Motherhood - A Tale of Love Ch. 01

The gist of the rest of the incidents is very short. It didn't take long for Preetha to understand what had happened. A developing country like India is plagued with the scourge of female foeticide, the act of killing a female foetus outside the legal channels of abortion. It occurs in India for assumed cultural reasons that span centuries. For thousands of years, owing to a strange mindset, parents in this sub-continent have often exterminated baby girls by poisoning, strangling, or burying them alive. The life of a woman in India, particularly in rural areas, has been often marked by such disrespect that some feel it is better for the family, and even for the baby girl, that she not be born! Perhaps the greatest malicious factor contributing to this unfortunate practice is the heinous system of dowries. Moreover, often male child is considered a direct heir of the family blood and a status symbol which had been the case with the wealthy Mullicks - the first born must always be a boy child. In India, especially in metropolitan cities, there are strict laws against sex determination before birth; but in US, that is not the case and when Preetha was detected with a girl child, it was a shock for Ayan and his family, and they secretly planned to remove it clandestinely. Perhaps they even threatened Preetha's parents not to expose their motive when they visited her!

They had set it up so craftily that Preetha could not even suspect that such a vile conspiracy was going behind her back to kill her unborn child. She could never imagine that such cultured, educated and family could stoop down to such low levels for assuring a male heir for the family.

After coming back from the hospital, Preetha kept her calm; she didn't speak much, but called both her in-laws and asked for the keys of their 3BHK apartment in Golf Green. She made it very clear to them that she didn't want to stay with them neither she wanted to go back to US; for her, this marriage was practically over. She wanted the flat for herself and prohibited them to set foot in the premises. She coldly threatened them that she had once worked in one of the most reputed media houses in the city and if she wanted, she could easily expose them. Foeticide is punishable by the strictest laws in Indian penal code and this scandal would destroy the reputation of the Mullicks forever, even if they try to save their faces with their wealth and social connections. She didn't want any trouble, just the keys to the apartment in Golf Green. With a shaky hand, Preetha's father-in-law handed her the keys.

She could have shifted to Durgapur where her parents lived, but their cowardice made her despise them from the core of her heart; they could have saved her child from these monsters, but they were too afraid of the influential Mullicks. Preetha's mother begged of her to allow her to come over to Golf Green to the new flat and stay with her, but she never responded; she stopped taking her parent's calls as well.

However, as soon as Preetha shifted to the Golf Green apartment, she saw around five lakh rupees (around 7500 USD) suddenly transferred to her account from Ayan's overseas account. And in the consecutive month, there was another transfer of 2 lakhs as well which means a lot of money in India. Preetha thought that perhaps her husband was afraid of blackmail, or trying to bribe her or just trying to bury his crime under money. In the beginning, Preetha thought she would never touch the money. Then she reasoned, why would she torture herself for the evils of her husband and in-laws? She started lavishly spending the money on herself, buying everything she wanted - except peace and happiness.

In the beginning, she kept herself drugged with Valium and Alzolum sleeping pills, but how much could she sleep! In her disturbed and fervid subconscious mind, she could see the fake evil smiles of her husband and in-laws. She was not a regular smoker, used to smoke occasionally, and had quit after she conceived; but now, she started smoking regularly. Nothing less than one and a half pack a day; besides that, she also bought a few bottles of Smirnoff. Alcohol still didn't suit her much; after a couple of drinks, she started losing her good senses. However, Preetha was indignant that she would self-destroy herself in that large, vacant and luxurious flat owned by her in-laws. Somehow, by slowly killing herself, she was actually making them win, but her heart was too dark with depression to realize that! She was in a constant state of ennui.

Today, she picked up the half-empty pack of India Kings Blue from the dressing table and lit one. Dragging in the sweet smelling expensive tobacco, she felt her head going a bit dizzy. With the slow trail of smoke blowing out from her mouth and nostrils, she looked at her nude body in the mirror as she sat before her dressing table. She had given this all to Ayan - she could not believe it! After her adolescence, Preetha always took special pride in her beauty, sometimes to the point of being vain, and why not? The way she stood apart from the crowd always made her feel special.

