Standing in the hospital corridor, Rathin wondered what his decision should be. Through the etched glass door of the cabin, he watched Ragini lying on the bed, waiting to deliver her first child. Her eyes broadened and then narrowed at times; her lips blew air on occasions and her face twitched now and then as the doctor by her side, checked on her pulse.

He took a deep breath to melt the weight in his heart but nothing happened; it remained unmoved. After a few moments, the doctor came out of the cabin and confronted Rathin.

“I have been telling you again and again. A caesarian delivery is a must.” His voice was grim, emphatic, “Why are you waiting for complications to erupt?”

Rathin felt that contempt and mockery in the doctor’s eyes but, he could not offer an immediate response. After a few stuffy seconds, he collected a few words to offer a reply, “Please, give me some more time to decide. The patient herself is averse to a caesarian delivery.”

His smile was unable to erase the faint defiance lurking somewhere in the way he replied, and he watched its reflection in the way the doctor threw his hands in the air and measured him for a second.

“Please, do not hold me responsible if anything untoward happens. I have warned you a number of times but you are adamant.”

He watched the doctor stride past him but something in him, something very close to a feeling of despair did not allow him to move for some seconds, and at last, when he took his first step forward he felt a feeling of convulsion taking over his senses, his limbs numb, his heart pounding as if to help him remain conscious.

‘What stops me from taking a decision?’ he asked himself, ‘If we have to rely on a professional, then why wait and make matters worse?’

But Ragini had herself told him a few days ago that she would not prefer a caesarian section.

“I would not wish to have a C-section. Our Guruji has instructed not to go for any such actions,” she had asserted in a tone that she employed on occasions when she chose to break her reticence after a spurt of a heated argument with him: it held a heavier tint than her usual tone. Rathin trod with caution.

“Of course, it is your wish!” he spoke in a subdued tone, “But the doctor says that there is a complication. This is not something you can wish away. Isn’t it? I understand your Guruji might be able to understand a lot about life but this is not his domain! Here the doctor is the authority. After all, you are going to depend on the same doctor for a safe delivery. It makes no meaning to ignore his advice!” and then, watching her sharp look fall on him, he added in haste, “Certainly, your Guruji is wise. Of course, you are the best judge!”

“When you have the wisdom that I am the best judge then why discuss? That settles everything!” she replied in the same heavy tone and asserted almost in the same breath, “But if a complication arrives and I die, it is even better for you. You will be able to marry a new woman and live a happy life with her. Isn’t it?”

Rathin did not understand the sudden waft; it came too fast for him to respond. By the time he was ready with an answer, Ragini had disappeared into the kitchen. He did not pursue the case further.

Peeping through the glass once again, he watched Ragini looking calm.

He recalled his astrologer’s face: the shining bald, the misty eyes, the warm smile, the saffron on the forehead, the red dhoti and kurta, the dangling gold-plated chain on his wrist, all of which in summation lent him both grace and a ‘type’. Rathin’s family never forgot to confer with him before they took any decision. He had rushed to him for advice when the doctor had predicted that within a few weeks Ragini would give birth. The astrologer had worked on something that looked like an almanac and made a rough work on the side with his pencil, whistling on occasions when his eyes struck something noteworthy. At last, calling off his quest, he withdrew from his table.

“If the doctor is saying that 20^th August is the tentative date, the best time during that day would be to have the delivery any time after 9.30 am. Any birth after 9.30 am would bring great luck. Jupiter … Jupiter all the way. The ascent of Jupiter would herald a smooth, prosperous life for the kid.” He smiled, confident, his eyes parked on Rathin’s, “But these dates keep on changing. It would be better if you call me when the exact day arrives.”

The doctor was right. Events took turns from the evening of 19^th August and from 20^th morning the ordeal commenced. He read his wristwatch; it was just seven in the morning. To wait for two more hours would be like passing a day. He wished to contact the astrologer without any further delay. ‘Something may come out of his wisdom,' he thought.

“Yes: what do you want?” a coarse voice, just out from slumber, responded.

“Ragini is in labour. It is just 7.30 in the morning. 9.30 is another two hours away …”

“I can’t talk right now,” he said in an irritated tone. “I will call you within an hour.”

Rathin did not utter a word in response and disconnected the call at once.

He fell on the chair. His lips dried up. All of a sudden he recalled his mother’s face. She had a few points to discuss a day ago but he was unable to talk to her at length then. He rang her up, “Maa, what do you think I should do? The doctor asks me to sign the consent form.”

She kept quiet for a while and then spoke in a decisive tone, “Who are you to decide?” she asked. “Ragini is bearing the child. She is tolerating the pain. Let her decide if she can take it.”

“Ragini wants a normal delivery. She says her Guruji has instructed her. She won’t listen to anyone. But the doctor warns of a complication. You are also aware that the astrologer has set a time for the birth.”

The mother waited for some seconds, and then uttered in a severe tone, “That is the reason I had told you not to marry this girl. I knew she would be very stubborn. Now you can see. You should listen to your elders before taking such decisions in life. Talk to Ragini once again and leave it at that. If she relents it is fine and if she does not, then let Nature decide the time for the birth. There is no point in us trying to do it. It won’t work.”

Rathin felt the steady return of his restlessness, feeling the change that came about in the nature of its existence, as now he felt driven by it unlike a few moments ago, when the same restlessness had deterred him from taking any action.

“The doctor is checking her.” The nurse replied, “You cannot go into the cabin now.”

Rathin looked through the etched glass door. The doctor was examining Ragini’s blood pressure while she watched something in front of her appearing indifferent to what was happening around her as her moist pale yellow face, shone under the faint tube light.

