Lila

2. The Plight of a Woman

1963, somewhere in western India, the clock had just struck midnight, and it unfurled a dark velvet curtain to witness a fragile girl child's excruciating arrival in the world , which mirrored the struggles of her older siblings, who unfortunately never made it into the world. Her mother, a portrait of agony, was in severe pain and had grown ashen. They rushed her to a nearby public hospital in a small car favoured from the neighborhood, with her husband at the wheel. The road was more like a series of potholes, reminiscent of a lunar landscape and had huge puddles. Each bump in the road caused Swara to cry out in pain. She was only thirty-four weeks pregnant, so the baby was coming early. This was her seventh pregnancy, and there was little hope that this child would survive. Even if she did, it would be Swara's breaking point. She desperately wanted to give up; she was exhausted. The constant pressure from people around her, the years of struggling to have a baby, had slowly worn her down year by year and day by day. It felt as if her very essence had faded away. Questions haunted her, questions without answers. Was she truly a wife, she wondered, if she couldn't fulfill the dreams her husband had labored for, dreams etched in sweat and toil? Could she ever be a dutiful daughter if she couldn't weave the mantle of grandmotherhood for her own mother? And in the deepest corners of her heart, she pondered if she could ever be a complete woman, her identity incomplete without the persistence of motherhood?

Swara was quickly taken to the ICU and kept under vigilant observation until the primary doctor arrived. At three o'clock, the situation took a turn for the worse, an urgent surgery had to be done. Unfortunately, the doctor was still absent from the scene, and he couldnt be waited anymore. The team of nurses started to gather instruments and reminisce all the lessons they had learnt to handle a preterm child. Swara had lost consciousness by this time, it was a worrying sign. She was surrounded by eight nurses, including a recently licensed male surgeon entrusted with leading the surgery. He assembled ten different types of scissors and removed the green sheet covering Swara's legs, revealing a heart-wrenching sight - her other end, shattered like glass but held together by countless stitches. Swara lay unconscious as two nurses held each of her legs, marked by leather scars that the male nurse compassionately acknowledged. It transported him back to a chilling encounter with a girl of barely seventeen, witnessed the evening prior, with identical scars, a reflection of her man's rage. The memory weighed heavily on his intellect. This brought his own sister, who was to be married the approaching week, to mind. And now this young woman, who was just going to embark on a journey filled with patriarchal shadows and that she might have the same fate as all these women. This saddened his soul. This all had never occurred to him, the plight of a woman.

In that one moment, his mind traversed a billion spots that were left unexplored and never thought of. Temporarily casting aside the reality, he metaphorically reconnected with reality. The hour had arrived to commence the procedure. Initially, his trembling hands betrayed his nervousness as he held the scalpel. He could feel his sweat flowing from his arms to his hands, inside his gloves, but he grasped the scalpel firmly. He cautiously navigated his hand between her legs, enveloped by the soothing warmth of her Yoni. He began to make an incision, her skin opened like the third of eye Almighty. The blood rushed out from her genitalia as some demon leaves a possessed soul.  By this point, the other nurse had managed to regain her consciousness. Her tears streamed down her cheeks as she summoned every ounce of her strength and determination to deliver the baby. The surgeon could now see the baby's head emerging, prompting him to carefully reach inside and cradle the infant girl by her head with gloved hands, her head appeared as tiny as a cricket ball. A senior nurse, with seasoned expertise, took the fragile newborn into her own arms. With precision, the male surgeon deftly wielded a pair of scissors to cut the umbilical cord, completing the final physical connection between Swara and Lila. Gently, he extracted the placenta and placed it into a disposable bag. They waited for the baby to cry.

