The midnight alarm: A story by Sreemati Sen

It was twelve. The wails of the baby woke her up. “Aww…., she must be hungry. I think the two-hour gap is not working,” muttered Nima as she rushed to the cot where the baby lay.

“My little one. Don’t cry, please. Here, hold on to it...yes! That’s like my good girl.” As the baby latched on, she breathed a sigh of relief. Reclining against the backrest, she thought about the ordeal she had endured.

***

Married for eight years, they had tried every procedure to ensure they have a child. She had prayed. She had tried every pill and potion. When they had almost given up, she missed her periods.

“Rakesh, Rakesh,” she had yelled from the bathroom. The groggy man had rushed in fearing an accident. He found her crying and laughing at the same time. In her hands was the pregnancy kit and on it were the pink lines they have been waiting for so long. What followed was a long kiss under the shower celebrating their triumph.

Months passed. An uncomplicated pregnancy is what the doctor had assured them. As Nima entered her last trimester, an elaborate baby shower was arranged by the family. That night she went into labour. “Our baby is almost here,” she told him when they wheeled her away.

***

Rakesh woke up with a start. He saw that Nima was not beside him. He knew where she was. She was in the nursery – the room that they had painstakingly decorated for their little one. In the dim light, he saw her rocking their baby to sleep. Nima appeared relaxed and calm as she gently swayed to the tunes of the remixed rhymes. Memories of that night came back to him.

***

It was almost twelve in night. But there was no sign of the doctor or the nurse. And then he heard the cries. Suddenly the doors opened and the nurses rushed out. There was a flurry of activity as a little cot was wheeled out and taken to the elevator. He was about to pursue them when he realised that there were eight Operation Theatres inside. He calmed himself down. An announcement, ten minutes later, drew him out from his reverie. “Mr. Rakesh, Kindly report to the NICU immediately.” He rushed out.

In the NICU, he met his daughter for the first time. She had his chin –the typical defiant chin of his. He chuckled to himself, “wait till your mother sees this. Now there are two of us to bully her.”

***

“She is sleeping, Nima. You can put her down and get back to bed. Come here, darling.” Rakesh scooped her up and carried her to their bed. Caressing her forehead, he sang a lullaby to her.

Rakesh wished Nima would accept their child’s death. Every night, this was the ritual. But he was yet to accept that the midnight alarm, the wails were real. A baby did cry every night when the clock struck twelve.