The crying had stopped. There was a noiseless vacuum in the house. The vacuum pressed against her ear, the silence louder than her dead baby’s cry.
“What did you do to her?” she asked her husband, anguish burning in her voice.
“It is your punishment for thinking we would bring her up.” He spat.
Sheela had cried herself to sleep that night. Somehow the hot summer night had felt cold on her tight skin. The hot air of the doldrums blew furiously outside, but her guilt slowly consumed her.
Two years later, things were different. It was midnight. Sheela was glowing again. There was hope this time. It had to be a son. She cannot be having daughters four times in a row. Her heart pushed itself against her ribs every time she would think about the daughters she had given birth to but never seen. The guilt, oh the inexplicable pain that would fill her, the pain she couldn’t run away from, but could choose not to feel again. She thought that this time there would be no such pain. No such guilt. She would gift her husband with a son. What had he said? Yes…save him the cost of dowry, shame, and a male heir. An heir. As her fingers ran around the large bulge on her stomach, she reminded herself that she had to remind herself that it was her duty to love her husband and respect him no matter what. “your husband is your God, my child.” Her mother had whispered in her ear the first time her child was thrown in a ditch. Something inside her called out,” God my left foot. Sheela your husband is a demon.”
Is it actually a challenge to have a daughter? If my parents wouldn’t have had me who would my husband marry? Can all women be wiped out from this village?
The same voice inside her said,” your husband would marry your brother. With the rate they kill everything female will leave them only with males.”
Her hands reached to clamp her ears shut, as if someone could hear what she was thinking. The midwife had entered.
“Sheela didi, are you ready?” and pulled her bed into another room.
The next day Sheela was gone, and so was the baby. Her husband found a sheet of paper on the bed stead. It said,” challenge accepted.
“It is your punishment for thinking we would bring her up.” He spat.
Sheela had cried herself to sleep that night. Somehow the hot summer night had felt cold on her tight skin. The hot air of the doldrums blew furiously outside, but her guilt slowly consumed her.
Two years later, things were different. It was midnight. Sheela was glowing again. There was hope this time. It had to be a son. She cannot be having daughters four times in a row. Her heart pushed itself against her ribs every time she would think about the daughters she had given birth to but never seen. The guilt, oh the inexplicable pain that would fill her, the pain she couldn’t run away from, but could choose not to feel again. She thought that this time there would be no such pain. No such guilt. She would gift her husband with a son. What had he said? Yes…save him the cost of dowry, shame, and a male heir. An heir. As her fingers ran around the large bulge on her stomach, she reminded herself that she had to remind herself that it was her duty to love her husband and respect him no matter what. “your husband is your God, my child.” Her mother had whispered in her ear the first time her child was thrown in a ditch. Something inside her called out,” God my left foot. Sheela your husband is a demon.”
Is it actually a challenge to have a daughter? If my parents wouldn’t have had me who would my husband marry? Can all women be wiped out from this village?
The same voice inside her said,” your husband would marry your brother. With the rate they kill everything female will leave them only with males.”
Her hands reached to clamp her ears shut, as if someone could hear what she was thinking. The midwife had entered.
“Sheela didi, are you ready?” and pulled her bed into another room.
The next day Sheela was gone, and so was the baby. Her husband found a sheet of paper on the bed stead. It said,” challenge accepted.
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