“It is a wave, Rani,” Tara said. “It will crest and then it will fall. Breathe.”
I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, riding the wave I was determined to tame.
Power surged through me as I rebuilt myself and made myself stronger. This baby would not be born to a cowering mother. My child would be born in defiance; they would be forged by it, and resilience would be impregnated in their bones.
One of the women next to me quietly began to sing, and the others took up her song. I couldn’t understand their words as I focused on my breathing, but I loved their singing. It gave the moment a rhythm, a tempo I could sway to. A way to let time slide over me as I glided on their melody, refusing to succumb to the pain.
Tara shook my shoulder. “Rani, lie down, now!”
I was lowered onto my bed, and Tara positioned herself by my feet. The short girl with blushing cheeks held one of my hands, and an older woman with crinkly black eyes kept hold of the other. The waves had built up now, and they crashed one after the other with only the chance to take a few deep breaths in between.
“Push!” Tara said.
“Push what?” I screamed back at her. Sweat streamed down my face and plastered my curls to my skin as I squeezed the hands of the women with a stronger grip than I knew I had. The young girl winced but had the wisdom to stay silent, and the older woman just put her other hand over mine as she nodded encouragingly.
“Push down!” Tara said. “When you feel the wave coming, push as it builds, then breathe as it retreats.”
I did my best to listen, strange as it was. It was surreal: the crushing pain inside, the soft sheets cradling my rock-hard stomach, and the circle of women around me ready with hot water, cloth, and hands to hold, all the while carrying the melody that had kept me from losing myself.
I pushed with all my might as the women around me called out their encouragement and Tara nodded her approval. I screamed all the words that my uncle had commanded I forget when I overheard them in the practice rings, and I pulled my knees toward my elbows.
“Baby’s head is out!” Tara cried triumphantly.
The women were clapping, but I didn’t see any reason to celebrate.
“Just the head?” I screamed. “What about the rest?”
“Push as hard as you can with the next one,” Tara said. “Once the shoulders are out, it’s easy from there.”
“None of this is?—” I stopped short and let loose a guttural scream. “Aaaaaaaargh!”
There was a huge relief of pressure, and Tara scooped something into her arms, rubbing it with a warm, wet cloth. After a few moments, a smile lit up her face, and there was a fierce little cry as a fist rose out from the fabric that was wrapped around my baby.
“She is small,” Tara said. “But she is strong.”
A girl. The Spirits had blessed me with a daughter.
Tara gave me my precious little girl. Her hazel eyes were as round as Ektha’s, and she had thick black hair. Her tiny hand gripped my finger with surprising strength.
“My little miracle,” I said. “If only you knew how the world shifted to make sure you were born here.”
At the sound of my voice, she quieted and curled onto my chest, sharing my warmth as she lay over my heart.
As I held her, I told her of all the beauty she would soon see for herself. She would grow up in Ullal, among its forests and fields and the beaches that tasted of salt and spice. She would hear the crashes of the waves on our shores and the howls of the winds whipping through our trees. She would taste sweet mangoes at the peak of their ripeness and revel in the scent of the freshly bloomed jasmine blossoms. Ullal would flow through her blood, as it had for me and my sister, for my uncle and mother, and for generations and generations before us.
“Trimuladevi,” I said, stroking her forehead in awe. “The next rani of Ullal.”
Chapter 44
The messenger bowed after I gave him my letter for Lakshmappa. It was filled with my usual gushing about our beautiful daughter and feigned regret that I hadn’t recovered enough to return. After learning that I’d given birth to a daughter instead of a son, Lakshmappa had made his excuses about not being able to visit, though he sent a veritable mountain of gifts. It was only a matter of time before my husband insisted that I return to him, but I pushed that thought to the side and relished the time with my daughter in Ullal.
I kissed Trimuladevi?—I called her Devi for short?—on her forehead, basking in her warmth. Her long eyelashes clasped each other in sleep, and she snuggled close to me. She was wrapped tight in Ektha’s cream shawl?—the one that Nikith had sent me so long ago. I had expected to have far too much extra cloth, but Devi had grown so much in the last twenty days that the shawl wrapped around her perfectly.
“I really don’t see the point in this,” Parushi grumbled. She walked next to me as I carried Devi to Nikith’s chambers. “I made my position about unnecessary risks quite clear when we discussed the Raksha Bandhan festival.”
My cousin hadn’t let me out of her sight since I’d given birth, and she made sure that little Devi was constantly watched as well. The knot of soldiers that guarded us was vetted by both her and Thevan, and they became our living shadows.
“I want Nikith to meet his niece,” I said. “Maybe then he’ll see sense and remember his vows to my sister and Ullal.”
