Asha

This is a story I wrote for Asha, a child from a Jaunpur Village, not far from Sainji. Having lived in this area for seven years, I think it captures the struggles many families are dealing with, but more importantly highlights the strength and resolve I have seen in so many people here over the years. 

Asha with her Tarkhanna mother and father and sisters (l-r -- Nitu, Lalita, Goodie, and Nisha)

November 27, 2006

Dear Asha,

It doesn’t seem fair that I should begin telling your story by first talking about your mother’s death, but unfortunately your mother passed away early this morning at the Landour Community Hospital, here in Mussoorie. The doctor said she died peacefully, and was surrounded by her family and village friends.  She was just 39-years-old – too young to be departing this world. But the doctor said that there was nothing they could do for her. In fact, she was surprised that given the nature and intensity of your mother’s illness (tuberculosis) she held on as long as she did.  I believe she did because she wanted to know that you were going to be ok. You have been with Joy and Kyle, and your big sister Celia (or CC as she likes to call herself) for five weeks now. My, how you have changed, and you in turn, have changed all of us who have come to love you so much.

Asha, I truly believe that someone, perhaps you or your mother, called to us from your tiny village of Tarkhanna, nestled in the Garhwal hills. Long before I came to Mussoorie for my Hindi Language studies, I would get a strange excited feeling deep inside when I would think about being here, even though I had no idea of what Mussoorie was actually like, and knew nothing about the surrounding Garhwal Valley. But on my first day in Mussoorie, I took a walk around Landour, and I caught a glimpse of the Garhwal valley and all the little villages nestled in the hillsides. Every day I would stare across to the villages, and I knew that I would go there.

 Finally I got my chance. I was introduced to Omprakash and Sherifin through a German couple who came to stay one week at Rokeby Guest House where I was staying (and also where  your mother and father were staying). Omprakash and Sherifin are medical outreach workers who visit many of the villages in the Garhwal Valley to offer medical care and social welfare.  I am working towards my PhD in Anthropology, and I am planning to do two separate studies in India beginning next June. One is to be in a village community and the other in a slum in New Delhi. The focus of my study is to understand why so many children leave home, and to gain some insight into their family relationships. From what I have learned about the Garhwal Valley, it has been deeply affected by climate change in recent years. There is not enough rain or snowfall to produce healthy crops. As well, the population boom in the 60’s and 70’s led to smaller land plots for inheritance (i.e. more sons to divide land between). Hence many families are not able to grow enough to feed their families. Many men are migrating to the cities for work. Often they become alcohol or drug addicted, and some never return home again. Much of the work then falls on the women’s shoulders.

On my first outing with Omprakash and Sherifin, I met 16 women from 16 different villages. One of the ladies mentioned that in her village there was a family with five children and they were having a very difficult time economically. So we agreed that we would visit this family on our next visit. Two weeks later, Omprakash, Sherifin and I arrived at your village. We were led into a small room. There was no furniture, only a few boxes holding all your family’s worldly goods – blankets, a few clothing items, and some food.  Your mother was seated in the center of the room and she was holding what appeared to be a small bundle in her lap. On closer inspection, I realized it was a baby – you. I asked to hold you and your mother gently placed you in my arms. Asha you were so small, weak, and sickly. You kept coughing and coughing. Your eyes kept rolling back in your head, and you could not cry – only mew. I asked how old you were and your mother said you were 3 ½ months. I could not believe it because you could not have weighed more than 5 pounds. Your mother was very sickly and Sherifin indicated that she suspected she had tuberculosis. Your mother told us that she had no milk to feed you with. The only nourishment your family was able to give you was buffalo milk, and that was difficult to get, because your family had very little money to purchase it, so mostly you received chai (tea with lots of water and a little milk and sugar).

 I asked what your name was, and your father said you did not have one. When I asked why, he answered that he and your mother did not know if you would live. I swallowed the lump in my throat and I looked at you, and your big brown eyes were looking up at me. I whispered to you then that I would do everything in my power to make sure you did live, and I asked you to promise me that you would fight hard to live. Your big brown eyes held steady, and I felt as if you understood. I was sure you did.

A crowd was gathering outside your house, and everyone was smiling and pointing at me. I did not understand, but soon it was communicated to me that your parents and the villagers thought I was there to adopt you. My heart did a jump, and my mind raced to think of a way I could make this happen – but I am a student, with little money.  I am not married, and I am only here until December. I explained to your parents that I could not take you, but promised to help both you and your mother.

 After much discussion with your father, it was decided that you and your mother would be brought to the hospital the next day. I worried that this might be too late for both of you, but apparently your father wanted to consult first with the local pundit (holy man) to remove the evil spirit that was troubling both of you.

The drive back to Mussoorie that day was the longest one I have ever taken. I kept swallowing hard because I did not want to cry in front of Sherifin and Omprakash. I did not know them well, but now that I do I realize that it would have been ok, because they were as troubled and worried as I was.

