The Little Sister

When Shriya was born, our family was quiet. They didn’t share the news with the outside world. They didn’t want anyone to know they had “failed” yet again.

When Shriya was born, the skies seemed wrapped in grief, their tears dripping through the clouds. Ma lay alone on her bed, drained, her frail body soaked in perspiration.

Shriya was born a girl. She was also dark-skinned. Her skinny body, wrapped in white cloth, lay in a corner of the back room of the house. That was the room where the women in the family stayed after giving birth.

But Riya and I loved our little sister. The day she was born, we announced her arrival to everyone at school. We even bought toffees for our friends with our pocket money.

Every evening after school, we would come to the room to see her. Ma would shoo us off while Daadi would rebuke us for going in.

“Why?” I would ask.

“Don’t ask questions,” Daadi would reply curtly.

“Your Ma is impure,” our aunt would explain later.

“Why?” Riya would ask.

“You’ll understand when you grow up,” she’d say as she rolled out round chapatis.

Riya and I, however, would sneak into the back room at night when everyone was asleep. The first night we did so, Ma was fast asleep, but Shriya was wide awake.

“Look at her,” Riya whispered excitedly.

We moved quietly to the bed and picked her up. She stared at us, then gave a toothless smile and gurgled. Ma woke up and gasped when she saw us.

“Why are you here?” she whispered, agitated. “Go back to your room. Your grandmother will be furious.”

“Shh, Ma,” I said. “Don’t worry. They won’t know. Daadi is asleep, and Baba won’t say anything if he finds out.”

“Let us stay, Ma,” added Riya. “We never get to see the baby, and our friends in school keep asking about her.”

Ma looked worried but relented.

“Play with her for a while, then go back. Let no one know you were here.”

Riya chuckled. “Ma, you worry too much.”

Ma lay back and watched us play. She closed her eyes and dozed off.

…

A year went by. Shriya had grown into a bright, chirpy toddler.

One afternoon, Ma’s sister came to visit. We had heard a lot about her but had never met her. She lived in some faraway country, we were told.

She had brought gifts for the entire family, and Daadi was very happy. Ma was busy preparing the evening meal. Daadi and Maasi sat on the front porch, talking in low voices. When Ma entered, they became quiet.

It was sometime after dinner when Ma and Baba were summoned to Daadi’s room. Maasi was sitting beside Daadi.

“Both of you know that this poor girl has no children,” Daadi began in her usual, authoritative way. “She and her husband have all the money in the world, but no children.”

Maasi wiped her moist eyes.

“Fortunately,” Daadi continued, “both my sons have been blessed with children. Two grandsons from my elder son and three granddaughters from my younger one.”

She paused.

“I was sad to hear this girl’s story. Her in-laws want their son to get married again because she is unable to bear a child.”

There was silence. Ma immediately reached out to Maasi. Though we were too young to understand, we knew it was something serious.

“We can’t allow her to suffer for no fault of hers,” Daadi continued. “The least we can do is help in whatever way we can. We will give her one of our children.”

Ma froze. Baba, too, became very still. Riya and I instinctively moved closer to him.

“Shriya is still young. She will find it easy to adapt to new parents.”

“No,” Ma shrieked. “I will not give her away.”

Baba took a sharp breath and drew us closer.

“You have three children. You could easily give me one of them,” Maasi said tearfully. “I promise I will give Shriya the very best. I will put her in one of the best schools in the US and give her all the love I can. She won’t miss you at all. I promise, Didi.”

“No,” Ma bit out vehemently. “Shriya is my child. No one has the right to take her away or decide what’s best for her.”

“Please, Didi,” Maasi pleaded.

“No,” Ma screamed.

“You are being very difficult and unreasonable,” Daadi told her sternly. “You need to understand your sister’s pain.”

“You stay out of this,” Ma retorted at Daadi. She was trembling with rage. “How dare you even suggest giving away my Shriya? Why didn’t you think of giving away one of your grandsons? Of course, you wouldn’t. Shriya is a girl, and you have disliked her ever since she was born. In fact, you hate my children. You think I haven’t noticed?”

“Don’t cross your limits,” Daadi said coldly.

“You have crossed your limits, not me. Just because I have been an obedient daughter-in-law, you think you can bully me. I have been quiet only because I was afraid I would be driven away from the house. But you know what? I don’t care now. Do what you will. I will not part with any of my girls.”

Daadi was livid. “Control your wife,” she shouted at Baba.

Baba rose and went towards Ma. Putting an arm around her, he said, “None of my daughters are going anywhere. If you have a problem with that, I will move out with my family.”

“How dare you talk to me like that?” Daadi roared.

He shrugged. Ma was sobbing uncontrollably. He held her in his arms and beckoned us toward him. We went and hugged them tightly.

“Shriya is alone in the room,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”

By Jaya Pillai

Jaya Pillai is a teacher, learner, an award winning writer and poet, cooking enthusiast, traveller, meditator and author of Afternoons and More. She loves to engage in things that stimulate her creativity. Her works have been published in over 11 anthologies and she has her own website – https://weavingmomentsjaya.artoonsinn.com