CHAPTER ONE

India, January 1918

A young man sat alone on the floor of an upstairs hallway. His knees were bent close to his chest, and his head faced upward to the ceiling.

"Please," he said, while closing his eyes, "let her be alright."

It was very late, for he could hear no sound coming from the villagers outside. They have all been asleep for quite awhile now, enjoying those precious hours when, even at the most strenuous of times, the mind was able to rest. He wished he was able to follow their example, to lose all thought for at least a few moments. He envied them for no particular reason, only because he needed someone to blame. Besides, they would never hear his inner insults, and by morning he would probably forget about them anyway.

He heard his wife cry out again. Her contractions were ever so close now, and everytime he heard her it was as if he was being struck by a knife in the chest. He wanted to be with her, to do something, anything. He wanted to hold her hand tightly and tell her that he was there, and that everything was going to be alright.

"No, Sir," the midwives said to him. "This is a woman's place. Go wait outside in the hall. We will tell you when it's over."

But he did not want to leave. He remained in the room for as long as he could, practically yelling at the midwives, commanding them to let him stay, his inner youth buried deep within trying to force it's way out. It was not until his mother, along with two servants, threatened to drag him out the door if he did not leave.

And so there he sat while mixed feelings of anger, sadness, and worry ran throughout his entire body. It was then and there, when he sat himself on the floor, he realized how much he loved her, his wife, Lakshmi. They had been married for five years now, a marriage which had been arranged by their parents on both sides. His mother had chosen her for one reason - the colour of her skin. All other factors - what caste she belonged to, her family history, dowry, and status - had been approved by the elders. He remembered that, at the girl-viewing ceremony, when he first saw Lakshmi, his mother had taken her to one side and clasped her arm at the elbow. His mother had been the fairest in the family for generations, but he had taken after his father's family and came out like charcoal. Lakshmi had been brought in, quite specifically, to breed colour into the line, or rather, a lack of colour.

So his mother had laid her arm next to Lakshmi's and glanced down at their touching skins on the inside of their elbows, where the real colour was, and found them to match. Actually, Lakshmi's had been just a shade lighter, but it boded well for future children.

He had known, when he married Lakshmi, that she was not particularly intelligent or educated. She had failed her fourth standard exams and had never tired her brain after that. But he still loved her, despite all of this, because she took good care of him, tended to his wants before hers, and thought of him at every turn.

He heard the bedroom door open from his left and instantly stood up, anxiety spreading over every inch of his face. This sudden action had startled the midwife while she was coming out, and she had to take a step back out of shock.

"Well?" he asked. "What is going on? Is she alright?"

"Patience," she said. "I just need to get more towels. It will only be a little longer."

He watched her walk down the hall and out of sight. A little longer? What did that mean? How much longer is "a little longer"? People should have no right to give such ridiculous statements as that.

Lakshmi had let out yet another scream. Almost instantly, he rose once again and made his way towards the door. But the midwife, who had come back with fresh towels, had beaten him to it.

"No, Sir," she said to him, while shutting the door, leaving him alone once more.

Anger erased all other emotions inside him. From inside the room, the midwives were talking very fast now, but he was not paying any attention. All he heard was his wife's continuous cries, her horrible and inhuman sounds, and he was out here, unable to comfort her. He tried opening the door, but they had locked him out, and he had to summon up all his strength not to slam the door in frustration. Instead he just stood there, defeated, the weight of his body against the door.

"Please," he prayed, "please let her know that I am here, that I am with her. Let her feel my presence, as I feel her's."

And then he heard it: the loud, high wail of a newborn baby. Lakshmi had finally stopped screaming, and he exhaled in relief. He waited for someone to open the door, but moments had passed by and still no one had come out to him. "What is taking them so long?" he thought. "Why won't they let me in?" After what seemed like an eternity, a different midwife had finally opened the door. She began to speak, but he ignored her completely and practically ran over to Lakshmi, who was situated comfortably on the bed, feeding the baby that lay in her arms.

"We have a son, Raman," she said to him, pure love and delight in her voice. "A healthy baby boy."

Raman looked at the tiny creature below him. He had inherited Lakshmi's light skin - a fact that pleased his mother so much that she was practically singing as she left the room. He could even hear her cry out, "A light-skinned child! Thank the heavens!" as she was walking down the stairs. Actually, the boy had so much of his mother in his outward appearance, and so little of him, that he found it hard to believe that he had helped create this child. It was more like he was the caretaker of one they had adopted. He was not prepared for that feeling. He was not even sure if that was how someone is supposed to feel. But he was soon brought out of his thoughts by Lakshmi's voice.

"Would you like to hold him?"

He didn't know how to respond. He wanted to say yes, but his nerves got the better of him. Surely he was too young for this kind of responsibility, for fatherhood. In the end, all he could do was nod his head and extend his arms out to Lakshmi, who gave the newborn to him.

He looked at the beautiful child, his child, that lay in his arms, then at Lakshmi, and back agian. It was then he felt what he wanted all the while: the overwhelming, unconditional love for this tiny human being, his son.

His son.

The little one had finally opened his mouth to let out a tiny yawn, and began to sleep. It was then Raman realized how exhausted he was. He did not know why, for he had not even done anything, but he had a strong desire to let his eyelids drop as well. He fought back this desire as long as he could, afraid that, if he did close them, he would awaken from this wonderful dream only to find himself sitting in the hall once agian. But his exhaustion finally took it's toll, and, while slightly tightening his hold on his son, he was forced to close his eyes.

It was then the midwives began to leave the room so he could be with his wife and child. When the last of them had finally shut the door, relief swept through him. He was finally alone with the people who mattered most of all.

As he held the little boy in his arms, his insides filled with happiness, for he was now certain that this was real. He began to slowly rock the baby back and forth, and caressed his little hand as he swayed. As he stood there, silently, he made a promise to himself.

He would witness the birth of his next child.