Her powerful swan neck stood proudly over her wide robust shoulders, topped by a beautiful perfect oval shaped face adorned with a pair of large dark doe eyes, a sharp flute-like nose bridging the gap between them. Below her haughty nose, a pair of rose petal-like juicy lips swelled, and at the right corner of her lower lip, a tiny yet prominent black mole accentuated the beauty and sensuousness of her curvaceous mouth. Like the dark clouds of the sky outside, a massive deluge of thick black hair cascaded down her smooth broad back. A couple of smooth, thick, shapely, robust arms came down from her expansive shoulders which, though feminine in look, held the promise of exceptional strength due to her athletic background. Subconsciously, Preetha piled up her thick flowing tresses atop her head with her hands and realized how negligent she had been about herself recently. She was so conscious about herself that she waxed and bleached her armpits every weekend in expensive salons, keeping them buttery smooth, but now, like unkempt weed in a garden, a lush dense shock of hair covered her oxters.

Ayan had always found body hair on a woman yucky and that's why she always took special care to clean herself regularly; but Ayan was not there anymore nor there was any other man to judge her - she was in her full natural self. Her armpits were giving off a faint pungent smell of her body - it was her natural pheromone; she had not used deodorants or perfumes for quite some time as she didn't feel the need to go outside these days. Just Below her armpits, it looked like her upper body was inflated up by the massiveness of her breasts. In her pre-pubescent years, Preetha always suffered from the inferiority complex of her having flat breasts; but after 13, when she started growing up, it seemed she would never stop growing there. It was because of the uncontrollable growth of her breasts that she gave up basketball; it was becoming too embarrassing. Now in the full ripe age of 31, Preetha's breasts had bulged beyond belief, with the ripeness of her full matured youth and the milk that was trapped in them. At this point, she was a full 38F; her nipples were bloated and moist with seeping milk. The doctor had given her a breast pump but she never used it; she knew there is a chance of breast cancer if milk is not pumped out regularly, but Preetha didn't care! This pain reminded her of her loss every day; this was the only connection left with her unborn child. Preetha was not liking the way she looked in the mirror; once she took pride in her nakedness, but she was not in that mental state anymore. She fished inside her wardrobe and picked out another blouse which matched her saree. She dropped her moist blouse and bra in the washing machine and wore the new blouse skipping the bra. She got this blouse tailored after her marriage, but never wore it. It had a dangerously drooping neckline, and when she wore it in US for the first time, Ayan had frowned. 'Why are you wearing such a low-cut blouse? You are so heavy up there already, do you see the amount of cleavage it is showing?'

Ayan had spurted. Preetha protested, 'Why, you go on ogling the white girls on the beach wearing two-piece bikinis and you have a problem with my low-neck blouse? I am wearing it with a saree and my chest will be covered up by the pallu.'

'That's even more dangerous, you never know when the pallu would drop, and men's hungry eyes will feast upon your breasts.' Preetha chuckled and dismissed this as his possessiveness, never realizing the typical patriarchal mentality behind this. However, she didn't care anymore. She wore the blouse but had to struggle, she had grown bigger after it was made; the blouse's thin material barely contained her massive mammaries, she didn't have to wear a bra as they were so tightly fitted. Half of her breasts were bulging out of the neckline like boiling milk heaving out of a pan, about to be spilled. At this moment, any man would have gone mad with lust looking at her, but she couldn't think of any man - she was starting to hate all men! The very idea of men nauseated her.

She pulled out the bottle of vodka from the freezer and poured a large drink for herself, diluting it with lemonade. By that time, it had started raining heavily outside. A quick gulp and the liquid burned down her throat. The second sip was easier and it started soothing her nerves a little, giving warmth in her belly. She was feeling hungry - the vodka had its effect. Preetha called up the local restaurant on her mobile. They said that delivery would be delayed, as it was raining heavily. The rain outside pitter-pattering on the widows, the heat of vodka in her veins, Preetha was yearning for something; her heart was heavy, but her body yearned with hunger and it was not just the hunger in her belly. She could remember Ayan's thick seven inch penis, strange she was almost forgetting Ayan's face, but she could remember every detail of his penis, the circumcised swollen head, thick veins crisscrossing the entire shaft and the dense spurt of semen. Her hatred for Ayan remained the same, though her body was pleading for his male genital.

