The Henna Artist(85)

His eyes wandered from me, to Radha, to the baby, back to me. “Everything all right?”

I wiped the corner of my mouth where a little spit had formed. I couldn’t look at him because I was filled with shame. What I’d said to my sister about the Bad Luck Girl was a cruelty I hadn’t known I was capable of. I cleared my throat. “Please take the baby away.”

“No!” she shouted. “I want to feed him!”

The baby’s cries were deafening.

With an effort, I shifted to the smooth voice I always used with my ladies. “Doctor, please.”

He sighed. Slowly, he turned to the nurse and nodded. Glaring her disapproval, the nurse took the screaming baby from Radha’s arms, and walked quickly out of the room.

The doctor rubbed his eyes. “Radha—”

“Dr. Kumar, I beg of you. Please. Let me keep my baby.”

It embarrassed me to hear her plead like a beggar.

“It’s not my decision,” he said.

“I’ll take care of him, I promise! I’ll find a way.”

“Your sister is your legal guardian until you come of age. You must follow her wishes.”

Radha covered her ears with her hands, shaking her head. “It’s my baby! Don’t I have a say?”

I looked at Dr. Kumar, who was rubbing his jaw, his eyes troubled.

He took a step toward me and touched my shoulder, leaving his hand there for the briefest of moments. It was soothing, as if he were telling me to be brave; that all would be well in the end. Then he was gone, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Her face wet and flushed with anger, Radha exploded. “You control everything! Whether I can feed my own baby. Who I spend time with. How I talk. What I eat. Will it always be like this? When will you stop running my life? I managed by myself for thirteen years! Thirteen years! I may as well have been alone. Pitaji drunk. Maa barely there. I found a way to get to you hundreds of miles away! Do you know how hard that was?”

She looked down at her hospital gown, now damp from her leaking breasts. “I want a family, Jiji. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. It’s why I traveled so far to find you. This baby is my family. He wants my milk. Did you see the way he looked at me? I talked to him the whole time he was in my belly. He knows my voice. He knows me. I know he needs me.”

Of course he knew her. He’d had her to himself for eight months. I understood that. And yes, my feelings toward him were so tender, so strong, it surprised me. Which is why I wanted the best for them both. Didn’t she realize that? How could I not manage one sentence that would help my sister understand that everything I did was for her own good? She exasperated me and sometimes intimidated me, but I would do anything to make her life better, easier.

She crossed her arms over her chest but instantly regretted it; her breasts hurt.

They were filled with milk because I hadn’t let her feed the baby. It was as if she needed him as much as he needed her. But I’d seen what Radha hadn’t: desperate women begging my saas to rid them of their burdens. Where she saw joy, I saw hardship. Where she saw love, I saw responsibility, obligation. Could they be two sides of the same coin? Hadn’t I experienced both love and duty, delight and exasperation, since she entered my life?

I stood up. “I brought something for you.” I removed two thermoses from my carrier, unscrewed the cup from one and poured the steaming liquid into it.

“Drink this. It’s bitter, but it will help with the soreness in your breasts.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“Please.”

“What’s in it?” She took the cup from me and sniffed it.

“Burdock root. Mullein leaves. A little dandelion root. It will make the swelling go down.”

As she sipped, she watched me pour hot liquid from the other thermos into a cup. I dipped two strips of flannel in the liquid, one at a time, wetting them thoroughly. “Open your gown.”

She set her cup on the side table and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. She unbuttoned her gown, exposing her breasts. Her nipples were twice as large as they had been when she first came to Jaipur. Her face flushed in embarrassment, but I pretended not to notice. Tenderly, I placed a warm compress on each breast.

Radha let out a sigh and closed her eyes. “Ginger?”

“Chamomile oil, too. And calendula flower.”

Her face relaxed. She took a deep breath.

This was how my saas had taught me to show my love. Not with words or touch but through healing.

Outside, a green warbler tweeted, and we turned to see it fly past the window.

“Auntie’s breasts are filled with milk, too.”

I sighed. “I offered her the compresses, but she doesn’t want them. She wants to feel the pain. I think it’s her way of saying goodbye to her baby. Her breasts will be hard and sore for a while, but her milk will eventually dry up.”

Fresh tears sprang to her eyes. “I feel so guilty because my baby is alive.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“She came to Shimla because of me—so far from her husband. And look what happened.”

“Lady Bradley is far better equipped than the hospital in Jaipur. The air here is better for her asthma. Besides, she wanted to be here with you.”

The warbler returned with its mate; both landed on a rhododendron near the window. He stood guard while she scratched under her feathers with her beak.