There was complete silence in the room. It was silent for what felt like the longest time. But then, there it was. But it wasn't the scream of a newborn. It sounded like the tiniest little kitten. It was so tiny, but it was there. She made that effort and she cried. The tiny voice was coming from a teensy 2-pound, 7-ounce body that needed help breathing for the first few hours of her life. She looked like a baby, but without all the chonk. The male doctor let out a sigh, but he soon realized it was just the start of a challenging journey. Lila's immediate needs included oxygen supply and maintaining the warmth reminiscent of a womb,  to support her growth. Fortunately, Lila's fate was in favour because the hospital had recently established a specialized unit for cases like hers, and she was promptly transferred there. The doctor, had arrived too and was briefed about the entire situation. Swara had once again lost consciousness, and her oxygen levels and heart rate had plummeted dangerously. Immediate blood transfusion was needed. The hospital staff swiftly initiated preparations to transfuse blood to Swara.

Her man and her mother-in-law were waiting outside the room for the news. A nurse emerged from the ICU. The duo stood as they saw her approaching towards them. She informed, that her wife had delivered a baby girl. However, both the mother and child were in critical condition, and they needed to organize the necessary funds and complete the formalities before proceeding further.

"A daughter" she sighed. "If it costs more than 300 better leave it to the God." She continued, with regret in her voice, "Last time, it was twins, two boys," her gaze distant, as though lost in a sea of memories. "The doctor confided in me that had she not been so unbearably stressed, my two boys might have survived." She added. "We even took her to the English hospital in the main city. I don't know what demons have taken residence in her mind, something akin to PTSD, the doctor revealed. The blame falls squarely on this ominous woman" Her voice carried a hint of exasperation as she continued, "I've said it a thousand times, my son, that you're not too old, and I could find you a suitable bride, one who could provide you with a child, who could fulfill my dreams of becoming a grandmother. And as for the village gossips, they'll have a hundred more topics to chatter about after each death. My son, infertile?" She exclaimed, her disbelief apparent."Your grandfather had 17 children, and there were 10 of you siblings. My son, don't bear this burden alone. Let God make the right decision this time."

Lila's battle raged on in the intensive care unit, where her odds of survival hung by a thread. Yet, she was not alone in this fight. The determined male surgeon watched over her with unwavering resolve. In the small, brilliantly lit chamber, bathed in a temperature reminiscent of a mother's womb, and with a constant stream of life-giving oxygen flowing through a tiny tube to her fragile nose, Lila clung to life. The Surgeon meticulously kept turning her side and pat her back after a certain interval of time. After a few hours, of surgeon's endless and ambitious attempts, Lila showed a movement, and it was it, the hope that was imperative. It was a sign, a beacon of hope that whispered that survival was still possible. Lila required meticulous scrutiny over the course of a few weeks, under the watchful eye of dedicated medical professionals. Although the baby didn't require major, invasive surgeries, her journey was far from easy. Each day brought a series of medical procedures, needles, and tests. Intravenous needles were frequently inserted into her delicate veins, sometimes causing them to rupture. Yet, against all odds, Lila, along with the unwavering surgeon and the compassionate, newly trained nurses, persevered. After enduring three challenging weeks in the care unit, Lila's heart began to beat like that of a healthy child, and she breathed just like any ordinary infant. From a place of such minimal hope for survival, her life was miraculously reclaimed.

Swara's condition had improved too and she was better than ever, and a year and a half after Lila's birth, she welcomed a healthy baby boy into the world.

On that unforgettable morning of the midnight surgery when Lila took her first breath, the male surgeon returned to his home, overwhelmed with a profound sense of contentment. It was a moment of sheer elation. He was exhausted and he had never felt more relaxed. He unlocked the door to his apartment, gently hung his surgeon's coat behind it, and proceeded directly to his desk. With careful hands, he reached for his cherished journal diary and flicked on the table lamp. As the soft glow illuminated the room, he inscribed atop a blank page, "September 30." The pen hovered for a moment, and then he continued...

"From her is the beginning,
From her shines the future bright,
My ignorant tears on my floor,
by that extraordinary sight,
When I held that woman in my hands tonight
Her echo will travel
In vibrant colours not in black and white
Oh God, this woman has to strive,
For all those who have been through
Whom we failed to see as a whole
not just to be confined within the walls of kitchen,
Precisely, not just a breeding hole,
Woman, oh woman,
You have always been the daylight,
The world failed to understand your ever poignant plight.
~Dev"