A gentle tap on his shoulder made him turn around – it was his father-in-law. He had not seen them approach him.

“Why have you left the poor girl in such a condition?” asked the mother-in-law, her voice failing to conceal her dismay despite a soft tone, “She cannot take the rigours of a normal delivery. She is too delicate. Prior to her marriage we have nurtured her with lots of love and care. Why don’t you allow the doctor to go for a C-section?”

Rathin felt an unknown sensation waving within him; it was like a strong desire to yell at the top of his voice, and then sensing she had nothing more to add, requested her to sit. His father-in-law looked at him in helpless silence, as if he agreed to all that was suggested but at the same time aware that he had little to offer for a change to happen. Rathin took a deep breath watching his mother-in-law pause to rub her face before continuing,

“If Ragini faces a threat to her life it is because of these silly decisions.” She fumed glaring at her gloomy husband in an attempt to ensure her message ricocheted to Rathin; and it did.

“In fact, I am ready to sign the consent form for a C-section but Ragini is not willing to listen,” Rathin uttered.

The mother-in-law looked back in a flash and her lips parted under the impact of the shock her face explained. She measured her husband first and then Rathin to demonstrate how little it should take for them to understand the obvious.

“She is a small girl; too immature to understand the implications. Why don’t you go ahead with the signature? If you are frightened then I will take responsibility.”

Within the next couple of minutes, the father-in-law spoke, “I think you should let the doctor take a decision and leave the patient or yourself out of it.” He mumbled and glanced at his wife seated on the chair as if to draw an approval.

Rathin rested himself on his shoulders stuck to the wall wondering if he was actually making a mistake. But the doctor came out just then to drag him away from his thinking.

“She says that she would not go for any surgical procedure.” He shared in a dimmed voice as he would deliver a piece of sad news to his audience.

Rathin did not wait and walked in. Ragini met his eyes for a split second and then melted in her own reticence leaving Rathin to grapple with vague thoughts in his heart swarming like the dense fog of a biting winter. She was incapable of talking. He could no longer trace the Ragini he knew. What prevailed in his consciousness then was the moist, blood-less face, half-closed eyes, her groan and the occasional blowing of air through her lips.

As an unknown creeper curled up within him, he felt a strange sense of strength sweeping throughout his body and he took a deep breath and walked straight to the doctor’s chamber.

The doctor jumped up from the chair as though he has just been let loose after years of captivity. His call to the nurse to get the operation theatre ready at once sounded like a battle cry meant to activate the wilting soldiers to march to victory that appeared near. Rathin wondered how the consent form was already filled in much before he even thought of a discussion, ‘Was it already decided even before I have consented?’ he thought hard, ‘Is this talk of Ragini’s health going wrong a matter of unscrupulous conjecture given that the bills would be three times more in case of a C-section?’

But he had little time to seek clarity from the doctor who stood beside him, excited and in a great hurry. He signed the form without any further delay and handed over the document to the doctor.

“It would take another fifteen minutes to complete the procedure, Mr Ganguly,.” The doctor said before he disappeared behind the curtain, into a door that was fastened with a large bolt made of iron, upon which ‘Operation Theatre’ was written.

Turning back, experiencing many equations falling by his side, he felt easy. Energized, he ambled through the corridor, into the lawn that seemed to invite him on its lush green top. Rathin clasped his palms, removed his slippers and sat on the soft grass. The sun was tender. The breeze was refreshing.

‘Everyone has some claim on me to fulfill a wish, but no one has asked me till now about mine.’ He smiled, ‘I have only one wish - bless me with a daughter.’ He looked at the sky as he uttered that, to something deep within him whose existence he felt was in the sky and his mind bloomed in ecstasy at the imagined bundle of life in his arms. It might have been a few minutes of distraction for him when his mobile rang as if to wake him up with violent intent.

“What are you doing? Where are you?” the voice of his mother-in-law screamed at the other end, “Come quick.”

He turned on his right to approach the end of the corridor but the nurse who came running from the corner dashed on him and fell to the floor.

“Sorry,” he said as he gathered himself back, “Not hurt I hope.”

The nurse looked back into his eyes and waited for a few seconds to pass as if she was seeking an answer to a question. Then she regained her vigour all of a sudden.

“Mr Rathin Ganguly?” she uttered trembling, “Come at once.” And then took to her heels back towards where she had come from.

Rathin felt a steady tremor overpower him, his legs in refusal to move, his throat sticky but he could also feel his movement forward.

‘What happened to Ragini?’ he convulsed, ‘Is all well?’ his mind raced, ‘Have I delayed in giving the consent?’

Rathin removed the curtain and peeped in. The doctor stood at the bedside looking crestfallen, seemingly at a loss of words, watching the nurses at work. In the bed lay Ragini with her child, her eye pockets dark, the sweat on her pale face glistening, emitting a strange glow on her face as though she was now under the sun.

The nurse looked back at him, smiled and whispered, “It’s a girl. We could not take her to the OT. She gave birth here itself.”

Ragini looked from her bed and caught his eyes. Rathin felt the same creeper rise from within but this time it choked his throat, brewed an intense desire to be alone with her; take her in his arms; feeling free, joyous, in release. But the doctor instructed each one in the room to move out.

Standing just outside the cabin, he pulled his mobile from his pocket to call up his mother but a call entered just that moment. It was the astrologer.

“Rathin Babu I can talk now.” He said, and added, “If the birth takes place now it would be …”

Rathin burst into laughter,

“Ragini has just become a mother” He clasped the mobile while removing the intruding moisture over his eyes, “Time, moment does not matter when one has a daughter born in one’s family. She is my universe and her very existence in my life is blessing enough.”