‘Rajan? Rajan doesn’t say anything about anything, at least not to me,’ she replied, trying to control the resentment in her voice.

‘Maybe you talk too much, Nala. Maybe he doesn’t have a chance to talk,’ Amma suggested. She adored Rajan. Nala was about to respond angrily when Appa spoke.

‘Mahal, don’t judge him by his words. Judge him by his actions. He is good to you and to us. He is good to his mother—’

She interrupted her father. ‘He is very good to his mother. She can do no wrong in his eyes.’

‘That is as it should be, Nala,’ her father continued. ‘His mother has no other children, but there is a big family. Rajan has obligations—duties—to them, and you shouldn’t stand in the way of those.’

Rajan had cousins, many of whom had grown up in his home. He never mentioned the money he gave to his mother, but she knew about it.

‘He is good to you. You’ll learn in time to understand what he’s saying to you, even when he doesn’t speak.’

Appa turned the paper to the social pages. ‘Shall we see what parties we are not invited to?’ he asked, trying to make her laugh. She didn’t respond; she felt a sharp pain, a cold knife, slicing through her lower back. It was not like the other contractions.

‘Call Rajan, call Rajan,’ she whispered, saying his name over and over again, like a prayer.

•

Sweat trickled down, pooling in shallow wells at the base of her throat and the pit of her belly button. Her body finally relaxed; the tension shuddered from her arched back one last time. Her clenched fists released the thick, hospital sheets, and she held out her arms to Rajan.

‘Let me see, let me see—is it a boy?’ she asked breathlessly. He didn’t hear her, his eyes and fingers quickly scanning the baby, assessing it for any abnormalities.

‘Rajan, show me—is it a boy?’ she repeated, more desperately this time.

‘No, Nala, it’s a girl. She’s fine,’ he said, not taking his eyes off his new daughter. Her arms dropped a little. She cleared her throat before asking for the child again. He placed the baby gently in her arms and wrapped a blanket around them both. He sat on the bed next to her, tired but smiling. He had delivered many babies before, but she could tell he had been anxious about this one.

She traced the baby’s face. It was creased and crumpled like an aged passionfruit. Her skin was milky white except for the soft hair on her cheeks. She ran her hands over the baby’s head. It was sticky.

‘The nurses will clean her,’ he explained.

‘Are you disappointed?’ she asked.

‘Disappointed?’ Rajan was confused.

‘Yes, because she’s a … girl.’