Weight of Motherhood

Past meets the Present

Shyam took a deep breath and swiped the call away, the screen going dark once more. He had to tell her, but how? The weight of his new role pressed down on him, a silent scream trapped in his throat.

He went back to "his new home" the palace and ran back to his room.He sat down heavily on the bed, the embroidered pillows seeming to mock him with their delicate beauty.

He looked into the mirror trying to make sense of reflection that he was looking atThe soft fabric of the saree whispered against his legs as he walked, a strange and unfamiliar caress.

He had never felt so exposed and vulnerable, yet the weight of the petticoat and the way the blouse hugged his chest felt surprisingly right.

The makeup on his face was a mask of femininity, but it was a mask that somehow made his eyes sparkle with a hidden beauty he had never noticed before.

The kajal lined his eyes like a dark secret, a stark contrast to the pink lipstick that painted his lips.

The walls of his room were closing in, the silence deafening. He needed to get out, to breathe the cool evening air and clear his head.

He slipped into his flip-flops and stepped out into the quiet corridor, the sound of his anklet echoing through the empty space.

The gentle touch of the evening breeze caressed his face, carrying with it the faint scent of jasmine.

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine a world where he was still the man he knew, where the whispers of destiny had not found their way to him.

But as he looked down at his own hand, adorned with the henna and the silver bangles, the reality of his situation crashed down upon him once more.
He had to find a way to either explain this to Priya, to his parents, to his sister Diksha or just keep lying to them until his last day in Nandgram.

The phone buzzed insistently on the bedside table, a silent sentinel of his former life. He picked it up, his hand trembling as he saw Priya's name flash across the screen.

Five missed calls and fifteen messages, each one a shout into the void, a plea for the truth. He swiped to answer, his voice barely a whisper as he brought the phone to his ear. "Priya," he managed to croak out. The line was silent for a moment, filled only with the sound of her shaky breaths.

Shyam," she breathed, the sweetness of her voice a stark contrast to the turmoil in his heart. "Where have you been? Why haven't you called me back?"
There was a desperation in her tone that sliced through the fog of his confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words lodged in his throat like a boulder.
How could he explain the unexplainable? How could he tell her that he was now Soumya, the vessel for a village's hope, the wife to a man he barely knew?

"I...I've been busy," he stammered, the lie feeling like a betrayal even as it left his lips. "The training for the new job...it's been more intense than I thought." He could almost feel her frown through the phone, the warmth of her gaze turning cold with concern. "I know it's strange," he rushed to add, "but I promise I'll explain everything when I come back."

Priya's voice softened, a hint of sadness tingeing her words. "When will that be, Shyam?" she asked, her voice quivering. "It's been a week already. Your little sister Diksha misses you so much, and Sunaina Aunty and Rajesh uncle keep asking if I know I have contacted you this week. We all just want you to be safe".

Shyam's heart clenched at the mention of his sister. He missed her too, missed the way she would cling to him, her tiny hand in his, her eyes full of trust and love. He missed the simple joy of being himself. "Soon," he promised, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Very soon."

The sound of the bangles jolted him back to reality. Panic surged through his veins, and he fumbled with the phone, trying to silence it without alerting Priya. "It's...it's just the wind," he lied, his voice strained. "The village is so...so different. It's full of strange sounds."

He could hear the doubt in her voice, the way it wavered like a candle in a storm. "Okay, Shyam," she said slowly, "but you have to tell me what's going on. Your messages have been weird, and you're not making any sense. What's happening over there?"

Shyam looked down at the phone, his thumb hovering over the 'End Call' button. He knew he couldn't lie to her much longer. "Priya," he began, his voice cracking slightly, "it's complicated. There's something here in Nandgram that I need to sort out. I can't leave until it's done."

The line was silent for too long. "What could be more important than us?" she asked, the sarcasm now replaced by a sharp edge of hurt.

Shyam took a deep breath, his mind racing. "Priya, I promise you, it's nothing like that. I just need some time. Please trust me," he pleaded, his voice cracking.

"I do trust you, Shyam," she said, her voice laced with a hint of sadness, "but I need to see you. To know you're okay. Video call me tonight, when you get home."

The demand caught him off guard. How could he explain the change in his appearance?

The way his chest had filled out, the soft swells that now lay beneath his shirt, a silent testament to the curse he bore? He had hoped to keep this part of his life hidden, a secret shared only with the dusty walls of Nandgram.