drug-related; they worked fairly quickly if you were lucky.
These treatments, continued the anxious mother, were they expensive? Were they effective?
It all depended on the type of infertility, and the number of attempts that were made. There were many options even if the normal anatomy was lost, but she had to see the couple before she could give an opinion.
How could Mrs Rajora involve the couple when they had not sought her advice? All she was looking for was hope, and words such as ‘infertility’ and ‘loss of normal anatomy’ did not do the job. With a heavy heart she thought of the pre-marriage emphasis on the girl’s homeliness, on the little Suryakantas she would bring into the world. Mrs Rajora decided her husband was right, she was getting tense for nothing. Ishita and SK were young, everything would be fine.
Ishita’s father was pleased to note that his wife had stopped her incessant worrying. He did not know that Mrs Rajora’s helplessness was so extreme that she had decided to follow the scriptures and live in the present. She redoubled her prayers, went to the society temple morning and evening, with offerings of sweets, coconuts and flowers.
Eighteen months into the marriage the boy’s family began to make noises. ‘They are beginning to ask, why haven’t you conceived? SK says he doesn’t want to be a father yet, but they say he doesn’t know what he is talking about. They behave as though he were a child,’ reported Ishita to her mother.
‘What else do they say to you?’
‘Isn’t this enough?’
Was it her mother’s imagination or had the girl lost the bloom that had been so evident a year ago?
‘Are they treating you well?’ she asked.
The girl’s listless nod was further reason to panic.
‘They say it is equally the boy’s fault if there is no conception,’ said the mother, swimming vigorously in waters she had hesitated to dive into earlier. ‘Why are they not getting him examined?’
‘He is willing, but it is probably something to do with me.’
‘Nonsense. Keep faith in God. He will not let you suffer.’
‘My in-laws have asked that I do this special jap 108 times a day. And fast on Tuesdays.’
‘You must do whatever they tell you.’
‘They want to take me to a doctor also.’
‘That is not necessary.’
‘I don’t have a choice,’ said Ishita, as she dragged herself out of the door and into her car.
Shortly after, the miracle occurred.
Such a crowd so early in the morning was odd, thought Mrs Rajora as she turned the corner of the building towards the temple.
Mrs Kaushik saw her and gestured violently.
‘He
was the first to discover it.’
‘What has happened?’
‘A miracle, that’s what. A miracle.’
‘Hai Ram. In this day and age?’
‘Bhagwanji is drinking milk.’
‘Are you absolutely sure?’
‘See for yourself. Do you have any?’
‘Only fruit and flowers.’
‘That won’t do. Has to be milk.’
‘Should I go and get some?’
‘Run, run. And get a spoon as well.’
Her husband was waiting for his tea.
‘Hurry, hurry. Bhagwan is drinking milk.’
‘Where?’
‘Society temple. Leela said her husband was the first to discover it.’
From the corner of the balcony Mr Rajora could see people hurrying to the front of the building. At the elevator entrance their neighbour was holding a glass of milk, smiling, sharing his joy.
By the time they reached the temple, they could see that some of the society officers had organised the crowds into a queue. The building was home to a thousand people, and at least half of them were here. The small puja room was crammed. People were holding milk in all kinds of containers.
Everybody was excited. Could it be really true? Were the gods physically accepting their offerings? When Mrs Rajora’s turn came she held out a trembling hand and watched as the milk slowly vanished from the spoon. People around stared. She reached out a finger and gently touched the dark stone cheek.
These treatments, continued the anxious mother, were they expensive? Were they effective?
It all depended on the type of infertility, and the number of attempts that were made. There were many options even if the normal anatomy was lost, but she had to see the couple before she could give an opinion.
How could Mrs Rajora involve the couple when they had not sought her advice? All she was looking for was hope, and words such as ‘infertility’ and ‘loss of normal anatomy’ did not do the job. With a heavy heart she thought of the pre-marriage emphasis on the girl’s homeliness, on the little Suryakantas she would bring into the world. Mrs Rajora decided her husband was right, she was getting tense for nothing. Ishita and SK were young, everything would be fine.
Ishita’s father was pleased to note that his wife had stopped her incessant worrying. He did not know that Mrs Rajora’s helplessness was so extreme that she had decided to follow the scriptures and live in the present. She redoubled her prayers, went to the society temple morning and evening, with offerings of sweets, coconuts and flowers.
Eighteen months into the marriage the boy’s family began to make noises. ‘They are beginning to ask, why haven’t you conceived? SK says he doesn’t want to be a father yet, but they say he doesn’t know what he is talking about. They behave as though he were a child,’ reported Ishita to her mother.
‘What else do they say to you?’
‘Isn’t this enough?’
Was it her mother’s imagination or had the girl lost the bloom that had been so evident a year ago?
‘Are they treating you well?’ she asked.
The girl’s listless nod was further reason to panic.
‘They say it is equally the boy’s fault if there is no conception,’ said the mother, swimming vigorously in waters she had hesitated to dive into earlier. ‘Why are they not getting him examined?’
‘He is willing, but it is probably something to do with me.’
‘Nonsense. Keep faith in God. He will not let you suffer.’
‘My in-laws have asked that I do this special jap 108 times a day. And fast on Tuesdays.’
‘You must do whatever they tell you.’
‘They want to take me to a doctor also.’
‘That is not necessary.’
‘I don’t have a choice,’ said Ishita, as she dragged herself out of the door and into her car.
Shortly after, the miracle occurred.
Such a crowd so early in the morning was odd, thought Mrs Rajora as she turned the corner of the building towards the temple.
Mrs Kaushik saw her and gestured violently.
‘He
was the first to discover it.’
‘What has happened?’
‘A miracle, that’s what. A miracle.’
‘Hai Ram. In this day and age?’
‘Bhagwanji is drinking milk.’
‘Are you absolutely sure?’
‘See for yourself. Do you have any?’
‘Only fruit and flowers.’
‘That won’t do. Has to be milk.’
‘Should I go and get some?’
‘Run, run. And get a spoon as well.’
Her husband was waiting for his tea.
‘Hurry, hurry. Bhagwan is drinking milk.’
‘Where?’
‘Society temple. Leela said her husband was the first to discover it.’
From the corner of the balcony Mr Rajora could see people hurrying to the front of the building. At the elevator entrance their neighbour was holding a glass of milk, smiling, sharing his joy.
By the time they reached the temple, they could see that some of the society officers had organised the crowds into a queue. The building was home to a thousand people, and at least half of them were here. The small puja room was crammed. People were holding milk in all kinds of containers.
Everybody was excited. Could it be really true? Were the gods physically accepting their offerings? When Mrs Rajora’s turn came she held out a trembling hand and watched as the milk slowly vanished from the spoon. People around stared. She reached out a finger and gently touched the dark stone cheek.
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