Sabari feigned sleep and waited for the gathering of people to disperse. For tonight the rains would keep them alive.
She closed her eyes and saw an image of a woman pinned down to her bed. It was Kamala.
Kamala, sobbing to her last breath, pleaded to have a look at her newborn.
Soon after the cries of the newborn were smothered, the men dispersed and the women loosened their grip on Kamala, whose body, after tiring itself out, had gone limp. She was now at peace. The unbeaten pride of manpower was consummated and the glory of the island uplifted. A little body lay disposed inside a garbage bin. Tomorrow, as usual, the traces would be gone.
A newly wedded Sabari, immune to the secrets of the island, had witnessed the whole episode. Only this time it was her turn.
It was dark outside, probably late night. Her baby girl was lying next to her.
She named her after the rains. Brishti. She placed her on her lap and felt amused at how tiny and light she was.
The baby’s mouth was letting out spit bubbles. Sababri wiped them off with the end of her sari. Then her lips parted.
“What is she smiling at?” Sabari thought to herself.
There was no one around when she propped herself up from the bed. It was painful, but she held her wound together. She put the child in a wicker basket that she had woven with her hands.
She placed a rubber cloth underneath and a white cotton blanket, with a red embroidered border, on top. She also lined the basket with some blankets.
It was dark. The incessant play of raindrops had drowned every other noise. The unending drumming had caressed every islander to sleep.
An umbrella sheltered them from the rains. After a few resolute steps, the glory of the river beckoned. She stood at an edge and plucked out a blue bud that was drooping like an apology. She placed it closed to her baby’s feet.
Brishti slept in silence. Her fingers were fashioned into a fist and her eyes were pressed shut. Sabari noticed a wrinkly patch on her forehead. Her disjointed eyebrows were yet to be formed. She took a long look at her, one she thought would last her a lifetime. And then she looked at the gleaming moonlight and the star firmament, and set her asail.
The pink umbrella floated away mournfully.
That night the rains swept away the entire island. Only the story remains, part of the folklore.