Preetha could have easily invited any man from her social and work circle, there were so many of them slavering for her, but the very idea of sharing the bed with another man who would eventually cheat or hurt her was completely unacceptable. She had never masturbated in her life, but standing by the balcony, sipping on the vodka with cold fine sprays of rain wetting her face and arms, was sapping her off her self-control. She instinctually pulled up her saree and caressed her panty covered vagina, shocked to realize that her panties were sopping wet; the clear semi-sticky juices had made the expensive lace slimy and slick. Like the road which was now glistening under the rain water, her vagina was already coated with her body fluids. She tried to pull her mind away from such arousal and decided to have a bath.

As she finished the drink with another gulp and poured herself one more, something snapped inside her. She sat on the bed with her mobile, scrolling through the numbers of her male acquaintances. Should she call Suman Bhaduri, her immediate boss, who always looked at her with thirsty eyes? Or Yasin Hossain, the new young reporter with whom she had sprouted a friendship, he always stealing glances at her body, mesmerized by her physical wealth, but too shy to say anything, or Shankar, her old college friend with whom she used to play basketball; he kept touch with her on facebook, time and again sending double meaning messages. She was feeling really desperate, her body was on fire and she needed someone. But was it right? Should she give in to her desires and get involved with a man again? Confusion and yearning clouded her heart as her finger scrolled down the list of numbers. Preetha hung up and threw the phone on the bed and crashed herself.

Her body was on fire, she felt restless. Her hands travelled all over her body, her face, her neck and then squeezing her breasts. Preetha couldn't take it anymore and moaned loudly. Her huge milk loaded breasts felt like they would burst. 'Oh God...why are you doing this to me? Why can't I control my body anymore?' She groaned. She lifted up her saree, rubbing her thighs, her stench filled the closed air conditioned room immediately. 'Ahhh...I am so disgusting...' Preetha cried out, but she was out of control now, her fingers trailed up her things and just as she was about to touch her sopping wet panties, she herad a scream. Preetha was startled, she got up and heard a noise of commotion downstairs. There was more screaming.

Preetha quickly went to the balcony and leaned over trying to see what was going on downstairs and what she saw startled her. Just in front of the gate, the watchman was brutally beating up a street urchin with a cane. The boy was screaming and begging for mercy, but the roguish watchman was relentless.

'Hey, what are you doing? Why are you thrashing the kid?' Preetha shouted from the balcony, but the watchman did not pay any heed to her; he went on caning the boy ruthlessly. Perhaps he could not hear her from a distance. Suddenly something snapped in Preetha and she rushed out of her apartment, she pushed the button of the elevator and was panting heavily with rage and anxiety,

'... that bastard will kill the boy!'

As soon as the lift doors opened in the parking lot, she rushed out. The kid was now writhing on the wet floor and the watchman was caning him on his bare legs. Preetha screamed 'Stop, stop it at once I say...what the hell is going on?'

The watchman stopped and turned, the boy crawled out of his reach and huddled himself in a corner, shivering from pain and shock. 'This little bastard sneaked into our premises to steal Ma'am', the watchman hoarsely said.

'Yesterday someone stole the tail light of Mr. Sen's car. You cannot teach these little fuckers a lesson without a beating', he spurted out in an obscene way.

'No Ma'am, believe me...' the shaken boy squealed from the corner in panic. 'I was just standing under the shade of the parking lot to avoid the rain and suddenly this guy rushed on me and started thrashing; I didn't do anything, please believe me...'

'Shut up, you little piece of snot', the watchman snapped back and spat at him 'Bloody thieves...they...'

The watchman could not finish his sentence as a powerful slap suddenly smacked on his face... Preetha had slapped him so hard that he lost his footing and fell on the ground, stunned by the sheer force of her slap. The watchman was a short, scrawny guy from Bihar - one slap from Preetha's powerful hand had shown him the stars. Preetha was trembling with rage as the watchman looked up at her with abject fear in his eyes; with her large beautiful stature towering above him, she looked like goddess Durga (a female warrior deity venerated and worshipped in the Indian sub-continent, especially by Bengalis), ready to slay the Asura demon. Her huge kohl-lined eyes were raining fire; her beautiful mouth was set in a straight line of anger.

