow on her child cheered her up tremendously. Everytime her daughter managed to hold her fingers and offer her a feeble smile, it would ease her pain. On all such moments, she would hold her child to her bosom, kiss her face a dozen times and wail her heart out.

As days passed by, their daughter’s medical expenses rose and their finances dwindled. Her jewelry was first pawned and later sold. Her husband’s business suffered and slowly the expenses claimed their expensive household items and their peace; largely their peace. The couple who had defied all social norms and married after standing up against their respective families spent many a evenings in despair, arguing about petty things and being bitter.

It was at this moment that her husband walked into the hospital room with the doctor. She heard him as he spoke to the doctor but did not open her eyes. She couldn’t gather enough courage to look him in the eye. She had done what she had thought was necessary. She had already written a short note that gave her husband a clean chit and sought forgiveness for her act confessing that she was broken and couldn’t handle her situation anymore before she had walked to that medicine cabinet and picked up that bottle of her pills. She never imagined that she would ever have to face him again until this moment. The doctor came around and after tinkering with the machines and devices attached to her body forced opened her eyelids with his hand. She opened her eyes feebly. The doctor asked her if she could see and hear him. She nodded.

Her gaze shifted to her husband who was standing in a corner looking at her and their eyes met. He kept looking at her from that distance and stood in silence. She realized that there was nothing to be said either. She closed her eyes and went back to her sequece of thoughts.

She recalled it was just a day before that she had vent out her frustration and desperation on her husband. Their daughter had again wet the bed and needed help cleaning up and he was out in the balcony talking on the phone when she screamed and demanded him to come inside and give her a hand without realizing how badly he was trying to hold things together and get his business back on track. She had screamed and tore at him and held him responsible for all what was wrong in their lives. They continued screaming at each other until she lashed out and dug her nails in his arms and scratched his face and he pushed her back on the floor and darted out of the house.

She must have been sitting on the floor for what felt like an eternity, before she realized that her daughter still needed her attention and a change of clothes. A feeble tear tricked off her eyes and she wiped it with the back of her hand. She got up and tended to her daughter, fed her some of her favorite custard and crooned a little lullaby and tuck her into fresh, clean sheets and watched her doze off.

It was the moment when she decided what she wanted to do. This was her escape plan. She made up her mind to throw in the towel and finally give up. There was nothing she could do anymore and that was probably the best for everyone.

“Is she awake and in a position to give a statement?” a thick voice brought her back into the hospital room. She opened her eyes and saw a policeman walk into the hospital room with the doctor. Her husband was not there anymore. She let a sigh of relief. The doctor walked over and pulled the tube out of her mouth. She was ready to confess.

She looked at the cop who was now sitting on a chair by her bedside and without needing another prompt began talking.

“It had all come down to that very moment. It wasn’t about my child not being like other kids or her not being able to reciprocate love the same way, it wasn’t about complaining to the Gods or thinking about virtues or sins either. It was the moment to face the truth which had been glaring at my face in its stark nakedness. It was about realizing that there was no hope of my daughter getting any better than how she was. It was about checking out the bank statements and realizing that our financial security had crumbled long ago and that it was now a struggle just to stay afloat. It was about me realizing that my husband was already neck deep into debts and that I was blaming him for their situation for no apparent fault of his.” She paused hoping her husband would return to listen to her. He didn’t.

She continued “My child slept peacefully oblivious to what was going on in her mother’s head. I held my daughter close to my bosom and then in a swift motion moved my hands around her neck. For a second, I didn’t know what to do and if I should use my bare hands or find a piece of cloth to wrap around the child’s neck. I felt my head would blow up and I couldn’t hold back my tears. I couldn’t see anymore. I clasped my hands around my daughter’s neck and built the pressure on. My child coughed and woke up and looked at her mother. It wasn’t as if she could resist or fight back. Her feet twitched a little and her eyes widened. I did not stop. I did not let go. I held on, clasping tighter than before and closed my eyes. I dared not look at my child’s face as I strangled her. I kept crying and then screamed my heart out and it was probably the moment when I squeezed at her tiny neck the hardest. It was the moment when my child stopped twitching and all went quiet”.

She was crying as she talked now. The policeman kept taking notes and did not interrupt. She continued.

“I could feel the child go limp but I did not let go... I did not let go of my child’s neck. Perhaps, I feared that she could come back to life. I checked if she was breathing.. checked her again if her little heart was beating. I let go only after I knew that she had crossed the point of no return. I laid my child back on the bed and sat by her side. I touched her cold body and for some inexplicable reason tucked her in the blanket. It was then that I broke down in despair, banging my head on the wall and crying till my voice gave up”.

“What did you do then?” the cop implored.

“I don’t remember how long I must have sat there crying. When I gained some consciousness I realized I had done what was needed and that it was the time to clean up. I got up and went to the medicine cabinet to look for my prescription pills” she stopped and closed her eyes.


Click on the following link to read the news item which triggered this story: http://epaperbeta.timesofindia.com/Article.aspx?eid=31808&articlexml=Told-girl-wont-get-well-mother-killed-her-17092015007021


3 comments :

Aarti said...

Very gripping and riveting. The palpable helplessness of the mother yet the courage. Came across such an emotional piece of work after ages. by the time I reached the end I have had many goosebumps. Beautifully penned ;brimming with emotions.

Himanshu Tandon said...

Thanks a ton for your feedback there Aarti... it's always good to hear from you. Am glad you like this piece.

Unknown said...

That was a compelling story. Hats off to your imagination. Great work !

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