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Dusk descends like a veil of despair,
In the room where Malini waits with care.
For Abhishek's return, her heart's desire,
But fate has other plans, a different fire.
The door creaks open, her smile fades fast,
As Abhishek's family gathers, their faces aghast.
His mother, a statue of stone and ice,
Cold words dripping venom, a heart that's not nice.
"Black magic, that's the only explanation"
For Abhishek's love, a mere manipulation.
They demand a grandson, a boy to bear the name,
No room for a girl, a burden, a shame.
By year's end, they want good news to share,
A son, not a daughter, their expectations bare.
Their words cut deep, a threat, a warning to fear,
Malini trembles, her heart heavy with tears.
In 1846 Bengal, girls are not prized,
A burden, a weight, a life not realized.
Malini curls up, scared and alone,
Longing for Abhishek, her heart's sweet tone.
She waits and waits, her eyes on the door,
Praying for his return, her love, her shor.
The night deepens, the darkness closes in,
Malini's heart beats slow, her soul gives in.
•·•·•·•·•·•·••●❍•❅•°•❈•°•❅•❍●••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•
16th April 1846
Calcutta, Bengal
MALINI'S POV~
Lying on my stomach, I bury my face halfway into the soft cotton pillow, the scent of sandalwood lingering faintly on its surface.
"When will he come back?" I mumble, my voice muffled and childlike with a hint of longing.
I tilt my head to the side, letting my cheek rest against the pillow's warm indent, my arms tucked beneath me.
Outside the window, golden slivers of the setting sun stream in, bathing the floor in muted hues of amber and rose.
Dust particles shimmer lazily in the light, suspended like tiny stars.
I glance at the door, heart fluttering with naive hope—
Maybe now.
But no footsteps echo.
He's not here.
With a small pout, I press my face deeper into the pillow, letting out a slow, silent sigh that warms the fabric beneath me.
The sharp click of the door handle jolts me.
I whip my head up, lips curling into an eager smile, my heart leaping—
But the smile crumbles the moment I see them.
His mother.
His aunts.
Entering in unison, their faces unreadable, steps firm and measured like some silent verdict approaching.
My heart stutters.
My brows knit together in confusion.
Why are they all here… together?
The room feels smaller, the evening light duller.
I sit up swiftly, the mattress creaking beneath me.
Fingers tremble as I adjust the pleats of my saree, smoothing the fabric with forced composure, though my spine stiffens and my throat grows dry.
"Listen— my son may be under your black spell now," she hisses, her voice low but laced with venom, "but don't think you've won."
Her eyes rake me from head to toe, as if peeling away my skin with each contemptuous glance.
Her jaw tightens, nostrils flaring slightly, and I can almost hear the grinding of her teeth.
A cold sweat beads at the back of my neck.
The room suddenly feels airless… as though her fury has stolen all the oxygen.
"And you! You listen carefully."
She takes a deliberate step forward, her presence looming like a shadow swallowing the light from the window.
"I want to become a grandmother by the end of this year. And not just that— I want a grandson."
Her words drop like iron weights, each syllable sharp and deliberate.
Her eyes narrow, dark and hard as stone, staring into mine as if daring me to refuse.
"Yes! We don't want a girl," Suchitra aunty snaps, jabbing a thin, accusing finger toward me as if I've already committed a crime.
Another aunt joins in, her voice rising over the silence like a curse.
"Don't you dare give birth to a girl. We want a boy. Only a boy. An heir for this family."
Their voices blend, harsh and unforgiving, echoing in the enclosed room like a chant of judgment.
The air turns thick, pressing down on my chest.
My fingers curl around the folds of my saree, knuckles white.
"But…" My voice trembles before I can steady it. "No one can know a baby's gender inside the womb…"
I glance at them, searching for reason, for some sliver of humanity in their eyes, but I find only stone and fire.
"No!" another aunt barks, her voice slicing through the air. "We only want a boy! Boys carry the bloodline. Girls— they're burdens."
She leans in slightly, her voice lowering into a threat laced with menace.
"If you give birth to a girl, we'll make your life worse than you can imagine… and silence your burden forever."
The words hang in the air like poison.
My blood runs cold.
I feel my heartbeat thud loud in my ears.
My throat tightens as if unseen hands are strangling me from within.
"Remember this—" his mother says, jabbing her finger toward me like a blade.
"We want a boy this year. I expect good news this month."
With one final, burning glare, they turn and walk out in unison…. their footsteps oddly synchronized, like a slow, rhythmic drumbeat of judgment.
The door creaks shut behind them with a chilling finality.
The silence they leave behind is deafening.
I sit frozen, hands trembling in my lap, their threats replaying in my head on an endless loop.
Baffled.
Hollow.
Alone.
Even the warm hues of the setting sun no longer comfort me.
The room feels darker now… as if their shadows still linger.
What… What did they mean?
I take a hesitant step forward, the air in the room feeling heavier than before.
My fingers tremble slightly as I reach for the wooden door and push it closed with a soft click that echoes louder in the sudden silence.
Good news by this month?
A boy?
An heir?
Their words tumble in my head like scattered marbles, each one striking a corner of my mind, sharp and confusing.
My throat feels dry.
Why not a girl?
The heaviness in their tone replays in my ears—"girls are burdens."
I swallow hard.
His mother wants to become a grandmother… this year?
I glance down instinctively at my belly—flat, but a little soft from the sweets I'd eaten during the wedding week.
My fingers splay over it slowly, gently pressing through the thin fabric of my cotton saree.
Could there be a baby inside me already?
Is that how it works?
I've seen village women speak about getting pregnant after marriage.
I've even seen a neighbor cradle her round belly while walking slowly on the veranda.
So… does that mean I might be…?
A strange warmth blooms under my palm, followed instantly by a burst of nervous energy.
I'm married now… I must be pregnant… right?
My heart skips a beat.
I blink rapidly, the room starting to spin ever so slightly.
I'm going to become… a mother?
My knees feel weak.
I shuffle toward the bed and sit down with a thud before quickly pulling the blanket over me like a scared little girl hiding from the dark.
The cotton smells faintly of sandalwood and rose water…. remnants of the wedding.
Should I feel… joy?
Or fear?
I've heard it's painful.
So painful that the women scream and cry.
Once, I'd seen a woman wail so loudly during childbirth that her screams were audible as far as three hundred steps.
The whole area had gone quiet.
Even the birds.
A deep shiver slithers down my back, curling into my bones.
But how did I become pregnant so soon?
We just… got married yesterday.
Still, I remind myself— I'm a wife now.
And wives become mothers.
So it must be true.
I hug the blanket tighter, eyes darting to the door.
Where is he?
I miss him more than I can explain.
His voice.
His warmth.
The way he looks at me like I matter.
Please, come home fast…
Abhi.
~ Not just my eyes…. But my very self longs for you.
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻.✾.჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻
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