tagIncest/TabooMotherhood - A Tale of Love Ch. 01

Motherhood - A Tale of Love Ch. 01

byshotacon1©

Amarshrastha - Motherhood - A Tale Of Love

This story is written by Amarshrastha and Indian and is translated into English. Salim is 18 years old and Preetha is 30 years old. It has a story arc introducing the characters so please be patient.

Preetha's eyes went heavy as she was leafing through the pages of the newly arrived magazine. It is happening to her often these days, a side effect of having too many valiums for sleep. She can't sleep at night, and throughout the day, a spell of gloom and drowsiness hangs heavy over her like a shroud. Her cell phone was buzzing with vibration on the table beside the bed, it must have been Sayani from her office. She has been calling so many times, don't they realize she won't be going back to work?

Preetha was thinking about sending the resignation letter to the H.R, but such ennui afflicted her that she didn't even feel like sitting in front of the computer and typing it out. It has been weeks since she last checked her Facebook and Twitter accounts, something which she couldn't live without before. No whatsapp, no messages, no gmail, no calls, she is living in the massive 3 BHK apartment in Golf Green (a posh residential locality in the metropolis of Kolkata in India) like a marooned sailor. Her only connection with the outside world was the maid who comes every other day to clean up and cook for her. She doesn't even feel like making food for herself. If the maid doesn't come, she orders lunch or dinner from the nearby restaurants who deliver at home.

A sudden gust of cool wind brushed on her bare feet, entered the lower part of her saree like a mischievous lover and blew the pallu (part of the saree cloth which covers the breasts) baring her blouse-covered chest. She climbed out of the bed and arranging her saree, headed outside towards the balcony. A storm was billowing. The lines of trees across the road were shaking their shaggy heads like they were epilepsy inflicted. It was Kalbaishakhi, a storm accompanied by thunder squall that occurs a few times every year during or slightly before the Bengali month of Baishakh (early April) in Bangladesh and West Bengal, following the hot and humid Choitra month, erasing an old year and symbolizing the washing away of the grime of the past. The owner of the tea stall across the road was struggling with the shutter of his shop to close it against the violent gusts. People were running helter-skelter to find cover from the impending storm and torrential rains.

The darkness in Preetha's heart was reflected, as it were, across the sky as dark clouds had covered it from horizon to horizon. Slivers of lightning were streaking through the inky blackness that blotted out the blazing sun of the afternoon. Another gust of violent wind blew away Preetha's pallu as she caught it instinctively. The wind was like an invisible naughty lover trying to violate her modesty. As she covered her chest drawing back the slick strip of silk, she could notice two circular damp stains on her blouse. She could also feel a slight throbbing pain as well. The doctor had prescribed some pills to stop spontaneous effusion, Preetha had stopped taking them for quite some time. The pain was nothing compared to the pain of bereavement that numbed her heart and soul. This pain was a constant reminder of what she had been robbed off, what those monsters had done to her. The physical pain provided some balance to the agony of her heart.

She could smell herself, the scent of her womanhood, the scent of her robbed motherhood, the scent of pent up milk in her breasts, now spilling out. She had been effusing for quite some time, she didn't even realize. This is the reason Preetha doesn't wear western clothes like T-Shirts, tops or salwar-kameez these days. These spontaneous effusions have become an issue of embarrassment for her. If she wears a saree, the pallu covers her blouse, the wet stains are hidden beneath the cloth. Sometimes, when she goes downstairs, she could see the neighborhood kids playing in the park and looking at them, Preetha could neither control her tears or her breast milk which threatened to ooze out of her eyes and breasts.

Preetha could not take that smell anymore. The first drops of rain had spotted the road on the ground like leopard print, and the musty smell of the wet earth and her leaking motherhood were strangely identical. The sky will quench the thirst of the earth, Preetha's breasts were equally full to the brim, but she had no one thirsting for her. Her lap was empty as a desert.

