“He is mostly full,” Atharva’s flat voice sounded with the click of the door. “This bottle is to put him to sleep.”
“He needs milk to go to sleep?” She whirled, hoping to bring that life back in his voice.
“He won’t drink all of it. It’s to soothe him.”
“Can I… try?”
“Sure.”
“Feeding… breast milk… actually, no. I don’t know how to and I don’t know if it’s…”
He did not look at her as the boiler pinged. Iram stood out of his way as he navigated to the changing table, rolled the bottle on a napkin, squeezed a drop on the back of his hand, licked it clean, then shook the bottle.
“Then I suggest you speak to Dr. Baig and Dr. Shankar first before trying,” he answered clinically, moving to the bed. Iram drank the disregard and decided to jump headfirst into the life she had left behind.
“What if I try right now?”
Atharva popped the lid off and Yathaarth’s eyes zeroed in on the bottle immediately. “Let’s take it slow. He is tired after a long journey.”
Iram stepped closer to the bed, coming into her son’s field of vision. Atharva had just popped the bottle into his happy mouth when his eyes met hers. Tiny grey almonds full of laughter and mischief. They held hers, blinked, and he spat the bottle out with a piercing wail.
Iram recoiled five steps, his loud cries razing whatever little confidence she had bolstered.
“Shhh,” Atharva instantly swung him up. “Shhh, quiet, Dilbaro, who’s a good boy now?” He rocked him up and down, taking him away from her towards the window where the sun diffused through the sheer curtains. “Who is my good boy?”
Iram slapped a quiet hand over her mouth because this time, tears were streaming down her face.No, no no no no.He did not want her. He still did not want her. Neither of them did.
Yathaarth kept wailing, Atharva kept swinging him up and down, and Iram kept stifling her cries at the end of the room, her husband and son’s backs to her. Even if Atharva had opened the door and seen her, he did not have room here anymore.
Before her quiet sobs turned roaring, Iram whirled on the balls of her feet and escaped their bedroom.
II: A TREEHOUSE OF CARDS
11. Her world was shrinking…
Her world was shrinking. It was confined to the rocking chair by the window in their bedroom where she sat as Begumjaan took care of Yathaarth. Away from Yathaarth’s field of vision. Iram gaped quietly as she brought him out of the bathroom, wiggling wet and mewling in her arms, ready for his nightdress lying on the bed.
“Come here, Iram, learn how to dress him.”
She swallowed.
“Bathing him was easier when he was an infant. Now he wiggles a lot. But he is also a little happier in water,” she set him in the middle of the bed, rolled in his bunny towel. Such a tiny bundle. Iram kept gaping, noting how Begumjaan expertly manoeuvred his little body from left to right, stomach to back, and he let out tiny happy gurgles while being dried.
“He also loves to aim for your shoulder,” she pushed his bum up and slid a diaper under him. “Always be careful of his last squirt. Atharva gets the brunt most of the time but…” her voice trailed. Iram looked from her son to Begumjaan.
“Iram?”
“Hmm?”
“Come here, Dilbaro, see how to put him in his nightdress.”
“He will cry.”
“Why would he cry?”
“He has cried every time before.”
Begumjaan chuckled weakly. “Nothing like that. He had just woken up from his sleep in Nagar. Both times…”
