Riding On A Cloud

Damini sat staring at the sights of the skyline. Impregnable clouds brewing in the horizon. Cirrus? No, they must be cumulonimbus…lilting revision lessons on geography, flashing past the delicate gossamer of her memory wings. They were always shut behind the gigantic iron gates that had forever guarded Damini’s sanity. Pranaa, what a name she had thought for her daughter, the harbinger of her victory, life redefined, a whiff of fresh air amid the chaos of suppression.
Dark clouds that bring rain, columns of clouds that do not, floating clouds, weaning clouds… Pranaa was intelligent, she picked up lessons fast, must have taken on the sharp brains of her IIT-ian father, Rakesh. Brains that Damini admired, that held a key to her freedom from the shackles of her father, who had probably produced Damini as the last hope in the long line of five daughters. Hope of siring a son. The flame of a hope that Damini’s mother kept on burning despite her anaemic features and felt responsible for not being able to produce an heir to the Rathod family. Damini had seen her mother shedding a tear alone every time her cousins called her up and spoke of the laurels that their sons had brought.
She often asked her sisters: ‘Ma never speaks of our achievements! When Yamini won the state-level swimming championships, she never told our aunt about that!’ Damini at times felt like protesting her mother’s indifference towards their achievements. But her sisters were never bothered. They were way too involved in rich boyfriends, future husbands and how much they would earn to provide them with plush households or their kitty card gambles.
Rakesh was like the first monsoon showers that often hit the heat-wary parched hamlets of Girijapur, where Damini spent most of her year these days. With that impish grin that often Pranaa would also display in her childhood days, Rakesh would barge into their home and shout: ‘Damini, Dams, come out, I am on leave from college. Am here to take you for your tuitions.’
Damini loved the names Rakesh gave her, short but sweet, no hint of the fiery flames of lightning that her name meant.
Her parents were always happy to see Rakesh. The only son of doctor parents, he was a prized catch for the Rathod khandaan. Other daughters married off, Damini was the youngest, brightest and prettiest. Jayram had worked hard to stack crores in banks that would pay off the dowry for his daughters. His eldest Pallavi had been mercilessly beaten up and set on fire by her in-laws as Jayram couldn’t fish out the Mercedes that he promised his son-in-law. Pallavi’s death was a rude shock to the proud father. A long legal battle followed, but the mild verdict passed was hardly sufficient to avenge his daughter’s death. After all, Pallavi’s in-laws had immense political clout. Jayram had pledged that day he would earn enough by any means possible to produce so much dowry at every daughter’s marriage that all the others surviving would rule like queens at their in-laws’ home. He belonged to that long line of patriarchs who believed a woman’s happiness could be bought and he was ready to pay for it. Jayram often told his wife: ‘This is my penance. I have produced so many daughters.’ A sin he must pay for.
Damini never wished to marry, let alone with her father fishing out dowry to buy her peace and respect. The diligent popular girl in school had a pride and hunger, more like the hunger of a dying prey than the aggression of a hungry predator. Tough and wise, Damini was a voracious reader. She had developed her habit of reading in a family where women always went on shopping clothes and jewels, after she met her school librarian Mrs Patrick. Mrs Patrick had an amazing influence on this young girl. Damini used to sit with her librarian during breaks listening wide-eyed to tales that the old woman shared, from her marital bliss, to the death of her husband, of her struggle and the beautiful nations she visited. The seeds of resilience sown, a tender mind reborn, Damini matured unknown to herself.
But Rakesh had swept her off, like a rushing brook, almost drowning her resilience. She met her future husband after the constant insistence of her parents. She fell in love right away. Who could resist the squalls of a Norwester after a long spell of dry heat? Damini lost her head to the rush of surging hormones.
‘Let’s go on a long drive. I will make love to you,’ Rakesh would whisper with her parents in the other room with their TV set on. Damini looked like a luscious apple when she blushed.
‘But you have exams round the corner, you must come out in flying colours, else your mother would forever blame me for your failures.’
‘Who cares what my mother thinks! She uses me like a trophy,’ Rakesh would laugh aloud, pinching off a finger bite across Damini’s supple breasts.
Pinches… swallowed in the winds of time. The rain started in drops, only to climb to sheets in minutes. Damini got up from her seat. Soon the children would come in hordes defying the storm and rains. They all loved Damini Aunty, she often made them delicious dishes with whatever fruits and vegetables their parents sent as tuition fees. The little ones of Girijapur were more interested in the firangi delectables that Damini dished out from her small kitchen, than the lessons she gave. Today, Damini decided to talk on clouds, those very ones that hid Pranaa’s soul in their icicles.
Jagged crosses of searing lightning, her namesake, split through the room. They seemed to call her a thousand names, not the short sweet ones like Rakesh did. The lights went out, a daily penury at Girijapur. Come summer, come rains, power cuts were frequent in this small town off the highway to Hissar. Damini tried to adjust to the faint beam that trickled past the windows to look for the torch. She was sure she left it on the table, now she couldn’t find it, when she needed it the most. The room was almost like a dark tunnel with the torch playing truant, like Rakesh did years back.