'Ma'am, believe me...' the watchman muttered meekly; he was cut off midway by Preetha

'Shut up... or I shall pummel you with my slippers', she roared.

The kid, on the other hand, was also trembling looking at her wrathful stature. Preetha rushed at him and pulled him up by his arm, dragging him towards the elevator. The boy was constantly pleading, 'Please let me go Ma'am, I promise I haven't done anything; I swear on my mother's soul.' Preetha paid no heed and almost threw the boy inside the elevator, then stepping inside herself. The boy was huddled in a corner, fully drenched. Preetha was breathing heavily from her sudden outburst, her mind clouded by blind rage. She, too, was soaking wet. Finally, she looked at the boy who was looking up at her with frightened eyes. She brushed away the lock of hair which fell across her forehead as she told him softly 'Don't worry; I am not going to hurt you.'

The boy didn't look much assured having witnessed her outrage and her intimidating height and size.

As the elevator reached the fifth floor, Preetha got out, dragging the boy behind her. As she was unlocking her apartment door, she could see from the corner of her eyes that a few inquisitive heads have emerged from the adjoining apartments, noticing her. She ignored them, went in and called the boy inside. The boy entered her apartment on timid footsteps. As she closed the door, Preetha returned a glaring gaze at the people who were peeping from other apartments; the heads vanished in a flurry!

As she entered the apartment, Preetha slumped down heavily on the large sofa; her head was spinning, her ears felt like belching fire, her chest heaving with agitation. She had lost track of time. When, after a while, she became calm and came back to her senses and lit a fresh cigarette, she saw the boy was still sitting on the floor huddled near the door with his hands folded on the chest, stealing nervous glances at her. Preetha stared at the boy for a long time and then said in a calm voice 'Why are you sitting over there? Come, sit here', pointing to the single couch beside her sofa. The boy got up, walked up to the couch with timid steps and sat down hesitantly. Preetha observed the boy for a long time. The boy appeared to be in his late teens, short, frail, clearly suffering from lack of nutrition, and his hair in disarray. He was wearing an old torn T-shirt and even older dirty shorts. The boxer shorts must have been gathered from a garbage bin, rejected by someone, and did not carry any button or zip at the front. One can make out the faint outline of Che Guevara's face on the front of his torn, faded T-shirt. His feet were naked. A typical street urchin one can come across at any busy intersection in Indian metropolis.

But, if someone observes him carefully, he can spot a difference. It is rare to find such a beautiful, poignant face in a street urchin. The boy must have been very fair at one point of time; but, now it looked bronzed, burnt by the scorching sun. Sun-bleached dense brown hair covered his head. However, what attracted the most were his long fine eyebrows and two large doe-like eyes. Preetha was deeply struck by the pain and despair they contained - the anguished eyes of a helpless doe about to be slain by a ruthless hunter. Below those eyes were a small pert nose and a pair of thin curvaceous lips. The boy had an angular face, his skin smooth and hairless body.

As Preetha kept staring into the sad eyes of the boy, the fire in her heart gradually subsided and gave rise to a surge of compassion in her. There was a bruise on the forehead of the boy; blue welts were surfacing all over his body. She was stunned that someone can beat such a frail looking child so ruthlessly! Is the world so mercilessly cruel these days?! Indeed, she has experienced cruelty in her life herself; yet, looking at this boy, she was suddenly overcome with empathy.

'What is your name?' she spoke softly.

'S... Salim' the boy uttered mildly through hesitation.

'Where do you live?'

The boy replied 'I have no place to live. I work in a tea stall in Lake Gardens area... They allow me to sleep over there'.

'Your parents?'

'Th...they are no more Ma'am'

'Where did you come from originally? Don't you have any relatives?'

'We belonged to a village called Nandigram. When I was too young, both my parents died in violence. We would have died too. Khurshid Uncle put me and my sister in a train bound for Kolkata. We landed here'.

Preetha felt a pang of shock inside her. She was aware of the terrible political violence that engulfed the area. 'God... So many children must have been lost everything!'