Sharp pain radiated up her back, and then it stopped. It started again and then it stopped. She looked around her, shaking the sweat and tears from her eyes. Who was doing this to her? Which man? And why? Why me, she cried and begged at the same time.

She felt the familiar warm stickiness between her legs. It rushed out this time instead of oozing. She was repulsed. She was repulsive. She turned her head and vomited until all she could do was retch. Someone held her head and wiped the vomit from the table, from her hair. She recognised the outline, a reassuring shadow against the white lights that burned over her.

The pain started again.

Someone was inside her again, writhing and pushing against her. He was tearing her open, her body was splitting apart, muscle that had barely healed was ripping once more.

‘Dhara,’ she heard a voice whisper. ‘Dhara, it’s me.’ She felt a gentle hand on her forehead, wiping away the sweat, smoothing her hair.

‘Acca?’ she sobbed, not believing what she was hearing.

‘Dhara,’ the voice said again. ‘Open your eyes and look at me. You’re safe. Breathe deeply. You’re almost there. Breathe again. When the pain starts, do what the pain is telling you to do. Don’t be afraid of it this time. The pain will guide you home.’

Pain. Home. Priya.

Her body spasmed again, cold sweat poured from every part of her. Her belly distended and rippled with a life of its own. She looked down, relaxed her hips but hardened her legs against the shackles at the end of her bed. On the second spasm, she pushed with her body, not against it.

Priya. Home. Pain.

Pain.

Home.

•

Dhara sat on a hospital bed, holding her baby daughter in her arms. She lightly traced the lines of her face, her rib cage, the curve of her bottom and the angles of her joints.

‘She’s perfect,’ she said softly.

‘Yes, mahal, she is.’ Nala tried not to cry.

•

Dhara turned her shoulder away from the nurse. ‘Please don’t do that,’ she said quietly.

‘I’m just trying to help. She’s hungry. You need to feed her.’ the nurse reached for the hooks on Dhara’s hospital gown again. The baby lay in a plastic crib next to the bed, fighting against the tight swaddle and crying angrily.

‘I said, please don’t touch me.’ Dhara snatched the collar of her gown away from the nurse and pulled the bed sheets up to her neck.

Priya walked in carrying an assortment of bags, some smelling like Ayah’s cooking.

‘Thank you, Sister,’ Priya said politely but firmly to the nurse. ‘I’ll help her. I remember what to do.’

The nurse left without a backward glance, while Priya picked up the baby.