Being Mother, And Being Mother Again

By Arpan Nandi

It’s painful !

Every prayer that wishes for mothers

isn’t from one, but from someone pained

from a mother’s bruises.

Tears eventually give birth to prayers -

for the mothers to live more, more bearing

the pain, more fighting the struggles.

Moon peeked the clouds,

the shirt felt unbearable, tensed up,

shrinking its elastic on my huge belly.

profuse wetness felt both in and out,

for once and quite some time,

smeared my thoughts, and entangled them.

‘My dear little girl, help mamma’

two little hands with hesitating fingers,

brushed over me, relieving me off the shirt.

the fearsome bulge exposed,

shining, as the moon glazed on the sweat.

Not before the panting ceased, I noticed her

standing by me, glistening eyes, a hand on me.

Her anxious face made me worry more,

than anything - that I tried putting on a smile.

‘Mamma will be okay, my child’….

her belief for those words, that slight little grin

absorbed the uncertainty from all that I said.

But she didn’t answer me, instead,

turned around and ran fast like in a hurry.

She couldn’t be called back, I sighed.

The vehicle, I could see, waiting below.

I wanted to see her, and that I tried

before I had to leave.

On a stretcher, as they took me down

my eyes kept searching her, fearing unknown,

half way down, by the mezzanine door

My ears paused at her soft mumbling chore,

As I hastily looked into the room, the guy

holding my head’s end asked the other to stop.

My little princess.

She wasn’t bothered to take a break, from her

conversations with the small wooden Jesus, But,

I was bothered.

For the rigorous convulsions within me

warned me this could be the ultimate time.

I stared at her, to my heart’s content.

“please Heal my mamma”

Her voice, rich with faith, didn’t shake at all.

Her prayers wanted me to live more.

‘He better bless you, angel’ I wanted to say,

But everything in my mouth felt so dry.

The darkness in the cabin, made me hallucinate

stronger than before, half conscious and half not

Her prayers made me think harder

How much superior is it to be a mother,

than being a human ?

That it churns out all the fears, about self, clean.

That it brings you blessings out of nowhere.

That it makes every struggle a lot more easier,

A bit more reasonable.

That it envelopes every pain, every ache,

beneath responsibilities.

Death seems so easy. So much more like a fighter, A soldier.

I sensed all my movements ceasing one followed

by other, helpless doctors piling up beeping,

strange Instruments surrounding me.

The nurses clumsily moved around,

following orders, and whispering at intervals.

They all wanted to save the life,

They all wanted to save the child.

I tried hard to recall my daughter’s face, but couldn't.

I tried to imagine the younger face yet stretching

my insides, perhaps hoping to be more trivial.

But I failed again, getting worse every time.

Pain couldn’t be felt, as if there wasn’t any

Tears washed them all, the leftovers and agony.

Nearing the end, inch by inch, a prayer was the

most I could make -

‘Bless my children, Heal my man, protect

all Mothers of this humane clan…let them live,

bear every struggle -

The pain is much lesser than

escaping realities, hoping for miracles in the

Realms of purple’

By Arpan Nandi