‘There, there, ende chelle kunju,’ she soothed. She wiped tears from the small puckered face and walked around the room, lightly bouncing a comforting rhythm, murmuring more endearments and soft sounds until the baby stopped crying.

‘That nurse is right, you need to feed her,’ she said. ‘I can only rock her for so long before she becomes enraged again or I get motion sickness.’

Dhara laughed a little but looked down, her hands straightening the blanket over her body instead of reaching for her child.

‘Do you like the name, Acca—Smrithi?’ she asked, nervously.

‘I do, it’s beautiful, just like her.’ Priya sat on the bed next to her. ‘I’ll help you. It was hard for me, I lost so much blood when I had Vivek, I could never really feed properly. But I’ve read every book on the topic,’ she smiled at her sister.

Dhara swallowed hard. ‘Ok,’ she said and unhooked her gown, letting it drop a little. She held it over her breasts until Priya shook her head.

‘It’s only me, Dhara,’ she said, pulling the gown down and carefully placing the baby in her arms. The child instantly relaxed into her, one fist victoriously emerging from the swaddle, to touch Dhara’s scarred breast.

Priya helped position the child and the baby did the rest, turning her head this way and that, rubbing and nuzzling until she found what she was looking for. Her moist pink lips latched tightly onto the dark, swollen nipple, and Dhara felt a rush that hardened and heavied her breasts. It was painful and comforting; the child sucked with surprising strength. She felt a lightness and relief wash over her.

•

Priya untied the muslin net and let it fall softly around Dhara and her baby. Dhara slept on her side, her body curled around the little girl. A shock of black hair rose like a peacock’s plume out of the tight, pink swaddle. Priya remembered her smell: talcum powder and eau-de-cologne. She had bathed the child for her sister, gently sponging the creases and extra folds of skin nature had given her, like an outfit that was a few sizes too large. She had massaged away the crust that flaked on the top of her soft head, patiently pulling each individual piece out without pulling the hair itself. She counted each finger and each toe, marvelling at the minuteness that would eventually grow to the size of Vivek and beyond. She kissed the curled ear and whispered the sounds a mother knows how to make to comfort her baby; the sounds she would never make for another baby of her own. She was reminded of the emptiness in her belly.

Smrithi, she whispered to herself. It was a beautiful name.

Dhara stirred and opened her eyes.

‘Sleep with us, Acca,’ she said, reaching over to pull back the sheets.

‘You rest, I should go rescue Ayah from Vivek,’ Priya replied.