against her own, Kaniz began to cry, as the reality of the situation dawned on her afresh. All her hopes, wishes gone to the clouds. There would be no grandchild. The ache in her heart was devastating and unbearable. Faiza too began to cry. Not so much for the baby and herself, but for her mother-in-law’s sense of loss.
When the midwife arrived, Faiza lay in Kaniz’s arms, her eyes closed, her body weakened by the contractions of her womb. Birkat Bibi, the midwife, began to work quickly, apologising to Kaniz and expressing her sorrow at this misfortune. Normally she found her role as the local midwife very rewarding, particularly when she delivered healthy, bouncing boys. It meant that her own payment would be topped up by lots of other presents, and she would be personally congratulated on her work. On occasions like this, however, she kept a very low profile, and felt guilty for receiving any payment for the help, care and treatment, that she gave to the woman miscarrying or delivering. She felt very sad for this mishap. Like everybody else in the village, Birkat Bibi knew how important this baby had been for the family.
Having seen to everything, and with Faiza refreshed, washed, and resting in another bed Birkat Bibi accepted some tea and biscuits. It was then that she asked Kaniz, what had happened and had she any idea why Faiza had lost her baby?
Kaniz had been hovering in the room, lost in her sorrow. At Birkat Bibi’s words, her head shot up. She was struck by pain, like a bolt of thunder.
“That
charail
, that witch, Salma! She’s been after Faiza, since the day she learnt of my Faiza’s pregnancy.”
“What? Which Salma, Kaniz dear?”
“Salma, the baker’s daughter, who still lives with her parents”, Kaniz spat out. “She has miscarried three times, as you well know, in the last two years. You have seen to her, haven’t you? She has not left my Faiza alone. Just yesterday she was here and actually embracing Faiza. Can you believe it Birkat Bibi? Everything in this house is soaked in her
perchanvah
.”
The midwife tactfully kept silent. She knew what Salma’s problem was. She was the one who had suggested that she see a gynaecologist in the city. At the same time, she knew all about some women’s beliefs and superstitions. She, herself, didn’t believe them. As she had to work with these women and to provide a service for them and was often generously financially rewarded by them, it wasn’t in her interest, therefore, to argue with them. She often found herself irked by her pandering to their whims and superstitious by her silence and geniality. As a midwife and nurse, her creditability would be in question if she started to imbibe and perpetuate some of the women’s beliefs.
She felt sorry for Salma, knowing that she had been made the scapegoat for this miscarriage. She had already found out why Faiza had miscarried, by asking her whether she’d fallen. Faiza had told her but had pleaded with her not to tell her mother-in-law. Thus Birkat Bibi maintained her silence. She left soon after saying she would return in the morning to see Faiza.
For the rest of the night Kaniz sat in vigil near Faiza’s bed. Her eyes full of anger and pathos. When her husband came into the room in the morning, having said his morning prayers in the mosque, she gave him a crooked bitter laugh.
“You thought I was crazy. That it was only old women’s tales. See what has happened in this house. We’ve lost a grandchild within one day, since
that
woman has been in our house. You think that I spout nonsense. You ridiculed me and my rituals. I suppose you are going to say it was all a matter of coincidence. Isn’t it strange that our healthy daughter-in-law suddenly miscarries the very next day after embracing a woman with a
perchanvah
. You think I talk nonsense, Javed-ji.” She raised her voice as she said his name.
He didn’t reply. There was nothing to say. He was very bemused by the event. There was
When the midwife arrived, Faiza lay in Kaniz’s arms, her eyes closed, her body weakened by the contractions of her womb. Birkat Bibi, the midwife, began to work quickly, apologising to Kaniz and expressing her sorrow at this misfortune. Normally she found her role as the local midwife very rewarding, particularly when she delivered healthy, bouncing boys. It meant that her own payment would be topped up by lots of other presents, and she would be personally congratulated on her work. On occasions like this, however, she kept a very low profile, and felt guilty for receiving any payment for the help, care and treatment, that she gave to the woman miscarrying or delivering. She felt very sad for this mishap. Like everybody else in the village, Birkat Bibi knew how important this baby had been for the family.
Having seen to everything, and with Faiza refreshed, washed, and resting in another bed Birkat Bibi accepted some tea and biscuits. It was then that she asked Kaniz, what had happened and had she any idea why Faiza had lost her baby?
Kaniz had been hovering in the room, lost in her sorrow. At Birkat Bibi’s words, her head shot up. She was struck by pain, like a bolt of thunder.
“That
charail
, that witch, Salma! She’s been after Faiza, since the day she learnt of my Faiza’s pregnancy.”
“What? Which Salma, Kaniz dear?”
“Salma, the baker’s daughter, who still lives with her parents”, Kaniz spat out. “She has miscarried three times, as you well know, in the last two years. You have seen to her, haven’t you? She has not left my Faiza alone. Just yesterday she was here and actually embracing Faiza. Can you believe it Birkat Bibi? Everything in this house is soaked in her
perchanvah
.”
The midwife tactfully kept silent. She knew what Salma’s problem was. She was the one who had suggested that she see a gynaecologist in the city. At the same time, she knew all about some women’s beliefs and superstitions. She, herself, didn’t believe them. As she had to work with these women and to provide a service for them and was often generously financially rewarded by them, it wasn’t in her interest, therefore, to argue with them. She often found herself irked by her pandering to their whims and superstitious by her silence and geniality. As a midwife and nurse, her creditability would be in question if she started to imbibe and perpetuate some of the women’s beliefs.
She felt sorry for Salma, knowing that she had been made the scapegoat for this miscarriage. She had already found out why Faiza had miscarried, by asking her whether she’d fallen. Faiza had told her but had pleaded with her not to tell her mother-in-law. Thus Birkat Bibi maintained her silence. She left soon after saying she would return in the morning to see Faiza.
For the rest of the night Kaniz sat in vigil near Faiza’s bed. Her eyes full of anger and pathos. When her husband came into the room in the morning, having said his morning prayers in the mosque, she gave him a crooked bitter laugh.
“You thought I was crazy. That it was only old women’s tales. See what has happened in this house. We’ve lost a grandchild within one day, since
that
woman has been in our house. You think that I spout nonsense. You ridiculed me and my rituals. I suppose you are going to say it was all a matter of coincidence. Isn’t it strange that our healthy daughter-in-law suddenly miscarries the very next day after embracing a woman with a
perchanvah
. You think I talk nonsense, Javed-ji.” She raised her voice as she said his name.
He didn’t reply. There was nothing to say. He was very bemused by the event. There was
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