She returned to the bedroom; she was hurting. Today it was worse; her breasts felt like they were going to explode. She pulled them out one by one from the captivity of her blouse and bra and saw a thick white stream rolling down her nipples. They weighed heavy in her hands, becoming heavier with the coagulating milk. Her eyes brimmed with tears looking at the elixir of life spilling out pointlessly, no little hungry mouth to clamp on them and swallow the sweetness filling a little belly, quenching the thirst. She will never have that eternal peace and satisfaction. She stripped off her half-wet blouse and bra and bared herself in front of her dressing table. Before coming back from San Francisco, she had brought numerous expensive cosmetics and make-up kits in a hurry. Living in the U.S had made her snobbish against Indian products. After she returned, she rejoined her old office, a famous and influential news broadcasting company in Calcutta, and in media, the unsaid rule is that you have to look good. Though looking good was not dependant on cosmetics for Preetha. As she looked at herself in the mirror bare bodied, Preetha was startled! Who is this she is looking at?

There were dark circles under her large beautiful eyes, her face was drawn in and dry, a rubenesque heaviness had settled on her once slim and athletic figure. It was the heaviness of motherhood, and in some other time, it would have made her look more full and beautiful on her statuesque, tall 5'10" stature; but she was not a mother, she could not be a mother, she was not allowed to be a mother! In her pre-pubescent years, kids of her age made fun of her due to her unnatural height, calling her pine tree, beanpole, white bamboo, etc. Like many other Bengali middle class parents, her folks were worried if she will ever gain a womanly figure and get married. When she was thirteen, even her dad had to look up to her while standing. Both her parents were of medium height, the genes of her gigantic grandfather skipped a generation and blessed her with it. While marching in sports day, she was always the last girl walking at the back of the line. However, she was quite athletic and sports were her life; she was the captain of the basketball team and continued playing till in college when she had to stop to avoid the greedy prying eyes of the boys.

She was always embarrassed due to her height. During Saraswati Puja (Festival of Goddess Saraswati, the ethnic Deity of Wisdom, which is celebrated in all Indian schools and considered as a regional Valentine's day among students because all girls wear saree on that occasion, making them look beautiful and lady like, and boys also dress up in ethnic dress of kurta/pajama or dhoti), all other girls roamed around in their respective boyfriend's arms while she was considered freakishly tall and gawky for male taste.

But, as she crossed fifteen, suddenly the chrysalis turned into a full-fledged butterfly. The geometric angles of her body were transformed into fleshy roundness of femininity. Suddenly her inners were not fitting her anymore and soft, dense crops of hair sprouted in nooks and crannies of her body. Like a tide breaking a dam, feminine hormones flooded her body turning her girlhood into robust womanhood.

The boys who mocked her were now running after her like dogs in heat, savouring her uncontrollable fullness. Preetha never paid any attention towards them; from school to college, she guarded the immeasurable wealth her body was gifted with. She was saving it up for the man of her dreams.

She finished her college in journalism and joined a major media house as an intern. Due to the exposure, she was getting many acting and modeling offers. She did a few ramp shows and print ads. A famous fashion designer was even planning to launch her in a Delhi Fashion Week to be the ramp partner of the showstopper, and it was none other than Abhishek Bachhan, son of Amitabh Bachhan himself. She was picked because of her startling height and soft Indian beauty. It was a massive opportunity and Preetha was very happy that day, bubbling with energy and eager to share the news with her parents, but that evening something happened which changed her life forever.

When she returned home, her mother asked her to quickly get ready and wear a saree. A family was coming to see her for her arranged marriage with their son. Preetha exploded with anger. Now to explain the arranged marriage custom in India : the marriage process usually begins with a realization in the family that a child is old enough to marry. For a girl, it is during her graduation or early twenties and for a boy, it is after he is 'settled' with a decent job and consistent earnings. The initiation can occur when a parent or a relative (such as an aunt or an elder sister or sister-in-law) initiates a conversation on the topic, or the son/daughter approaches the parent/relative and expresses the desire to be married. This person effectively acts as a sponsor, taking responsibility to get the boy/girl married to a good partner. If the families are enthusiastic about a potential match, it is customary for the prospective groom's family to visit the prospective bride's family. In this event, it is traditional for the boy's family to arrive (with the boy) and be seated with the entire girl's family except the girl herself who then makes a dramatic entrance dressed in fine clothes, often bringing tea and refreshments with herself. This practice is sometimes called "seeing the girl". This custom has been attacked by feminists as a classic instance of gender bias and the objectification of modern-day girls which, to great degree, is true. During this visit, the boy and girl are often encouraged to meet and talk by themselves in a separate room. The families usually part after this initial meeting without any commitment made by either side, with the expectation that they will confer separately and send word through the matchmaker should they be interested in pursuing the matter further. These meetings are understood to be non-exclusive, that is, both the boy and girl are expected to similarly meet with multiple other potential partners at this stage.