When I came back to the guest house, I went to my room and shut the door, and then I let out all the tears and heartache I had bottled up inside. After awhile I was able to compose myself for dinner, but then after just five minutes at the table someone asked how my trip to the village was, and the tears bubbled up again. I went to my room, and  Joy (your mom) followed me. I told her what had happened, and we talked for a long time. We made a plan to go to the hospital the next day. Should the hospital not admit you, we agreed that we would bring you back to the guest house with us and nurse you back to health.  We would suggest to your parents that we keep you until you were well and then re-unite you once your mother was also in good health. And then we went about giving you a name. We thought Josha would be a good name as in Hindi it means ‘life’ or vigour. This was what we wanted for you.

The next day at school, we told our Hindi teachers about you and your mother. One teacher, whose name is Habib, and whom I hope you have come to know, suggested that the name, Josha although a good one, was more suited for a boy. He suggested that you be named Asha because Asha means hope in Hindi.  It is a beautiful name.

Joy and I raced down to the hospital after our classes. In the taxi your mother told me that your father had told her the night before, that whatever happened she had his full support and his blessings. He must have had a premonition. We met Omprakash and Sherifin outside the hospital. Your village mother and father were there, and you were nestled in your birth mother’s arms. The doctor had seen both of you, but you were not to be admitted into the hospital.  Immediately both your mother (Joy) and I told of our plan. Your parents shook their heads, and then added that they wanted you to be placed in a good home, that they could not take care of you, and that you would become weak again and die. I knew what they meant was, that in spite of the treatment they had been given, they still had no real means to nourish, and to take care of you. But mostly, I think your mother knew how sick she was. She wanted you to be placed in a good home where you would have a chance to grow and flourish.  Having five girls in India when you are poor is very difficult. There is the cost of marriage, and the need for a son and his wife to do the work in the home and fields, and to care for parents in their old age. So please do not be angry with your parents for the decision they made. I saw the way your mother looked at you, and there was nothing but love in her eyes for you. On the day she passed you over to Joy, she seemed so humble, so fragile. But she did it willingly, with purpose, and with so much love. The look on her face was peaceful and so loving Asha. She passed you over to your new family with love in her heart.

I sent e-mails to friends to tell them about you and your family. There was an outpouring of support from people wanting to help your family. We wanted to buy them goats as this is a sustainable livelihood and one in which your father suggested would help him a great deal. So after three weeks we had enough money to purchase four goats. Last week we returned to the medical center near your village. Your father met us and we purchased his goats. He was very happy. Then I gave him a photograph of you. He stared at the picture for such a long time. He kept stroking your little face in the picture with his finger. I told him your name was ‘Asha’ and he smiled. He said it was a beautiful name. Then he told us that your mother was not well, that she had taken a turn for the worse. I stood there on the road looking down at your village, and I wanted to go and see your mother for myself.

 I should have obeyed my instinct Asha. I am so sorry that I didn’t. It is an error of judgement that I have to live with for the rest of my life. None of us realized just how sick your mother was. I don’t think your father did either. When we returned to Mussoorie, we began making plans to have your mother brought back to the hospital for more testing for TB. But last night your mother was brought into the hospital, and she died early this morning.

  

For three weeks before your mother’s death I woke up every morning at 3 am to the sound of three knocks. I did not know what they were at first, and was troubled by it. Two nights before your mother’s passing I woke to the knocks. I lay awake, but with my eyes closed and watched the pictures in my mind. I was in the Garhwal valley following a butterfly down a mountainside, and then the butterfly turned into a light, and a woman’s voice in my ear said, ‘I will show you’. Then I saw a building with many emergency vehicles around it. It didn’t make any sense at the time, but now it does as it must have been the hospital. Last night I awoke again to the knocks. This time I saw a birthday party, and a little girl with long black hair tied back in a big bow at the back of her head. I realized the little girl must be you at about 8 years of age. I followed you, and suddenly the bow in your hair turned into a butterfly and flew away. I now believe that butterfly was your mother. She was showing me that you were going to be ok, and that it was ok for her to leave.

 Asha, every day I will think of your mother. She was very brave, and beautiful, and I know she loved you very much. Never doubt her love for you. She was a great lady.

I hold you in my arms and I wonder what great things you will do. I wonder who you will become. You must be destined for greatness because your call was so strong, and we all heard you. You are beautiful my ‘little dolly girl’ – oh how I love you!

Asha -- Seven Years Laterwww.gems-school.org

Asha (center) with new brother, Ephrem, Joy and big sister, Celia

Asha with father (Sobhan), and big sisters, Lalita, Nitu, and Nisha.

