one,” said Binti-Ma’am.
“You should be ashamed making Ashmita work in her condition, you greedy donkey!” snarled Sunita-Auntie.
Binti-Ma’am’s chest puffed up as she prepared to explode. I shoved Sunita-Auntie through the open doorway. Sunita-Auntie’s blood was still up from before. She was itching to let loose on someone. It wouldn’t take much to ignite her longstanding feud with Binti-Ma’am. Many years ago they’d been friends, working alongside each other in the same house, butwhile Sunita-Auntie’s unwillingness to train new girls had kept her forever at the bottom of the trade, Binti-Ma’am’s innate viciousness had fueled her rise to the top.
Several aunties and their children waited anxiously in the hallway and directed us to where Ma was giving birth. We were too late to help. Shami was already squalling on Ma’s chest when we arrived. It may have been fortunate he hadn’t awaited Sunita-Auntie’s arrival. In her current state, she may have cut more than his cord, though the scene we came upon was no less horrific.
Binti-Ma’am had sent Ma to the lockup to have her baby. The room itself made my heart race. Everyone who lived in our house had heard the screams from that room when new girls were broken in. Lali-didi had emerged from a prolonged confinement only three weeks ago and still bore the marks of her suffering.
It was more a wooden box than an actual room, standing four feet off the floor and accessed by a rickety stool. It was barely large enough for the single soiled mattress it contained, and the roof was so low it wasn’t possible to stand upright, even for me, and I was small for my ten years. A bucket overflowing with filthy rags and watery blood stood underneath the open door. Prita-Auntie, who shared our small four-bed room, stood sentry outside, giving orders to the other aunties to bring fresh water and clean clothes. A bucket arrived just as we did. Whatever rivalries might have existed between the aunties on a daily basis, they were family and would always help each other in a crisis.
“She’s going to be fine,” said Prita-Auntie. Her eyes told a different story.
I steeled myself to climb into the box. Sunita-Auntie made no move to follow. I didn’t blame her. I glanced nervously at the bolt and huge padlock on the door. Binti-Ma’am would have no reason to lock us in, but I’d seen Pran’s cruelty extend beyond reason, many times.
The room was stifling. Deepa-Auntie sat on the far side of the mattress, mopping Ma’s face with a rag that looked little cleaner than the ones outside. Aamaal crouched beside her, rigid with fear. I tried to smile reassuringly at her. I’m sure it came out more like a grimace. Old Shushila, who’d long ago retired from the trade but stayed on at our house to help, was between Ma’s legs trying her best to wash her. Light flickered from a single kerosene lantern that hung barely two feet above Shushila’s hunched body. It cast ghastly shadows, making the scene look like a massacre and old Shushila a demon crone. I thought they must have cut the baby out and was surprised to see that Ma’s exposed belly, covered in a film of sweat, was unmarked.
Ma looked relieved to see me. “Greet your brother, Shami.”
I reached across her and took him in my arms.
“You need to get a box for him to sleep in. There should be some discarded fruit cartons at the garbage dump. Get the cleanest one you can find.” Her voice was weak.
“I’ll take care of it, Ma. Don’t worry.”
I was surprised by his lightness. He was much smaller than Aamaal had been. Even at birth she’d had round cheeks and a robust glow. Our brother was frail and wizened like an old man. His eyes fixed on me and his wails, which had reverberated off the walls since my arrival, subsided into a quiet snuffling. It was foolish to think anything of it. Babiescouldn’t see properly when they were this young. I kissed his forehead and held him close.
Ma fell asleep
“You should be ashamed making Ashmita work in her condition, you greedy donkey!” snarled Sunita-Auntie.
Binti-Ma’am’s chest puffed up as she prepared to explode. I shoved Sunita-Auntie through the open doorway. Sunita-Auntie’s blood was still up from before. She was itching to let loose on someone. It wouldn’t take much to ignite her longstanding feud with Binti-Ma’am. Many years ago they’d been friends, working alongside each other in the same house, butwhile Sunita-Auntie’s unwillingness to train new girls had kept her forever at the bottom of the trade, Binti-Ma’am’s innate viciousness had fueled her rise to the top.
Several aunties and their children waited anxiously in the hallway and directed us to where Ma was giving birth. We were too late to help. Shami was already squalling on Ma’s chest when we arrived. It may have been fortunate he hadn’t awaited Sunita-Auntie’s arrival. In her current state, she may have cut more than his cord, though the scene we came upon was no less horrific.
Binti-Ma’am had sent Ma to the lockup to have her baby. The room itself made my heart race. Everyone who lived in our house had heard the screams from that room when new girls were broken in. Lali-didi had emerged from a prolonged confinement only three weeks ago and still bore the marks of her suffering.
It was more a wooden box than an actual room, standing four feet off the floor and accessed by a rickety stool. It was barely large enough for the single soiled mattress it contained, and the roof was so low it wasn’t possible to stand upright, even for me, and I was small for my ten years. A bucket overflowing with filthy rags and watery blood stood underneath the open door. Prita-Auntie, who shared our small four-bed room, stood sentry outside, giving orders to the other aunties to bring fresh water and clean clothes. A bucket arrived just as we did. Whatever rivalries might have existed between the aunties on a daily basis, they were family and would always help each other in a crisis.
“She’s going to be fine,” said Prita-Auntie. Her eyes told a different story.
I steeled myself to climb into the box. Sunita-Auntie made no move to follow. I didn’t blame her. I glanced nervously at the bolt and huge padlock on the door. Binti-Ma’am would have no reason to lock us in, but I’d seen Pran’s cruelty extend beyond reason, many times.
The room was stifling. Deepa-Auntie sat on the far side of the mattress, mopping Ma’s face with a rag that looked little cleaner than the ones outside. Aamaal crouched beside her, rigid with fear. I tried to smile reassuringly at her. I’m sure it came out more like a grimace. Old Shushila, who’d long ago retired from the trade but stayed on at our house to help, was between Ma’s legs trying her best to wash her. Light flickered from a single kerosene lantern that hung barely two feet above Shushila’s hunched body. It cast ghastly shadows, making the scene look like a massacre and old Shushila a demon crone. I thought they must have cut the baby out and was surprised to see that Ma’s exposed belly, covered in a film of sweat, was unmarked.
Ma looked relieved to see me. “Greet your brother, Shami.”
I reached across her and took him in my arms.
“You need to get a box for him to sleep in. There should be some discarded fruit cartons at the garbage dump. Get the cleanest one you can find.” Her voice was weak.
“I’ll take care of it, Ma. Don’t worry.”
I was surprised by his lightness. He was much smaller than Aamaal had been. Even at birth she’d had round cheeks and a robust glow. Our brother was frail and wizened like an old man. His eyes fixed on me and his wails, which had reverberated off the walls since my arrival, subsided into a quiet snuffling. It was foolish to think anything of it. Babiescouldn’t see properly when they were this young. I kissed his forehead and held him close.
Ma fell asleep
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