Tunnel… abyss, maze of a thousand butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Her husband’s voice drifting on the wings of a black cloud:
‘Dams! Oh dear, she fainted! Mommy, Damini has fainted.’
Sheila walked in brusquely with all the professional acumen of a doctor: ‘Oh don’t worry Rakesh. Every woman feels dizzy when she is pregnant. Leave it to me. Your work is done. When is your next client meet at New Jersey?’
‘It’s New York mom, Zoya is waiting, she will be meeting the clients,’ Rakesh said with a faint smile.
Damini felt feeble and weak at her knees. They had only been married for a year and Rakesh had often said no kids before Damini completes her PhD. He had always assured her that he takes enough protections, never to give way to any accidents. Damini often felt guilty, may be Rakesh was ready to become a father, she was not.
‘I would love to have a baby. But just give me a year. Once my thesis is ready we shall surely start a family. Your mom was insisting that we think of it right away.’
‘Oh come on Dams, I just want you in my arms,’ Rakesh would sound like that lazy cat out on a prowl.
Days when Rakesh would be away on work abroad, Damini often felt a hint of hostility from her educated professional in-laws. They were indeed sugary sweet, but her instincts spoke otherwise. Yet, Rakesh had been so supportive, even on days when he wasn’t around, he called her twice or thrice a day from the distant lands.
‘Won’t you take me along on one of these trips?’ she would often ask.
‘Oh! Yes, someday surely. But not now sweetheart, you have your thesis to complete.’
Yes, she had always nurtured dreams of becoming a professor. She wanted to educate hundreds of women like her. They should never meet the fate like Pallavi di. She had so dearly loved all her siblings. Pallavi had just graduated when she was married off, yet like Damini she loved books. A copy of Gone with the Wind still lay stacked in one of her shelves, Pallavi’s wonderful handwriting scribbled on it. The ink had faded, its traces still felt, but Pallavi was lost beyond the third dimension.
‘Rakesh, I believe education helps women to be confident. Don’t you think so?
‘Absolutely. I had told mom I am not marrying anyone who has no intellect.’
Damini looked up from the papers she was jotting her notes on, with mild surprise: ‘Would you have married if I weren’t pretty? Or if my dad was not as rich as yours?’
Rakesh would laugh and start speaking on new places he had visited, playing pranks with her flowing hair, till that darkness, that light headed feeling, nauseating through her being, betrayed Damini’s trust. Her whole world came falling apart. Damini stared into oblivion, confused. She wasn’t even furious, she didn’t even cry. Her tears, her anger took a flight on the waning light of dusk, as Rakesh left for his work abroad leaving behind a pregnant Damini.  
‘Oh come on Dams, it was an accident. Now don’t give much of a thought to it. We can abort it, what’s the big deal? My parents are doctors.’
Damini could hardly believe her ears. She had been witness to repeated miscarriages of one of her sisters, the pain in her eyes every time the baby was lost. After all it was the first flutter of life that her sister had nurtured and reared with her flesh, blood and love.
‘How could you be so cruel Rakesh! I can’t kill our child.’
‘Don’t be a silly girl Damini. We are not prepared for a kid; I have my ambitions to pursue. What do you expect? Me to sit back in India tending to you and your baby, leaving my work back in USA?’
‘My baby? Isn’t it yours too,’ Damini’s pretty eyes shadowed.
‘Ok, yes, but I have to return to USA. I have work there.’
This was indeed a new Rakesh. A man who could let her down, who no more recited poetry, who was ready to come down with a murderous idea of killing a life. Was this the man she fell in love with?
To her utter surprise, Sheila came to Damini’s rescue.
‘Rakesh don’t forget Damini will produce my grandson. He will be your son, heir to our family. How could you ever think of abortion? Damini can finish her thesis later. Many women do so after being a mother.’
An amusing conversation followed between mother and son.
‘Son? What If the baby was a daughter?’  Damini silently wondered. A part of her felt repentant too, for misunderstanding her mother-in-law.
‘After all she is also a woman and a mother. No doubt she knew how a woman feels when she becomes a new mother.’ Damini felt it was a blessing that her in-laws were doctors, she was in safe hands. Her parents also said so. Her body rebelled with every passing month. She was tired to even think of Rakesh who was away, other than his erratic phone calls. Her mother assured, new fathers are frightened of responsibilities. So Rakesh was avoiding her, he would be the same caring and loving husband once the baby came.
