The calls always came in the late afternoon, when things were calm. My daughter Kavya would call me around two or three in the afternoon. She had just had a kid ten days previously and was living with her husband in the village of Bhawanipur. Her voice, which was typically soft and playful, was now harsh because she was tired and worried.
“Mom, I’m really tired… “Please come and take me home.” I’m scared.
Every time you said those things, they pained me. I could hear the infant crying and the sound of its tiny lungs yearning for comfort in the background. I felt like I couldn’t do anything as my chest tightened. My spouse, who was sitting next to me, told me to be careful.
He said in a low voice, “She just got married.” “Don’t get too close to your in-laws.” A lot of the time, a young mother thinks she has too much to accomplish. “Let them handle it.”
I nodded, but I was scared and my heart was beating. The phone rang every night. I held the phone as if it could bring us closer together while my daughter wailed.
I was scared of what my neighbors were saying. I was worried about making her husband’s relatives angry. But a mother can only hold back so long.
The Decision to Depart
After another night of hearing my child beg for comfort, I was too tired to get up in the morning. I woke up my husband and said firmly, “I’m going today.” If her in-laws say no, I’ll take her home myself.
We left Lucknow at daybreak and went thirty kilometers to her village. I hugged my sari tightly against me and hoped with every bump of the car that we would find her safe.
But as we reached to the red-tiled door of her in-laws’ house, everything went apart for me.
Two Caskets in the Yard
The courtyard had two coffins close to each other. The white blankets that covered the marigold garlands made them look quite bright. The low groan of funeral horns rose above the incense smoke.
I collapsed to the ground because my knees gave out. “Oh God… Kavya!” my husband cried, and the sound resonated around the yard.
One casket held my daughter. The other, regrettably smaller, carried the body of my granddaughter, who had just been born.
I ran forward quickly, my hands shaking and my voice breaking. “You called me every night, but I didn’t get there in time.” “How could they not tell me this?” “How could they let you suffer alone?”
Rumors About What Happened
People who lived close by got together and talked about what they had seen and heard.
“She cried last night, begging to go to the district hospital,” someone said. “But her in-laws compelled her stay. They told her it was still her sutak time, which lasts for twelve days after she gave birth. The midwife gave her herbs to stop the bleeding. “It was too late for them to realize how serious it was.”
My body got cold. My daughter had called for help, but tradition, which was twisted and uncompromising, had come before her life.
Stop the service.
As the horns blew and my family got ready for the burial, I jumped up and blocked the bier. “Don’t touch my daughter or the baby!” “Stop the proceedings right now!”
Her mother-in-law tried to get me out of the path. She said, “The custom is to take them to the river right away.”
“Custom?” I cried. “What custom says a mother can’t take her daughter to the hospital? What type of custom lets a lady die from bleeding as her child begs for help?
When I dialed 112, the emergency number, I was shaking. Then there was 181, the line for ladies in need of help.
In less than five minutes, a police cruiser showed up in the yard. The officers got out and stopped the festivities. Sub-Inspector Verma asked for things like birth certificates, medical records, and any proof of treatment.
The truth started to come out when I showed them my phone with a lot of missed calls from Kavya.
The Look Into
The officials told the people to seal the coffins and take them to the district hospital for an autopsy. The law declared that there had to be an investigation because Kavya had been married for less than seven years and there was substantial evidence of cruelty.
The hospital’s Chief Medical Superintendent confirmed what I had been terrified of: postpartum hemorrhage. Postpartum hemorrhage is a serious sickness, but it can be treated with the correct medications, fluids, and a timely move to the right place.
The doctor said in a low voice, “She could have been saved.” “Both of them could have been saved.”
Facing the Family
The midwife brought a worn cloth bag full of herbs and powders to the police station. “I did the best I could for her,” she added.
The officer spoke in a strong voice. “You know that this condition needs the right medicines, IV fluids, and blood transfusions.” Herbal leaves don’t halt the bleeding after birth.
The midwife paused and looked down. By that time, my rage had melted to ash, and all that was left was being tired. I answered, “Tradition should keep people safe.” “Don’t take it away.”
Rohit, her husband, sat still with his head down. “I thought people would laugh at me for not following the rules,” he added. “I was afraid of being embarrassed.”
But shame had already come, and it was worse than anything the neighbors could say.
Bringing Her Home
The investigation put a stop to the cremation until all the legal steps were taken. When the coffins were liberated, I took my daughter and granddaughter home with me to Lucknow. Some of the neighbors were grieving softly, while others lowered their heads in respect.
I gave Kavya her phone back, and the last call she missed was still on the screen. It showed that she had asked for aid and that I hadn’t gotten there in time.
The priest advised us that her sorrow should be acknowledged during the prayers. He said, “This has to be a lesson.” ” After having birth, care is not a choice. No tradition is more important than a mother’s life.
A Mother’s Word
As time went on, the case moved forward. There were accusations of being thoughtless and cruel. Officials said that a court should examine into maternal deaths that occured because treatment was not given.
But for me, justice was more than just papers and courts.
Justice meant making sure that no other mother had to wail all night while help was stuck outside the door. Justice meant turning my anguish into action.
With the support of the local women’s group and health workers, I started going door to door with posters. They told me, “Don’t be alone after you give birth.” Call 108. The numbers for the women’s and emergency hotlines were in bold.
I put the lamp next to Kavya’s photo and whispered a promise: “Your cries will not fade into silence.” They will help other people get help.
The Lesson That Stays
My daughter’s story isn’t just about grief; it’s also about how hard it is to be quiet, how hard it is to stick to old traditions, and how much we need to change. Maternal health is not a luxury. People don’t die because of postpartum care, emergency access, and community health services.
No family should ever lose a daughter or a newborn because they were terrified of what their neighbors would think and didn’t ask for help fast away.
I usually tell her to “rest, child” when I think about her late-night calls. I’m here now. And I will make sure that your voice is heard.