“Take it off! It’s filthy, and this is a sterile place,” the attendant yelled. Nalini complied at once. There was a certain order of respect, and among these people, Nalini belonged on the bottom rung. It was a fact she had accepted all her life, and like all the women before her, never questioned.
“Where is the orphanage, memsaab?” Nalini asked, using the proper term of respect for a woman in authority.
The attendant told her the name of another city, but it was much too far for Nalini to walk, and she couldn’t afford cab fare.
“That’s too great a distance. What do I do?”
The attendant sighed, a look of scorn taking over her pretty features. “Take her to the police station then.”
After securing directions, Nalini carried the crate another kilometer in the crowded streets until she reached the station. Here, amongst all the harsh glares of men, she felt even more out of place than in the hospital.
Thankfully, the officer who approached spoke her local dialect. His face shifted between the baby and her as she went through the story once more.
He held up his hands to quiet the mocking laughter of his co-workers. “Her parents didn’t want her. You should put her back where you found her, Auntie.”
Nalini wondered if perhaps there was a language barrier. “Officer saab, I cannot. She will die.”
“She’ll die, anyway. The question is do you want her to suffer? Old woman, you are in the wrong place.”
She struggled to find the right words to make him understand. “Will you take a report?”
“For what? No one wants her. No one will be looking for her. She is no one’s concern.”
Nalini patted her chest, as much to calm her raging heartbeat as to make her claim. “She is mine…my concern. What do I do?” she asked for the third time that day.
He dropped his voice, leading her toward the exit. “Salt works well. Put a pinch in the baby’s mouth. It takes little time, and there is no pain.”
Nalini staggered back, shocked by his words. The barrier between them had nothing to do with language. He continued, as if she needed more clarification. “Listen to reason, old woman. She can suffer her whole life or be at peace in one instant.”
She clutched the crate tighter as she exited the building with swift steps, trying to place as much distance from the devilish man’s suggestions as she could.
Confused, frustrated, and tired, she journeyed back to her home. The infant must have sensed her emotions because the crying started again. The cries turned to wails until Nalini stopped at the side of a dirt road that led to her village. She gently rocked the baby, trying to nourish her with words when she had no food to offer.
“Do not cry. You are a godsend. There are some girls who are blessed and cursed at the same time, and in many ways they are the luckiest because God gave them the strength to face both sides of life. There was another child once. His father and mother were imprisoned because his ruthless uncle, the king, was told through a prophet the eighth child of the couple would kill him and bring peace to the land. The child survived because his father snuck him from the prison and placed him in a basket on the banks of the river. That child was Lord Krishna.”
The child quieted. “Baby, no need to cry. You have to be brave like Lord Krishna.”
She looked down at the sleeping infant. What will I do? There are no village families who would take in a child, especially a girl child.
Then Nalini thought of the school where she worked. More specifically of the young nun with golden hair and eyes the color of emeralds who taught there. Nalini had never conversed with her. She couldn’t since they spoke different languages, but her friendly gestures conveyed the woman was nurturing and sweet. She was a woman of God. Maybe not her Gods…but all paths were pure. Surely, she would help.
* * * *
It was Saturday. A day Sister Sarah reserved for reading. The knock on the door of her small cottage surprised her. She prayed it wasn’t another hostile villager threatening her. At the same time, she was in no mood to receive a friendly villager offering gifts of sweets. She feared the former, but was happy to receive the later. Not today, though. Today, she craved solitude. Tomorrow, she’d make the announcement, but today was about coming to terms with her decision to leave her life here.
She let the first set of knocks go unanswered. They were heavy and urgent, signaling Sarah to be extra cautious. Who would have imagined a school could cause such controversy? Villagers either hated or loved it. Some said it wasn’t appropriate to have white foreigners teaching their children and possibly converting them, while others were grateful their children had an opportunity for education.
When she heard the woman’s voice call, she finally opened the door. Her spine stiffened at the sight of one of the cleaning ladies cradling a wooden box in her arms. Nalini spoke rapidly in her own tongue, not stopping even when Sarah held up her hand. But when she lifted the lid of the box, Sarah’s heart wrenched at the sight of the tiny baby with a shock of black hair and large brown eyes.
Sarah, a woman of action herself, set about bathing the baby properly and swaddled her in a clean blanket. She asked her house servant to fetch a translator and a bottle of rice milk. She held the baby, feeding her, while the translator, one of Sarah’s brighter students, sat between the two women. Sarah understood some Hindi, but not the Gujarati dialect Nalini spoke. She controlled the raw emotions of anger, shock, and despair as the interpreter translated Nalini’s explanation.
She looked down at the sleeping child, suckling a finger. Such a hard start in life. Sarah counted fingers and toes, surprised by how miraculously healthy the baby appeared. A child who had come into their care, much the way Moses had come to the Pharaoh’s daughter along the Nile River after being set afloat by his mother in an effort to save him when the Pharaoh ordered all male Hebrew children should be drowned in the Nile.
Sarah pointed to the box. “Perhaps someone put her in this vessel to save her.”
Nalini shook her head slowly. “No one was trying to save her.”
“No, look,” Sarah said, tapping the lid of the box, clinging to a shred of optimism. She ran her fingers over the small slits over the wooden lid. “Air holes for the child to breathe.”
Nalini regarded Sarah as if she were a child herself. Sarah’s heart rate increased as the older woman secured the lid back in place and made quick jabbing motions with her hand. Despite the tropical climate, a strong chill ran down her spine as the translator repeated Nalini’s explanation. “They placed the baby in this box and punctured it with a knife several times. The wood is soft enough to yield to a knife, but the blade wasn’t long enough. The sharp end didn’t reach the baby.”
Sarah choked back a sob, the idea of such brutality almost causing her to wretch. “Why?”
“Girl,” the older woman said in English. That one word spoke volumes.
Girls cost money, especially in the form of dowry. There were stories of parents going bankrupt to marry off their daughters. Contrary, boys brought in money and dowry. Sarah, horrified with the violent description, could no longer hold back her cries. She set the child atop a clean pillow. She wept openly and took Nalini’s weathered hand in her own. Nalini appeared surprised by the gesture and tried to withdraw her hand, but Sarah held it tightly.
“What do we do?” Nalini asked once more.
“Pray with me.”
Sarah didn’t have an answer. The school had strict instructions not to get involved with the local residents. Their job was to educate and make the villager’s lives better, but there were directives, and any inappropriate behavior could result in a shut down.
For these reasons, Sarah decided she would not inform her superiors. They