My Eclipse Baby

‘Your first day on this earth was not a day. It was night.’

And I started the story. I was telling this story to a fifteen year old. I was telling a story about the day when she took her first breath on this earth. But before that moment, there were many, many moments, which all got connected to this moment, and which gave birth to many other moments after.

In April 1998, I conceived for the first time in my life. The joy was absolutely exhilarating. Both Naval and me were over the moon. We had worked hard to finish our MD and PhD and finally, we were feeling settled. And now, a baby ! I was amazed at how quickly it had happened. Usually, I never get anything easily, but now it seemed that God was being too kind. The following days passed in happy delirium, listening to peaceful music, looking up at the stars and thanking them. 

A month after I had tested positive, I suddenly realized that something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. We were racing to the casualty in the middle of the night, too numb to even worry. I remember the cold feeling growing inside me.I had difficulty breathing. I was holding my breath when the doctor told me that I had lost the baby. When I started breathing again, my breaths hurt my chest. The pain was so intense. We made our way back, on a moonlit night, broken with the knowledge that you had gone away.

I wish I could tell you in a sane way about what happened next. But I know I can’t. I saw tears in Naval’s eyes for the first time in my life. And that was enough to scare me more than anything else. I can’t even begin to tell you about the pain, the horrifying, dizzying pain that I experienced. Both physical and emotional. It was the death of my most cherished dream. But I had to go on living, in hope, that somehow, someday, maybe the baby who has gone away will come back to me.  The hot summery months were the worst. The hurt, the guilt, the anger was relentless. The humid monsoons were no better. September and October found me mentally exhausted and broken. Also completely hopeless. I started imagining my  life without a baby. No, not just a baby, but without that baby who had visited me once, but left me, abandoned me. With no explanation. Just gone.

The cool November breeze soothed my broken soul. I saw flowers blooming again, and one morning, I just looked up and thanked God for giving me that baby, just for a little while. I was grateful that you and me were one, even if it was for a very short time. Soon after, I realized that you have indeed come back. I was pregnant again. But this time, I was cautious. I refused to look or feel happy. I carried you to term, silently, thanking God every day but never taking my happiness for granted. I would start and end each day, in painful caution and dread.

A week before you were to be born, I was told that a major solar eclipse is going to take place around the same day of your birth. I was a regular visitor of the AIIMS Antenatal clinic. One day, I was asked by one of the senior professors to make an appearance on TV for this eclipse, advising expectant mothers not to panic. I just did whatever she told me. I was too focused on you and your movements inside me.

The day of your birth. 10^th August 1999. The sun rose as usual. Everything looked in its place. I packed a bag, said goodbye to my room and my goldfish. Naval and me made our way to the labour room. As we stood downstairs, waiting for the elevator to arrive, I saw two young boys standing with us. One of them was looking at me. He had the kindest eyes, I thought. He was talking to his friend. His voice was soft and sonorous.

In the next one hour, birth was induced. I waited patiently. The sun rose high in the sky. The day got hotter. I started feeling the contractions at noon. I kept wiping the sweat on my brow. Yet, by 3 PM, nothing much had happened. I was looking at your heartbeat monitor, willing you to take birth. 

At 3.30 PM, Naval walked in. We were talking quietly when he happened to look at the monitor. I was saying something but he was not responding. His eyes widened in terror, and then suddenly he was calling for the doctor in charge and the nurses. I looked at the monitor, and my heart sank. The baby’s heartbeat was going down, suddenly, steadily, rapidly. The steady graph was relentless and determined. I was frozen in shock and terror. Déjà vu took place. I felt a familiar cold feeling gripping my heart and squeezing it. I closed my eyes and willed myself to die.

Suddenly I was aware that I was surrounded by many frantic medical people. Someone was tying an oxygen mask around my face, someone was transferring me to a stretcher. Bright lights around me. Lots of shouting. I was being wheeled in for an emergency cesarean. I started crying.  I did not care about the fact that they will cut me open. In fact I wanted it. I was crying because I felt that I will still lose you.

