“I won’t let you sacrifice Khushi on the altar of your ‘modern thinking’!” yelled Seema as Jiya slammed the door and shut herself out of her mother's sight.
Jiya always had words up her sleeves. But this time, she did not have anything to show for herself because the truth was that Khushi was dying…her Khushi, her baby. She had done everything in her power to avert the inevitable, but now, it was only a matter of days. Even then, how could Jiya go back to the ways that took her tears, sweat and even blood to get out of! All those dark days and nights of despair came back to haunt her.
Most of Jiya’s life had been a relentless struggle against the so-called traditions and practices that her people were happily wedded and enslaved to - practices that anyone with even half a right mind could see as a humbug. She saw them as ways devised by some of her folks to keep their hold on the rest and earn an easy buck while doing so. When Jiya wanted to make a life for herself, she was told that the road out of her home was a one-way street. She took it as her ticket to life, pursued her passion and became a sought-after German language instructor.
It was in one of those sessions that she met Sameer. Initially, she ignored his attentions. Then she tried getting rid of him by being nothing but mean, of course, in vain. Finally, she saw that they indeed loved and, more importantly, respected each other. Her wedding to Sameer sealed her exile from her family, which to her, was a blessing – not so much in disguise!
Now, she shuddered at the thought of retracing her path.
In her room, her mother, Seema, was in tears. She had her baggage too. She had been practically ostracised by ‘her people’ for letting her daughter ‘go astray’. After years of loneliness, 'Khushi' was the ‘joy’ of her life, who, on her arrival had made Seema and Jiya a family again. Jiya had let her mother back into her life only on the condition of completely doing away with all her ‘superstitious rituals’. For the first time in her life, Seema had let the power equation change between the two of them. Jiya called it her ‘putsch’!
Seema sat perplexed - was the path she was forcing Jiya and Sameer to take indeed the right one? Wasn’t this ‘man of god’ taking it a bit too far? Was she in her right to agree to his ‘remedy’? Maybe she should take Jiya’s reluctance as a sign and pull out of her arrangement with him.
The doorbell rang. Sameer was home with Aman. Seema pulled herself together and rushed to the door. She took the baby and his daycare bag from Sameer and hurried to the nursery, without a word. This had only been little Aman’s second day at the daycare. Seema had been more anxious than their bundle of joy who was yet to turn 1. She decided to focus her energy on him. Jiya did not want to fight over Aman, not for the moment, and remained in her room. Sameer hated this uneasy silence around the house. It had become a common place and by now, he only hoped it was the calm after the storm.
It was Sameer who had brought the warring women together. Jiya had insisted that 'her family' was the one under 'her roof'. Sameer, on the other hand, had never known a ‘family’ till Jiya and thus, any brand of relatives looked like a huge boon to him. So, when Khushi was born, it was Sameer who had gone to his mother-in-law with the news. Sometimes, he did regret it, but when he saw the love his kids got from their grandmother, he thought it worthwhile to have her in their lives and home. Besides, he failed to understand how children with living parents could squander away ‘the blessing’.
“Mother and daughter are so alike!” he thought as he walked into the room and found similar expression on his wife’s face. Khushi meant the world to Sameer, but though he never dared say it aloud these days, Jiya meant much more. He couldn’t ignore her mood like he had wiggled away from his mother-in-law’s. Even in all the gloom that engulfed his household, he would swallow his agony and give his right hand to see a smile on his love’s lips.
“So, which Sultanate are the two queens warring over today?” he asked.
Jiya managed a smile. Even after all these years, it was Sameer’s voice that brought comfort, even if momentary, to Jiya's struggling heart. She had only Sameer to thank for having any trace of sanity left. She didn’t mind putting up an act for the man who only lived to make her happy.
“She wants to break the treaty! Ceasefire violation in place”, she quipped.
“What nuskha has her god-sent prescribed now?”