A thunderous roar almost deafened Damini. She found the torch at last and struggled with its button. The light went on, spark of a kaleidoscope, playing shadows on a frame hung behind. Tiny fingers clutching the comfort of her big ones. Shifting forms she had seen as a grainy image in the ultra sound room. The doctor had declared it was a daughter. The board outside was clear: Sex determination was a criminal offence. Yet she was told she was having a daughter, may be because her in-laws were doctors and were known to her. Damini closed her eyes. A form came before her, blushing cheeks, luscious lips, thin fingers, lovely nose and oh! those deluged eyes, the form of her unborn child. She felt the divine delight of motherhood. Absence of Rakesh didn’t matter though she was keen to show him the ultrasound pictures of their baby and make him feel her tiny rhythmic heartbeat.
That night too, the thunder had deafened and frightened her. Her daughter making energetic somersaults within, she was terribly hungry. Hunger pangs were common these days and Damini ate like a glutton. She always stacked the refrigerator with sinful food sent by her mother and sisters. She enjoyed every bite, little thinking of the calories she was putting on. As she passed her in-laws’ bedroom, bits of a conversation floated in. She never liked eavesdropping but realised it was about her that they spoke.
‘I will give her the medicine with her milk tomorrow. She will start bleeding within an hour.’ Her mother-in-law was clear.
‘Take care, Sheila. Damini shouldn’t get a whiff of it, her father- in-law chipped in.
Even before he finished, his wife shouted, ‘This daughter must go. Rakesh had called up. Zoya is pregnant. They are living together. And it’s a boy.’
Damini’s legs felt weak again. The doctor had said she would not feel weak anymore, it was her second trimester. In a trance, she left through the door in the night-dress she wore, defying the pouring rain and the old gate-keeper who was dozing off. She must run, must escape. She had to save her daughter. She didn’t care where she was heading to, she didn’t know why she was running, if she fell she would have a miscarriage. She only had the image of a pack of wolves hounding her and she gasping to breathe as darkness descended and she could no longer carry herself.
‘It must have been a bad dream,’ Damini kept on assuring herself, till she realised she was lying on the same bed where she played with her sisters as a kid. With age, Jairam was a changed man. He fiercely protected Damini and decided to welcome the new life she harboured despite knowing it was a daughter that he himself detested when he was a father. Getting a divorce from Rakesh was pretty easy, for he was more than happy to get over Damini. Her in-laws were relieved that Damini didn’t claim money, she just wished for freedom.
Yamini had said: ‘Damini teach your in-laws a good lesson. They must be put behind bars.’
‘Pallavi’s in-laws were also taken to court. Could dad punish them? I don’t want dad to take the trouble anymore and that too with the court case dragging for years.’
‘But Rakesh must be taught a lesson.’
‘I don’t know anyone called Rakesh, didi. He is dead for me. ‘
‘What about your baby, he is the father. What will you tell her?’
‘That she was born of me, with a sperm donated by her father.’
Praana was born on a dark rainy night, rains had a special place for Damini, they smelled of new earth, of new saplings, of a life born. Her muscles twitched and seemed to burst, she was screaming with the nurses and doctor struggling to bring Pranna out. Damini fought the first pangs of motherhood, life within life. She fell in love with Praana, the minute she came out. Holding the small wriggling baby in her arms, she forgot all her painful memories, till her mother declared: ‘Thankfully our little one, doesn’t look like Rakesh, she will be as pretty as you.’ Damini gave a tired smile. She had won.
Praana was a lively child. She came with all the cosmic energy blended in. Those at home could hardly keep up to her energy. She was a bright student and often asked her mom: ‘You are still studying mom, I shall finish before you.’ Praana never asked about her father though. She was happy to have a grandpa who was her playmate, her teacher, her conspirator and her companion at every step, with a houseful of cousins, aunts, uncles who pampered her to the hilt.
Fun, laughter, serious lessons, swimming classes, karate, Praana rode like a wild horse whistling its freedom through the meadows. Who ever dreamt that freedom would finally free her soul?
Damini was teaching her students, Praana was doing her lessons in the next room. She decided to fetch a practical copy from the shop on the other end of the road, all the servants were busy in the kitchen, grandpa was off to the bank. She ran past whistling a tune like a warbling bird, that got drowned and halted by the screeching wheels of a roaring truck.
Damini died twice. Once when she ran in the rains to save Praana from being aborted, and now when she ran blindly across the road to collect Praana’s dead body lying in a pool of blood on the dust. Meandering storms of fate struck her hard, they tore past her world that she cared to fill again with love and fun.
Her sisters asked her to remarry, even to adopt one of their kids if she wished to. But could a grieving mother ever fill a void with another? Damini contacted the NGO that Mrs Patrick and her family ran. She came to Girijapur, a hamlet that gave her the solitude she needed and she got lost in its embrace.
She sank into her seat again. A tear or two marred her vision. The rain was trickling down, till little feet pattered on her doorstep. ‘Aunty, Ma has sent you these seeds. If you sow them, in the next few months you will get several pumpkins in your garden,’ Ramu shouted enthusiastically followed by another group of excited adolescents.
Damini stepped out. She held out her hands and recited: ‘He buried us. We came out as seeds.’ The power came, the lights went on, flooding Damini’s tear-smeared face.