I left my wee one lying there
A crying and alone
The moon she saw me flying there, flying there
The moon she saw me flying there
To the lake all on my own
The wind he heard me crying there, crying there
The wind he heard me crying there
And now my baby’s gone
“And now my baby’s go-.”
The last syllable of the lullaby entwined with a sob in Revathi’s throat. She fell into silence, still gripping the edge of the crib.
“Rev,” said Santosh gently, “stop it.”
“But how can I Santosh? This was a mistake,” she said.
She’d been so absorbed in her thoughts, her waking nightmares, that she hadn’t heard him enter the nursery behind her.
“Rev,” he sighed.
Pregnancy had not agreed with her. The hormonal changes had ramped up her anxieties to fever pitch, but this was the worst he’d seen her. She’d been coming in here, singing this morbid lullaby till she dissolved into tears, for three days now.
He drew her to him, encircling her with his arms.
“We made a mistake,” Revathi sobbed. “We should never have bought the cot so early. It’s a bad omen. Both our mothers warned us, over and over.”
Santosh let out a guffaw, and hugged her a little tighter.
“Let’s just give it a minute, shall we?” he said. “Maybe we should wait till you actually give birth, before we start catstrophising.”