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I don’t understand as to what mistake I committed. I can say I wouldn’t be so angry if it’s in my hands to stop, or to change it.

How I co-operated with my husband when he had suffered from the same problem, How I consoled him, How I hid him in my heart; I remember that evening. It’s still alive in my memory.

It was one year since we were married. I was stitching buttons on his shirts thinking of the past.

For the first time, I heard his name from my uncle. It was my uncle who arranged this match. The name, Madhusudan Rao sounded so beautiful so sweet and so soothing to the mind. That name kept on resounding in my mind again and again. From that moment on I considered my own house, in which I was born and brought up as something alien.

Having gradually come to know that I was going to have a separate house to arrange things in my own way, I started to look forward going to that house. At last, after learning that the house is in Hyderabad, I found no words to describe my happiness. I used to blush whenever my younger sister derisively told me as to how my thought of those two names, Hyderabad and Madhusudan - created a smile on my life.

I told my friends that my parents had agreed to give Madhusudan a dowry of fifty thousand rupees. There always used to be discussions among my friends about my marriage-proposal. Perhaps I was first among my friends to get married and I felt proud about this. Some of my friends felt that the dowry was rather excessive while others felt otherwise. One of my friends remarked that the dowry was not necessary for the kind of life of service and slavery that awaited me. She felt that the husband should pay dowry to the wife. But I differed from her and defended the convention of dowry payment.

She left in a huff saying that I would understand things better after the marriage.

But I did not understand anything after the marriage. The marriage took place happily. I could never forget the sweet memories of my first glance at him during the marriage ceremony. He was more handsome than his photograph. I felt that my entire life with him would be sweet. I completed every formality of the marriage in the most sacred manner. I hid the Tali in my heart. Being his partner in life I decided to share his happiness as well as suffering. During those days I learnt a lot about wifely duties and mutual love that characterises conjugal relationship. I used to sing since childhood.

“Woman’s life is like the jasmin­-creeper. It keeps on creeping confidently if it finds a cool arbour�.

What else is more important, than the satisfaction that I was entwining Madhusudan like a creeper.

But all this didn’t take place so easily. I struggled a lot to keep up to the sacred emotions of the wedding day. His habits were quite contrary to mine. He was not tidy but I liked cleanliness. It took six months for me to get adjusted to him.

He used to look after me with love. What’s the measurement of love? If it’s only bringing flowers, taking me for films and outings, there’s no dearth of love for me. But if I wore gold-coloured flowers in my hair, or if I proposed for a Hindi film, he used to dislike me. However, since I promised on the day of my marriage that I would not irritate him, we used to be very affectionate towards each other. My in-laws too are good. They never harassed me nor did they demand extra dowry and other articles except what was given in the marriage. Since they are living away in a different village, I didn’t have the usual harassment of the in-laws. Everything was going on well.

It was our very first wedding anniversary. The needle with which I was stitching the buttons pierced my index finger as I recapitulated those happy days. There was a big tumult in front of my house. As I ran out I saw a big crowd around autorickshaw. Some persons got out of the scooters. Four of them carried my husband out of the auto making their way through the crowd. I broke down seeing my husband’s condition.

An elderly man helped Madhusudan reach the bed saying,

“Nothing Sister, nothing has happened. We’re all lucky�, It was then that I saw a big bandage with stains on his right hand. I fainted.

“What happened to him�, will he be alright?�

I sobbed as I uttered these words. They all told me what had happened. They told me about the machine that he used to operate everyday; about the kind of workmanship required for operating it; about his workmanship for the last seven years; about how, inspite of his experience, the machine cut his fingers off. They told me that it was not an­ accident, that the required treatment had been given, and still to be continued. They left some money in my hands for expenses saying that Madhusudan needed rest and nutritious food.

They’re my husband’s colleagues. Looking into Madhusudan’s eyes I wiped off the tears courageously, and served coffee to them. When they had left, I felt that they could’ve stayed through out the day; that they came to help me with brotherly love and sympathy. I couldn’t imagine what would have happened had they not instilled courage in me. It’s on that day that I experienced the feeling of having helping hands to rescue me from trouble.

After they left, I felt miserable. But, I did not cry. When I entered the room I found him cry and sob looking at his mutilated hand. I wiped his tears and comforted him with words of encouragement. I told him that it’s my responsibility to see that the loss of his fingers would not affect his future. When he expressed his fear that the loss of his fingers would make me indifferent towards him I gently reprimanded.