Preetha, being an educated modern young woman, felt insulted by this custom and she realized her parents were matchmaking her secretly, and now suddenly out of the blue the groom's family has arrived. She refused to meet them initially, but her mother beseeched and emotionally blackmailed her. She kept on saying they're from the rich and reputed Mullick family in Calcutta and the boy is working in the US which is like a holy grail to every middle class Indian parent. Preetha found such mentality typically crass and undignified, but decided not to drag this further. She would meet them and would take the cell number of the potential groom and call him personally afterwards to tell him she was just not interested.

The Groom's family arrived soon. From their expensive and traditional clothes, looks and etiquette, it was evident they were from a rich family with plenty of money. The parents took their seat as they apologized for the delay in arrival of their son; they said he was right outside in his car, attending a skype call from her company in US. Preetha quickly glanced from the window; in front of their narrow alley a large black Mercedes was parked. Someone was inside the car, but she couldn't see clearly. She immediately thought of them as big show-offs.

After half an hour, Ayan Mullick, the groom entered. A tall, well built young man in his early thirties, he was exceptionally handsome, to the point of being beautiful, with glowing fair skin and long curly hair. He was soft and amicable and spoke respectfully. Preetha's agitation was soothing away the more she saw the man. The initial meeting was brief and jovial, and they bid goodbye after evening snacks and tea. Before he left, Ayan exchanged numbers with Preetha.

Later in the night, somewhat out of her stubbornness, Preetha called Ayan to call off the engagement, but when Ayan in his American accent replied 'Hi Preetha, how are you doing?'

she felt a weakness in her knees. Finally, when she said she had something to talk to him, Ayan invited her for a lunch next day. After Preetha spent three hours with Ayan at Flotel, an expensive floating restaurant on the river, she completely changed her opinion about him. He was such a gentleman, so modest and well spoken, with a plethora of knowledge and experience. When she came back home, she responded to her mother's anxious glances with a faint smile and a nod. The whole household started celebrating.

Within a couple of months, Preetha got married to Ayan and set off to the U.S.A. The first five years of their marriage was the best years in Preetha's life. Ayan had provided the best for her, both with his commitment and wealth. Though they stayed in San Francisco and there is no dearth of beautiful women around, Ayan never made Preetha feel neglected. It was evident that though westerners and Latinas are beautiful, they cannot hold a candle in front of a truly beautiful and modern Indian woman. Preetha, on her side, never gave Ayan any chance to complain about; she covered themselves in a cocoon of love and physical pleasure. She had shed off the typical Indian shyness and came across as a bold independent woman very sure of her sexuality. For 25 long years, Preetha had saved herself for her dream man and she had finally found him and the tide of her sexuality flooded both their lives. Sex became a paramount and integral part of their being. If they were not eating, going out or watching TV, they were mostly engrossed in sexual adventures exploring every inch of their bodies.

Sometimes Ayan used to express before of her, 'Preetha, your needs are so intense, your sexuality is so profound, will you ever be satisfied by just me?' She used to chuckle and say 'So what, if you alone are not enough, I will make clones of you, genetic science is advancing towards that day'.

Finally when she was 30, Preetha asked of Ayan for a child, and being a strong, robust and fertile woman, it didn't take long for her to get pregnant. It was a period of immense joy and excitement for her. Around 2 months hence, Ayan took Preetha to the doctor for her check up. The physician was a hefty jolly woman named Dr. Margaret Jones who took them to the ultrasonography room. When she saw the abstract shape on the monitor, Dr. Jones smiled sweetly and declared 'Congratulations Mr and Mrs Malikh, you are going to be the parents of a beautiful baby girl.'

