The Midwife: Short Story by Harish Mangalm

On the embankments of the inlets of the Sabarmati , the lush green of the foliage filled the eyes. A mere glance at the village from the embankments was rewarding. A serene tranquility prevailed as peasants from ambedkar colony in the village left for the fields in small groups for the day’s work. Only school going children and old men and women remained at home. The colony was virtually the abode of peace.

Benima spent the whole of the day in the dark, stifling attic where mangoes were stored. She sorted the mangoes and kept them in separate piles; the good ones on one side and the bird-bitten ones on the other. The bird bitten mangoes were, of course cheap and were mostly bought by the dalits of the village. Those which had gone to bad to   sell, Benima gave away to little children. Benima’s skill in sorting mangoes was matched by her prowess as a midwife. The mothers of the village never tired of extolling her virtues in this regard.

More than two decades has passed after the death of Kalabha. Since then, Benima had been wasting away her life in the dark attic where only thin rays of the sun entered through the holes in the roof. During the mango season, the whole of her time would be spent in sorting mangoes, mangoes of all types: raw, ripe, sweet, sour, watery bird bitten … As she turned the small raw mangoes in her hand she would think of her childhood and youth . The bird bitten mangoes would bring her back to her age –withered present with a start. Like the peels of bird bitten mangoes, her skin too had turned dark, rough and wrinkled. Benima was sorting mangoes in the attic when Dali Patlani came running down the street and stopped in front of Benima’s house ‘ Benima o Benima’ , she called .

 “ oh, Dali . You! What happened ? “, Benima was out in a trice.

“ Benima …Pashi , my sister in law is in labour . We called Dr. Paresh Patel. But he just gave her an injection and went away. Told us there was nothing to worry and the baby would come out in two hours. But it is four hours now. There is no sign of the baby yet .And her pain was become worse. Benima,  Please come with me, quick!”

Benima, as usual did not waste a second. Adjusting   the fold of her dress, she ran with Dali. There were about half a dozen women standing with bated breath around the cot on which Pashi lay. Manek , doshi , Pashi ‘s mother in law told Benima what had happened. Benima felt Pashi’s pulse and turned to Manek Doshi with fire in her eyes. “The pestilence upon you harlot!   She is in such a state and you went on waiting like an idiot ! I don’t know how you live till middle- age with your ignorance ! Her hands are so cold and yet you didn’t know what was wrong! Look, you fool aren’t you ashamed to give such a beautiful daughter in law to death?”

Benima was so deft and clever that even learned doctor with high sounding qualifications were no match for her. She was not an MS or an MD. But she was a repository of experience. Not for her the tall prescriptions which made the relatives of the patients sick! Day or night, Benima would be at pregnant woman’s bedside attending to her needs still the delivery was over. Her fees consisted of a single coconut.

 “Move aside , you fools”,  Benima shouted away everyone except Manek Doshi and closed all the windows , Pashi was in severe pain . Benima lifted her from the cot and laid her gently on the floor. Pashi groaned and struggled violently. She could not bear it any longer Each moment weighed down heavily on her. Her husband, Baldev stood outside at the door, his heart in his mouth, straining his ears for any sound from inside.

 “Benima, implored the frightened Manek Doshi. “Only you can save my Pashli. It was a miscarriage last time. If it happens this time too….” Manek Doshi sobbed.

 “ Don’t worry Manek what did that scoundrel of a doctor say?”

The Doctor asked me what was wrong with her.”

“It does not need a doctor to ask that.” Benima made no attempt to hide her dislike for the doctor.

“And he took that long tube like an elephant ‘s trunk, put the forked ends in his  ears and pressed the other end on her chest . “ Manek Doshi rembled on. “ said the baby had stuck to the womb . Told us the injection would have help to deliver the baby quickly. He then pocketed his fifty rupees and left. .’ Manek Doshi let out a sigh. “ Benima , Bhagwan will bless you. Save her, somehow.’