On July 7 of this year Asha will turn seven. Many have told us that she is 'a miracle'. The doctor who first treated her certainly believes that. He told me once that when he first saw her he felt she would not survive more than two days. She exhibited all the signs of impending death. Her hands and feet were drawn up and her little fingers were curled. She didn't release her grip for at least two weeks after she came into Joy and her husband Kyle's care. And her eyes were rolling around, never fixating on anything. As soon as she came into Joy and Kyle's care, everyone (including all the guests staying at Rokeby at that time) sprang into action. We had to take turns caring for her at night. At first she would only take a six ounce bottle of formula, and she didn't urinate for days. We were so excited when finally one day, while I was changing her clothes that she peed on my bed. I remember running out of the room with her little naked body in my arms yelling, 'She peed! She peed!' and everyone ran in to see the little puddle on my bed. The first few months she slept in a suitcase in her new parent's room, and in a drawer from the bureau in my room. We padded them with pillows and hot water bottles to keep her warm. It was impossible to find a crib anywhere in Mussoorie or Dehradun at that time, so we had to make due. And the medication -- there was so much -- seven different tablets to give to Asha throughout the day, at different times. The doctors suspected that her horrific, and persistent cough was tuberculosis. The could not be certain because the tests would have killed her. As a precaution she was given the medication for six month. Every day we ground the tablets with water and gave fed them to Asha with an eye dropper. Joy kept a record of what was given and when. And slowly Asha improved, but it was probably Joy who saved her. You see Joy had still been breast feeding Celia at the time, who was only a year and a half. So she had milk for Asha -- the magic of mother's milk -- the gift of life. Asha began to gain weight and slowly those little hands stopped clenching and she began to smile, even laugh. And when she was hungry, oh how she would scream. We all would jump into action! She grew and she blossomed. Her smile would light up a room, and she always has a twinkle in her eye. Everyone in Mussoorie came to know Asha and her new family. Every time we would take a trip down to the bazaar shop owners would welcome her and her big sister Celia. Asha would be propped up on counters and shop employees would coo to her and feed both children toffees. I remember how difficult it was at first to find clothes to fit Asha. Everything was miles too big. And then one day one of the local tailors showed up at the guest house with tiny little dresses he had stitched especially for Asha.  It was like that -- everyone pitching in and helping this wondrous little infant. Everyday Asha accompanied Joy, Kyle and Celia to the language school where she would be held and coddled by the loving arms of the teachers and students who were studying Hindi. Habib, the teacher who gave Asha her name would swing her back and forth, 'Mooya, mooya, mooya' he would coo. We all would laugh. And Asha thrived. 

Joy and Kyle chose to stay in touch with Asha's family, as did I. On a few occasions Asha's sisters even came to stay with Asha's new family. Almost immediately after Joy and Kyle took Asha into their carethey began the adoption process which has proven difficult as India has very strict adoption laws which require the child in question to be placed in an orphanage. Families are chosen from a list of nationals first, and then internationals are considered when the national list is exhausted. But Asha's family wanted Joy and Kyle to have her, and so Joy and Kyle have been pursuing the case through private means, which takes much longer. In the mean time there have been several visits to Tarkhanna, several reunions with her papa and her siblings. 

Today Asha is well under her birth weight and height, but she is bright and funny, and so full of life. Joy took Asha to one specialist after another to see if there was anything wrong with her. She is so very small. Finally one doctor looked at Joy and after running a gauntlet of tests said, 'Well there is nothing we can find that is wrong with her. So she is small. She certainly is bright. There is nothing wrong with her motor skill development, or her brain. So she is small -- nothing wrong with being small.' When I think back to the condition Asha was in when I first met her I think, 'Yes, she was a miracle -- a very small bright and alert miracle, a little spark that called to us.' 

Recently Joy, Asha and Celia have suffered a terrible loss. Kyle had gone to the US to try to find work to help their adoption case for Asha. In February he returned for Valentine's day to surprise his girls and new baby son. But he had not been feeling well, and had ignored all the symptoms of diabetes he had been experiencing. Three days after his arrival in Delhi Kyle was rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. His organs were shutting down and with Joy at his side he quietly passed away. I rushed to Delhi as quickly as I could to be with Joy and the girls. All I could think about was the first time Kyle came down the stairs at Rokeby carrying his new baby daughter. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. 

So now Joy, Asha, Celia and Ephrem must move on with their story, without Kyle. They were with Kunwar and I for a few days in Sainji and once again we all made the trip over to Tarhkanna to see Asha's sisters and her papa. They still live in their two room cow shed. And I feel guilty for not having been more present in Asha's sisters' lives. Our school has taken up so much of our time and resources so I have had little to give to these girls. Lalita is very bright and has won scholarships to continue her high school education. She is in class 12 now, and has dreams of becoming a nurse. For Asha's sake, for Lalita's, their sisters', their mother's sake, I need to find a way for this to happen. But it is not easy. Her village is so far from the bigger centers. It is not just a question of money, but of means, of accommodation, of transportation, of ensuring her father has help with the household and chores for supporting the rest of the family. It is complicated. It requires a lot of thought and planning.... 

For now, Asha is becoming who she is intended to be. What that is yet, we don't know. But for all who have come into her life so far, they will all agree that she is beautiful and special, inside and out.