The Baby...

“Raat bharey…..shaam na hui. Koi janey na, koi janey na…”

The music droned in the background with a resounding annoyance and she snapped in a harsh voice that sounded like screeching birds, “Turn that bakwaas off!” The tingly musical tones were disconcerting to her ears. Perched on an armchair by her bed, Deepak moved like a scurrying animal towards the sinister black radio surrounded still by hordes of flowers he had not yet time to throw away after the death of their baby girl.

She had been this way ever since the baby's death. The doctors had tried to conceal their puzzled expressions over what had happened to their daughter. Phiroza had cried for days afterwards, he remembered her collapsing in his arms, shuddering with every ragged breath.

Once bubbly and energetic, prancing around the rooms of their new house, she now seemed lost in their tiny home. Holding her close, he muttered all that he felt appropriate, but could never quite utter the right words to soothe her or to stop her crying.

Sometimes he was unable to hide his impatience with her when he came home from his job at the pharmacy and saw her sitting in the same hunched over position as he had left her that morning. The doctors all said it was normal. But, Deepak kept quiet, lest he seem insensitive.

Deepak wasn’t a complete hard-heart. He thought of the little girl often too.

She was Phiroza’s little princess, after all. From the day she was born she had taken a special place in Phiroza’s heart. All the neighbors cooed whenever Phiroza walked around in the buggy with her and Phiroza in response would hold the baby close to her chest and smile through tight lips. “Angraizi logon ki nazar bohat kharab hoti hai,” she would say sternly to him, as she would bend down into the crib to meticulously apply the black teeka to the baby’s left cheek, right under her eye.

The baby was indeed quite beautiful. With cherubic cheeks and softly parted strawberry lips, the girl had the essence of a sweet sparkling creature, which had taken his rightfully earned place in Phiroza’s heart.

He didn’t know at which point exactly he began hating the baby.

He was not an irrational man; at least he didn’t think so. This defiance made it more easier to contrive his own child’s death. He couldn’t remember when he first started logging onto the computers at work under false user ids’, researching various drugs.

Drugs that would be potent enough to kill the baby yet would seem harmless upon autopsy. Night upon night he would stay late in the pharmacy hunched feverishly over the computers, methodically sifting page through page.

Months upon months he would smile conceitedly with the secret knowledge of a small child hiding a toy and thinking himself invincible when Phiroza would coo lovingly at the child, her back always facing him. She would only turn around to speak to Deepak when busily ordering him to fetch a nearby lotion bottle or the baby wipes she had left in the bathroom.

Deepak didn’t consider himself a necessarily evil or cruel man. Unwittingly, Deepak would repeat and repeat again his wife’s smiling face and their relationship before the baby entered her life in his mind when he fought with bouts of guilt.

Having worked at the pharmacy for over 8 years now, he had unhindered access to drug lists and was able to order it within weeks without raising suspicion. It came delivered to the pharmacy with their regular shipment of drugs, and one late evening Deepak easily transported the small brown package to his car, leaving the wrapping in tact.

The light brown crinkly paper loosely held in place over the bottle with two thick yellow rubber bands. He shifted the bottle from one hand to the other, letting its weight pronounce itself on his cool palms.

The drug wasn’t a lethal killer, yet he knew that if he fed it to the baby in small daily doses, she’d soon fall ill.

When the baby fell ill on its own that winter due to a small bout with a cold, Deepak was bewildered as to how his luck could be so good. He decided to finally rescue the small bottle from the trunk of his car one blustery winter night.

Phiroza had been laboring over the child for days now; staying up long nights later than usual, growing thin and weary looking as the child didn’t seem to be recovering. The baby’s usual shining eyes had taken on a lackluster quality and she would lie lethargically in her crib sniffling and crying mostly.

Deepak persuaded Phiroza to rest that night, as he would take on the duty of staying up and feeding their little baby through the night. Exhausted thoroughly she relented and fell into a deep sleep almost immediately as Deepak pulled the blanket over her in their bed.

Closing the door gently behind him he walked with a swift pace to the cupboard in his study where he had stashed the bottle earlier. Unwrapping it deftly, he could feel his fingers trembling and he licked his lips in hurried anticipation.

The dark glass bottle felt cool in his hands. He slowly emptied an entire droplet full of liquid into the creamy milk, letting the two mix together, taking on each other’s form. He thought with wonder at how uniquely wonderful their life would be after it was all over.

Phiroza will even thank me, as he considered telling her the truth after a few years. Look, I saved her all the work and the heartache that goes into rearing a child.

That’s right, we’ll soon be free again. Free in a world where Phiroza loves only me…