Free Revenge by Taslima Nasrin

womb could heal from the abortion. Not knowing the truth, Dolon was appalled. “Why do that at your age!” When I invented an explanation, she would not listen.
    “So you don’t want a child?”
    “Not quite yet,” I said. I couldn’t tell her that I was still in mourning for my lost child.
    “But some women have three or four children at your age.”
    I went silent.
    “Does Haroon know what you’re doing?”
    “He does.”
    “I’m surprised,” Dolon said, pulling little Somaiya onto her lap. “Haroon loves children! In my hospital room, right after this one was born, he held her and made such a fuss that the doctors and nurses thought he and not Anis was the child’s father.” It did not surprise me that in no time, Dolon had told Amma I was taking the pill. Thereafter my mother-in-law spared no opportunity to remark that it was high time there was a baby in the house.
    “I do not wish to die without a glimpse of my grandson!”
    When his mother talked like this, Haroon listened quietly and smiled at me, and I would try to smile back.

    But in spite of our returning love, I was haunted. In my dreams, a bloody knot of flesh leapt toward me as if to envelop me—not with shame but with red, vital fluid. In the days after the abortion, when Haroon sat by my side, I’d bled profusely. I wanted to go to Wari, I told him, to be with my parents. No, he said firmly. I wasn’t going anywhere without the permission of the family. I belonged to them, to him, and they knew what was good for me. In my weakness, I understood with finality, that my future lay with Haroon and his kin and not in Wari. I was no longer a daughter but a daughter-in-law.
    I found this turnabout in family relationships bewildering, although nearly every woman I knew, including my mother, had experienced it. I was mystified at the swiftness with which my near and dear had become distant, and those whom I hadn’t known six months earlier were said to be the people closest to me. Marriage brought these changes, but did it also recast the mind, alter one’s emotions? I was beginning to accept Haroon’s family as mine, but I had not been able to erase memories of Wari. I longed for my mother, my father, and Nupur. By chance, one day soon after the abortion, Ma came to visit, bringing coconut pastries, mango chutney, and a luscious bunch of grapes. Amma sent Rosuni to serve her tea in the living room, and Dolon to entertain her. As I sat silent, Dolon chattered on about Somaiya—how the child liked to play, what she liked to eat, when she fell asleep, what time she got up, and what her favorite television programs were. Then Dolon had Somaiya recite a poem, and then another.

    And so time passed, and I had no chance to embrace my mother or tell her about myself. How I wanted to confide in her! Especially about the abortion. But my dear Ma went away knowing nothing of my sadness, assuming my weakness was because I had a fever.
    After she left, I stood at the living room window, which faced the backs of the houses on the street behind us. There was no garden there, just a few betel nut trees. Everyone had retired for an afternoon nap, and Rosuni was resting in the kitchen. But there, sitting on the balcony, was Dolon’s husband Anis, the member of the household whom I knew least. I started to leave, but he stopped me. “ Bhabi ,” he said, addressing me with a family endearment, “ Bhabi , sit down.”
    I remained standing. “Are Dolon and Somaiya asleep?” I asked. I knew they were, but asking him the question was something to say. I had little to talk about with him, but I didn’t want to be rude. If I said nothing or simply turned and left, he would regard it as an affront and, as the husband of Haroon’s sister, he was an important member of the family. Amma, Abba, and even Haroon were constantly worried about Anis. The proper thing to do was to ask him about his business prospects.
    “How’s it going? Have you gotten the job you were