“He wants a couple of Khushi’s clothes –one from when she was healthy and the other…”
Sameer saw that her act was slipping. He faked the loudest laughter he could and went “Jee, are you sure this is a ‘man of god’ and not a kabaadi?” This time, she actually laughed!
“To me, he is no better than that, Meer. But how does Amma suppose that this will heal Khushi?”
The gloom was back. Sameer took her in his embrace and stroking her hair, said, “Jee, I know how this irks you, but put yourself in Amma’s shoes for a moment. She feels as helpless as you do. We have run to every oncologist of any positive repute, haven’t we? We even had Aman after all these years, only to be a donor sibling to Khushi! Has any of that worked? This is her way of dealing with the grief. She means no harm, Jee. If it’s just a matter of some money and a few clothes, just let her find her solace”.
“It’s not that I don’t care for her peace, Meer, but you have no idea how manipulative these godmen are! They will only build her hopes up. What happens to her when the day…comes!” She choked.
They sat there, in each other’s arms, each trying to be strong for the other. By the time Jiya rose, she had realised that her mother was indeed alone in her grief and that neither of them would be comfortable hugging it out like she did with Sameer. Some sort of a sacrifice had to be made.
She washed up and went to the nursery. “Amma, if this gives you any kind of relief, here, these are Khushi’s clothes.”
“No!”
Seema thought she had said it aloud and placed her palm on her mouth! She was then thankful that it was only in her head. Now that Jiya had agreed, should she go ahead with the ritual? After all, she only had to give him the money and the clothes. He had assured her that the rest would be ‘arranged’ by a ‘contractor’ who would never know whom he was doing the job for. 'The rest' - it was this vital information that she had withheld from her daughter. It was this, which made her second guess her decision. “But this is the last resort to claim Khushi’s life back from the clutches of death. I had asked for a sign and almost pulled out. This has to be it. Jiya wouldn’t have got off her high horse if it wasn’t meant to be!” With this thought, she left her sleeping Aman baba in the crib and set out to keep her appointment.
The lights were on in both the bedrooms that night – Sameer, holding little Aman and worrying about what the next day had in store for Khushi, and Seema still grappling with the ‘right and wrong’ of her decision and the veracity of the godman’s claims. Jiya spent the night gazing at Khushi at the hospital. She wanted to soak up as much of her little bundle of joy as she could. "I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop", she thought, "I would gladly take your place, my 'joy'!" Tears did the rest of the talking, that night!
The next morning, Seema saw Sameer and Aman off and sat down for her prayers. After a couple of hours, she got the call and set out for her tryst with destiny. She vowed that if this did not work immediately, she would never put Jiya through the ordeal again. She had been spared the pain of being there for the actual ritual, on paying twice the amount, of course, and was only summoned to collect the ‘blessed healthy robe’ to be placed under Khushi’s pillow.
Seema was still fighting her conscience when her rickshaw reached the destination. As she alighted, she was shocked to see Sameer approaching her on his bike. She was not the one to carry cellphones, they were cursed, you see! So, Sameer had found her whereabouts from the neighbour who had suggested the place to her. He got off the bike and stopped in his tracks when he realised where he had come. He grew cold with fear and disgust, but told himself it wasn’t the time for any argument. As he walked towards her, she noticed his bloodshot eyes and quivering lips.
“Amma... it’s over! Our Khushi…”
“No! Don’t you dare say a word more! She will come back! You will see! She will be brought back! Give me a minute, don’t go…”
She stopped at the door and looking back at him, cried out, “And don’t say anything yet. Please!”
Sameer did not know if waiting there made any sense now, even if it was only to pick her up. He then thought of Aman. He needed to be there to bid his sister – or what was left that bore her name - adieu. He called the daycare. The voice at the other end said, “Hello Sameerji! How are you now? You can talk?” (Sameer was confused as to who had told them about Khushi.) “Your father told us you had been in a terrible accident and he…”
'Father'? He was still trying to gather his thoughts, when he heard a loud wail from inside the godforsaken place. It was Seema's cry, “No…Aman”!
The ‘sacrifice’ had been made!
