Then one morning I reached my limit. I woke my husband and declared firmly:
— “I must go now. If her in-laws refuse, I will take Kavya home regardless.”
We sped from Lucknow to his parents’ house, more than thirty kilometers away. When we arrived at the red-tiled gateway, I saw something that made the world tilt. Everything blurred and I sank onto the courtyard floor.
At the centre lay two coffins, set side by side, draped in white and garlanded with marigolds; incense smoke curled from the shrine and a funeral horn moaned.
My husband gave a despairing cry, saw me and shouted:
— “Oh God… Kavya!”
My daughter had passed away that night…
Her husband’s family had not informed us after the delivery. The worst cruelty was that beside Kavya’s coffin lay a second small coffin swathed in white: my unnamed newborn granddaughter, the child of Kavya and Rohit Yadav.
I screamed and threw myself toward that small coffin, raw with grief:
— “How many times did you call me, child? Why didn’t I get there in time to save you… How could they hide this from me so cruelly…”
Neighbors began to mutter:
— “Last night she cried, wanting to go to the Barabanki district hospital, but the in-laws insisted she stay, saying her sutak period wasn’t over—just eleven days—and she shouldn’t leave. They trusted the midwife (Rose) and gave her herbal leaves to stop the bleeding. By the time things worsened, it was too late…”
My body went numb. My husband stood rigid; Mrs. Kamala Devi (Kavya’s mother-in-law) and Mr. Mahendra averted their faces and mumbled, “Old customs.”
Seeing the two bodies lying in the yard made the world spin. Because of blind rites and the in-laws’ harshness, my daughter and grandson had met a tragic end…
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