I caressed with my lips gently and with love his blood and medicine-ridden hand. But he was preoccupied with the thought of how to carry on with his job without fingers. What would happen if he lost his job? Would anyone offer him employment! He was not freed from these worries inspite, of my encouragement. I gave him sleeping pills and kept awake through out the night.

Having come to know about the accident, my in-laws arrived the following day. Crying in the house started once again. Office bearers of the union visited and asked him to take care of his health forgetting all the worries about his job and assured him that their union would take up the problem of compensation and the security of the job. Madhusudan asked me to touch the feet of the union leader, and I did so. The leader had explained how the union and the worker movement was helpful during the last 125 years in safe guarding the interests of the workers from the exploiting factory owners. I listened to him attentively for, I had felt he was speaking honestly. I understood from his talk that my husband or anyone, embarked on a problem, need not feel alone, and that there’s the union to rescue them. This provided me and my husband immense relief.

My husband recovered in a month. It’s true that I was startled when his mutilated hand touched my body in the first night after unbandaging his hand, but soon I could convert that shock into a bliss. I caressed his mutilated hand out of the emotion of love. Because of the pursuance of the unionists, he was given an assistant for help and an amount of ten thousand rupees as compensation. They did not give more than this for the job remained the same. He was satisfied. We felt that our old life was restored within four months. At that time I thought that I was in the family way, and got it, medically confirmed after a month. I consulted a doctor, got the weight checked up, and was given a prescription. He took care of me most affectionately in the following two months by fetching me all that’s required, by asking me again and again to consume milk and fruit.

It had been three months since I conceived. After a head bath, I was wiping my hair on that evening. All of a sudden I felt a severe pain in my stomach. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to control myself: The pain was intense, I remember vaguely that I shouted for my neighbour, unable to bear the pain. I don’t remember her arrival, as well as what I told her how I told her. I fainted. Opening my eyes I found myself in the hospital surrounded by my people including my father and mother. I was being injected with saline into one hand and blood into the other. The stomach was like a raw wound. After some time my mother told me that my child had not grown inside the uterus but in the tube before the uterus. I could not understand what exactly, had happened, but I knew that some thing undesirable had happened. I was told that the growing foetus had burst filling the stomach with blood, and that the doctors took six hours for the surgical operation. I was told that there could be no chance of giving birth to children. Having heard this I felt dejected.

“Eh, there’s no point in weeping. This is our fate�, said he curtly. I thought that he would be agitated seeing my calamity; that he would caress my head; that he would wipe off my tears; that he would say holding my hand, “I am with you, why do you worry?� contrarily, not expressing all these, I didn’t understand why there was a feeling of hatred in his eyes.

I didn’t understand why Madhusudan behaved in the manner he did until my mother said the following day:

“Your mother-in-law is angry with you that you will be a barren woman and cannot give birth to children�, I was frightened after having understood that.

“Mummy. What can I do?�, said I with fear.

“What’ll you do? What a wretched life? You are not fortunate enough to have a child. There’s nothing else except bearing with whatever they say�, reproached my mother crying helplessly.

I was scared so much that there are no tears. What I understood from that fear is that I was alone; that there’s no one ready to share my sorrow in those troubled times. All of them were worried about my handicap in becoming a mother but not about my physical condition. My mother too is worried about the unborn child and the prospect of not having any in the future. No one is interested in nor cared for my problem.

When a nurse in the hospital said,

“What a great escape�,

My mother-in-law murmured, If she cannot raise children she is like a stump of a tree.� ­

Madhusudan’s ordeal increased because of me so much that I could not remember my own feelings that it’s an ordeal for me too, a deficiency in me too. He’d be childless. His generation, surname, property–all these would be fruitless. I was under the treatment, but everything is happening mechanically. They are treating me like a useless machine; getting irritated at me as they do at an abandoned sewing machine lying in the house.