The next few moments took upon an element of a dream. The sun was setting in the sky, I was aware of this. Dusk was falling. They were giving me general anesthesia. I was losing consciousness. I was falling from a great height in the darkness. I felt weightless, light as a feather. I was terrified. Just before losing my consciousness, I experienced an illusion. I saw the OT door opening. I saw my idol, Marie Curie walking in, wearing a long grey robe, looking at me straight in my eyes. She sat down next to me and said ‘Nothing in this world is to be feared. It is only to be understood.’ Maybe it was a dream. Maybe it was a hallucination. Maybe I was losing my mind. Yet I felt peaceful suddenly.

 I closed my eyes and flew away from the realms of this earth.

When I gained consciousness, my eyes were still closed.  I was in immense pain. It hurt to even breathe.  Then I heard my name ‘Dr. Sujata ? Dr. Sujata ?’

I suddenly remembered everything. The baby ! What happened to the baby ?

I heard the same voice calling my name again. Who was it ? That voice was familiar. In an insane moment of clarity, I remembered that it was the voice of that boy who was looking at me with kind eyes in the elevator. With my eyes still closed,  I asked weakly ‘Who ? Who is this ?’

He answered ‘I am your anesthesiologist. I saw you in the lift today. You’re going to be fine.’

I nodded. Then I asked finally ‘And the baby ?’

I heard that kind voice again ‘Your baby is absolutely fine. She is a lovely girl.’

And I was weeping. Then coughing. Then weeping.

He said ‘Don’t stress yourself. Here comes Dr. Naval’

I never heard that voice again. He was gone. 

But I know. He was God.

Call me insane, but  the world no longer seemed sane to me either.

Naval held my hand and said ‘Do you hear that loud bawling ?’

‘Yes’ I said ‘lots of babies are crying, it seems.’

‘No’ He said. ‘That’s only one baby crying. And that’s our baby. She is a roaring lioness, I tell you’. And we both laughed.

They carried you towards me. You were crying angrily, red in your face. The moment you were placed next to me, you stopped crying. I stared at your red face, your long, curling eyelashes making shadows on your cheeks. 

I could hardly believe that you are mine.

‘Am I awake ?’ I asked Naval.

‘Yes, you are awake. And so am I.’ He smiled.

The night was a mirage. The moon shone brightly. You refused to sleep. And from that moment on, your history of insomnia was established, which carries on even today.

I was awake when the sun rose in the sky. It was red, and then changed into a golden yellow. As I stared out of the window, I realized that it was getting dark. Then after some time, still darker. I asked Naval ‘Is it evening already ? I must have slept ?’

He said ‘No. It’s the eclipse.’ Then I remembered.  The famous, total solar eclipse which was to start from the Atlantic Ocean and end just after reaching India. We had no visitors that day since no one moved around that day. I looked at you, sleeping peacefully.

We sat alone, Naval, me and you for many hours in the shadow of the eclipse. We sat alone, three of us, in a quiet companionship. It was as if, the walls of our room had melted away and we were directly looking at the moon, in a glowing twilight. The universe seemed to begin and end with us. The silences around us seemed to speak a strange language, which I understood.

You are not an ordinary child, I knew. 

The forces of this universe seemed to shift and align just because of the event of your birth. I kissed your forehead where the moon had left a scar of moonlight. I breathed in your heavenly scent. I looked into your eyes which told me stories about a distant land.

You were here. Finally.  

Happy birthday, Alma. You are a fey little moon child. You always have an air of mystery about you, and a sparkle in your eye which no one on earth can decipher. 

You walk like a gypsy and stare wondrously at the sky at night. Even though you are a leo, a sign which is ruled by the Sun, you are also a moon baby. When you were born, the sun and the moon forgot to walk on their usual path. I hope you will live your life in the unique way in which you were born.