My Flesh, My Blood

Have you ever seen a ship drowning in the sea? When the violent sea tries to drown the ship, the ship protests. It pleads with the sea to give it another chance, just one more. The cries of the people aboard the ship drowned by the tempestuos fury of the lightning. Rain lashing out on the deck as the violent sea steers the ship in random directions. For an instant, it seems the angry sea is moved by the cries and has decided to let the ship live. But then the next moment, the surface of the sea swirls violently drawing the ship into it. The ship goes down silently, with everything it holds within, as if melting like ice into the mysterious icy depths and then it is lost forever. As it lies on the bed lifeless, what does the ship think about? What does it feel now that its saviour has destroyed it? The one for whom it existed is the reason it does not exist now. Does it ever forgive the sea? And does the sea ever forgive itself?

These are the thoughts that run past by mind as I am sitting in this isolated clinic looking at the vast blue sky through the small window. I have killed my child. Yes, my own child who had thought that the warm womb she was sleeping in was the safest place on earth. Her quivering lips which would have called me 'Ma' one day are now silent forever. Her tiny hands which would have held my hand and learnt to walk will now no longer move. Her tiny fluttering heart which beat in rythm with my heartbeat are now silent forever.

When the nurse came and asked me how I felt, what could I have told her? I didnt feel angry at myself for having given into that sonovabitch. I didnt feel weak having succumbed to the society. There was like an invisible barrier between me and my emotions. It was like emotions had left my body with my child. All I felt was a pain. A pain, as pure as moonlight, arising somewhere deep inside my abdomen. No painkiller could alleviate this pain. It was as if somebody was poking my wounds with a knife so that it hurt more and more. As if the remnants of the unborn child were cursing me from inside.The pain crawled through the spine into my head and was trying to burst it open. But I was not crying. Tears had dried long before.

As I went into the bathroom, the foetus was lying wrapped in a blood soaked white cloth on the floor. A tiny mass of flesh and blood, my flesh, my blood. Its tiny hands were suspended in air as if it wanted a hug from me. Would she ever forgive me? I would never forgive myself.