The baby has light eyes, unlike any of those previously born to her. It is a boy. He has minute eyelashes, a hint of eyebrows and a head of good, black hair.
She looks at his little hands that end in nails like hers. Square. She puts her finger in his fist and he wraps his tiny fingers around it. She kisses his forehead. There are tears in her eyes. All of him is worth rupees two lakhs. That is his price.
She puts him to her breast, for the first and the last time. He will not be told that she exists. None of them were ever told that she existed. She calls him Gopal. She whispers the name in his ears, the name by which she is going to remember this boy with the light eyes and the head of good, black hair.
© Rasagya Kabra, October 5, 2011