 “Manek don’t worry, everything will be all right.” Benima inspired confidence. But, for those who waited ‘outside life hung in the precarious thread of anxiety. Baldev’s eyes darted across the drooping slopes of the roof. Painful memories were brought back to him. If the first delivery had been proper, the child would have been quite grown up now. Pashli would not have had to go through all the excruciating pain and tension.

Will the long awaited moment end in glorious celebration? Or will it be caught in to dragnet of tomorrow’s uncertainties? Only the thin beams of the sun fell nonchalantly through the holes in the roof. Suddenly the whole atmosphere went in to lilting dance in celebration of the moment in had waited for. Oohan…Oohan…the first cities of the infant beat time for the dance. 

It was a boy. Brought to the world by the tender, loving hands of Benima.

Pashi was still unconscious.

Tears of gratitude flowed from Manek Doshi’s eyes and fell at Benima’s feet.

Opening the windows with a  crack Benima announced the glad news to all. She then asked Baldev to give her a coconut and turned sternly to the excited women who  were now streaming into the room. “You worthless harlots, don’t do anything like this any more if anything happen to any one of you  don’t hesitate to call me at once.”

 One day as Benima was selling mangoes she saw Pashi and her little son coming along the street.”Pashi “ Benima called Pashi affectionately. Pashi acknowledged her greeting.  Benima asked Pashi how her son was doing. The boy was now a year and a half old . “ le, le, le..”  Benima beckoned him   near. The child demonstrating his newly acquired skill of walking stumbled towards Benima.  Suddenly Pashi  stiffened rushing forward him. She stopped him in his stride. “Dear, don’t touch Benima.”

Benima’s hands   extended towards the child suddenly hung lifeless in the air as if struck by a stroke of lightning the picture of Pashi supine on the floor groaning in pain came rushing into her  mind….

“It is alright, my    girl. I have seen him well.” Benima withdrew into the cow shed and poured out some tea from the kettle on the stove.

Dali, Rubi and Manju three young girls, their curiosity aroused, were watching the scene. ”Look, there goes Benima. It is Pashi’s luck that she escaped death. Pashi herself used to say that the offering made to ramkabir did it.”

The poison of luck and offering to rambkabir polluted the innocent minds of the good wives of the village.

Luck and offering to ramkabir went around like ghosts haunting the villagers as the heavy hand of time fell on Benima’s skill and deftness.

Benima was going on her round of the village, carrying the basket of mangoes on her head on the way beneath the shade of a banyan tree. Some little boys were playing as Benima passed, they shouted at her, “Hay you scavenger woman, you will pollute us. Can’t you look where you are going?”

 “Son, I am far enough.” Benima replied meekly.

Benima’s dim eyes gave her only a blurred picture but as she screwed them up and shaded them from the sun she recognized Daylo Dali’s son.  Benima said to herself only to herself death had almost got him… four years ago. I saved him

In an instant all the miseries of the world descended on Benima but as she stumbled on her exhausted feet, the weight of ages rolled away from her she looked up at the sky the sun was no longer a bright ball of light dark terrifying clouds had enveloped it Benima sighed. As she walked away, she heard a nut fall from the banyan tree. To Benima it sounded like the snap of Daylo’s umbilical cord!   

Harish Mangalam
Harish Mangalam, born 15 February, 1952, is a Govt. officer (Gujarat Administrative Service). He is editor of 'Hayati', published by Gujarat Dalit Sahitya Academy, Gandhinagar. He also served as the editor of Pratinidhi dalit varta (1997). He has to his credit one collection of poems, 'Prakamp' (1991), and two novels, 'Tirad' (1992) and 'Choki' ( 2002). His short story 'Talap' was published in Katha stories (2001). He is recipient of St.Kabir Dalit Sahitya Award.

Contact: ‘Prakamp’, 7, Durgakrupa Society, Besides Kirtidham Tirth, Chandkheda, Ahmedabad 382424. His Tel.: 079-23297582