I came home from the hospital. My parents left the place to attend to their work. They seemed to be afraid of taking me along with them. I didn’t understand as to why. My mother-in-law reproached me for my parent’s not taking me along with them. In this entire issue my husband’s behaviour hurt me a lot. How could he think I was useless for all purposes? Was it singly for begetting children that he had married me? Don’t friendship, love companionship have any meaning? During all those days didn’t I accompany him for films and outings; providing all that he required, giving him rest and comfort? What is it that is objectionable? Can’t a childless woman perform all this? Don’t their husbands love them? I remembered a childless woman known to me. I thought at once of my aunt, Rukmini who did not have children. Efforts for the Offspring went on until she reached forty years. There was not a single doctor who was not consulted, and God not prayed to. Her entire life is preoccupied with prayers and treatment. Everyone used to pity her. At last, my uncle adopted his nephew after having confirmed her in­ability to beget children. Then, is it for begetting children that a woman is born and brought up? Without children. is woman useless? No woman known to me seems to be happy. I could be married by giving dowry, but some of my friends remained unmarried because of their inability to give dowry. They are struggling a lot to bear with when looked down because of their unmarried status. Unable to bear, Nirmala and Saroja committed suicide when the in-laws had demanded for more dowry. Kamala was murdered by her husband. My neighbour is facing torture for giving birth to two female-kids. All these days why was I blind at these things? How could I dream of an affectionate companionship of a house filled with love when the entire country is resounding with the wailing of women? With such dreams, how lakhs of innocents like me are sacrificing their blood for a non-existent love? Why is it happening like that? These questions are haunting me.

Thus days are passing by. One day my mother-in-law attacked me all of a sudden. She said that her son was losing peace, becoming lean, and crumbling down with sorrow. This is a big lie. He is as usual except that he is being reticent with me. His health is good. Work in the factory decreased. He did put on weight to some extent. In fact it is I who is getting lean and emaciated. It is not known why my mother-in-law started this attack on me. Gradually the neighbouring women too started to sympathise with my mother-in-law: I was alone. Suffering all alone. One day my mother-in-law told me unequivocally that she would arrange another marriage for my husband. I trembled with fear. By sending me out of my house, another woman would be brought for begetting children for him. When I had asked my husband about this he said, “Mother desires to have grand­children, what can I do?�

But I understood from his attitude that it was he who instigated his mother. When I asked, “What will happen?� he said that he would get married again after giving me divorce. What had started casually turned out to be serious. I was threatened. I shivered when told about the methods they wanted to employ for giving me divorce if I refused voluntarily.

My parents were called in. When asked to take me along with them, they could not do any thing except bending down their heads helplessly. My in-laws told me that it is not my house, that I should go out of the house, that the house belonged to those who begot children for him, that the sacred words said at the marriage bear meaning only when his progeny has increased. This is a job bought by bribing fifty thousand rupees. Is this the real meaning ofmarriage for a woman? Is it not cheating!? If it is a job they would demand rights, remuneration, and bonus; if it is a wedlock, with fidelity and motherhood, it would be otherwise. Without asking anything, they would be satisfied with what is given.

The more I understood this the more I was enraged. I felt like shouting at the top of my voice that it would be an Injustice. The wonder of all is that why is there no one to bother about my lonelines, to be with me, and to share my problem? Why is it that my travail is not understood by my fellow women too? How many unionists had accompanied Madhusudan that day when his fingers were cut off? They gave him courage; got money from the management for medical treatment; they said, they were with him; asked, “Wouldn’t you come if we were in trouble?� said, “We are all one� that they would fight for the job to continue; pursued for the compensation; and instilled courage in me too. How nice! How his sorrow and travail vanished just in a day. How many concessions had the hand that is involved in production got for the mutilation. What a cooperation that blossomed around that hand? What a history behind it. How many struggles and movements are there behind it?

Why then is this loneliness for my meeting with an unexpected accident when I was about to beget a child? Perhaps, it’s he who was responsible for the accident. An important part had been cut off from my body. I’ve been blamed for being barren. All this happened in the process of begetting a child; in the process of begetting a child who in future would’ve been useful to the society by operating machines, writing accounts in a bank, building projects, rendering medical service. It happened in the process of producing off spring. Yet there have been no concessions for me, no compensation. I was dismissed from my job. There is none to console me, to encourage me. I am alone. Why? Why? Why? How was the conspiracy for my loneliness started? Why are all the women not united? Why are they divided into the mothers, the daughters, the mother- in-law, the daughters-in-law? Who was it that divided them? Why are they deceiving us in the name of motherhood and wedlock? Whom and what does this deception benefit? This is to be discovered. It is to be discovered as to why the women are separated like the mutilated hands instead of being a tightened fist? Today I have resolved firmly that it’s the aim of my life to meet all those wronged women. The fulfillment of my life is not in the knot of my marriage; not in-the service of my husband; not in the offspring that I couldn’t beget. It is in joining hands with all my fellow-women in similar predicament.

            (Translated from Telugu by K. Purushotham, University P.G. Centre, Nirmal, Adilabad District.)