Preetha could not contain her happiness at that moment and jumped on Ayan that instant, hugging him and kissing him deeply. With a choked voice she said, 'Thank you Baby...'

Ayan, being a little embarrassed wiped his mouth off the fresh warm wetness she left behind and smiled, but did his smile look a bit dry and fake at that moment? Preetha didn't realize; she was already in the seventh heaven with the happiness of her upcoming motherhood.

After the doctor's assessment, Ayan suddenly started making arrangements for her to travel back to India. His plan was correct and logical; in the U.S, she won't get proper care and pampering which is required for the upcoming birth, and he wanted his parents and hers as well to see their grandchild as she would be born. Ayan was in a busy schedule in his office and couldn't give proper time to his wife and hence he decided to drop her off in India and return to the USA. It was planned that on a closer date to the child birth, he would take a sabbatical for a few months and travel back to India to spend some time with everybody and bring back Preetha and the child to the USA.

Within a couple of weeks, Ayan and Preetha returned to Calcutta and they put up in Ayan's ancestral home in Bagbazar, at the middle of the city. It was a massive old house, mostly empty as most of the members were either out of Calcutta or out of the country. Preetha's in-laws gave them a warm welcome and the next few days were spent in celebrations. A week later, Ayan returned to the US and after a couple of days of being upset and crying, Preetha started her normal life again. She decided to join her old office once again, as it was so close to her place, and she was getting bored in the house. Though her in-laws were against it, Preetha was stubborn about this decision and she was fortunate enough as some of her old colleagues had achieved high ranks in the organization by then and they were happy to welcome her back as a part-time employee until her delivery date was near.

Meanwhile, Preetha's mother-in-law took her to a famous gynecologist of Calcutta Dr. Kunal Burman who was a close friend of Ayan in school. At the first glance, he seemed a mild mannered soft spoken gentleman who checked all of Preetha's reports and asked her to do a few tests. When the results came in, he inspected them thoroughly and told her there was some problem in her fallopian tube, but it was not major and can be taken care of with a mild medication, but he might need to perform an endoscopy to clear out the tube for a healthy child birth. Preetha was around 4 months pregnant that time, her belly had a slight beautiful swell and her skin was glowing. She could feel the little life within her calling to her. When the doctor told her about endoscopy, she felt a bit concerned but Dr. Burman assured her that it was routine checkup; she just need to be in his personal nursing home for half a day. Preetha agreed reluctantly while being assured by her in-laws and Ayan via phone.

Meanwhile, Preetha's parents visited them in Bagbazar; they were concerned about their daughter. Her father had been transferred to Durgapur; so it was quite a long way back to Calcutta. When Preetha's father came to know about Dr. Burman and his advice for an endoscopy, he suggested Preetha for a second opinion, but their discussion was interrupted by Preetha's father-in-law. He spoke to her father and insisted to take her parents out that evening to Calcutta Club, a posh family club in Calcutta, for drinks and dinner. The very next day, her parents left for Durgapur. As they were leaving, her father blessed her and wished her to be well, but there was an unexplained hidden sadness in his smile which didn't go unnoticed. Her mother didn't even see her eye to eye.

Next week, Preetha was admitted to the hospital. She couldn't remember anything after the anesthesia mask was put on her face; only Dr. Burman's calm and assuring smile.

When she woke up, she could feel herself on the bed - an IV line attached to her wrist, a splitting headache and a numbness all over her body. She suddenly felt there was something wrong, she was not feeling complete. When she looked down craning her stiff neck painfully, she saw that the sweet bulge in her belly was gone! She tried to get up, but a sharp pang of pain in her stomach made her collapse back on the bed. The nurse rushed at her, 'Ma'am, there was a crisis, the fetus in your stomach had turned upside down and it could have threatened your life.'

The doctor took the quick decision and aborted it; now you are safe!'

She quickly pushed an injection in her saline tube and her eyes became heavy with sleep again. She groaned like a dying animal, 'Life threatening? What is the point of her living anymore?'

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