"Her waiting ends, and a new life begins."
Radha slept in the backyard, among the rows of medicinal plants. Her head rested on Adhiratha's chest, his steady breathing lulling her in the dark hours before dawn. The sky was still dark, but a few birds had begun to chirp, hinting that dawn was near.
Then she heard it — a boy's voice, clear as though spoken beside her ear.
"Mother, I am coming. The sun is rising. I will be waiting for you at the riverbank."
Her eyes snapped open. She sat up sharply, her heart racing. Without a glance at Adhiratha, she slipped from his side and rushed inside. Her hands went straight to the yellow dress she had stitched for her son. She held it tight, as if clutching the child himself.
Barefoot, she hurried to the main door. The wooden latch clattered as she pulled it open. The cold air hit her face, but she didn't pause. She half-ran, half-stumbled toward the riverbank, clutching the dress, breath ragged. Her feet slipped on stones, but she didn't feel the pain. Each step beat with one fear — if I am late, I will lose him.
She didn't look back. Her son was waiting.
Radha clutched the yellow dress to her chest and hurried down the narrow path, her feet barely feeling the cool earth. The faint light of dawn had just begun to stir the sky, and the first birds were calling.
Ahead, she suddenly caught sight of two figures balancing water pots on their hips — Sumati and Vishakha. They stopped in their tracks, startled.
"Radha? At this hour?" Sumati's voice broke out in disbelief.
Radha almost tripped, but her feet carried her on. Her breath was quick, her heartbeat louder than their voices. She hadn't set foot on this path in months. Ever since the whispers had begun, mothers with children had crossed the street to avoid her gaze. Each averted glance cut her more deeply than any insult.
Now, seeing her rushing like this, clutching something so tightly, the two women stared wide-eyed.
"Where are you going?" Vishakha asked, her tone sharp, more accusation than concern.
Radha did not answer. She clutched the bundle tighter and slipped past, hurrying faster, afraid they might hold her back.
After Radha hurried away, Vishakha muttered with a curl of her lips,
"Sister, let's not waste time here. We'll fetch water from the other side of the river. Better to stay away from where she goes."
Sumati paused, surprised.
"I've already followed your advice once," she said softly. "I didn't invite her to my son's naming ceremony, though it troubled my heart. But do you know, last night I couldn't sleep at all? I remembered how, when I was pregnant and suddenly fell ill, she brought me her herbs without a word. She helped me as if I were her own sister. And now—didn't you see how she was running, clutching something close to her chest? Something must have happened. If she needs us, should we not go?"
Vishakha laughed sharply.
"Go? Do you truly think she needs our help? Didn't you see what she was holding? A baby's cloth! Tell me, is that not madness? So many years, and no child in her womb. Everyone knows she is cursed. A barren field — nothing will ever grow there. And now even her mind is crumbling under the weight of that curse. If we linger near her, that curse may cling to us too!"
The words burned Sumati's ears; she clenched her pot tighter. Without another word, she turned and began running after Radha.
Vishakha clicked her tongue in irritation.
"Foolish woman…" she hissed, and, unwilling to be left behind, she too rushed towards the riverbank.
When Radha finally reached the riverbank, she saw an elderly woman crouched near the water, arranging flowers on a small leaf-plate. The woman was murmuring prayers to the river, her hands steady and calm.
The woman noticed her at once, surprised, for Radha hadn't come here in months. But she did not say anything. She was known for staying out of daily talk and keeping to her prayers.
Radha asked softly, "Aunty, did you see any big basket flowing in the river?"
The woman glanced at the water and replied in a plain voice, "No, child. I have been here since before dawn. I did not see anything."
Then she turned back to her flowers. She did not ask Radha anything more, nor did she look at her again. She left Radha in her own thoughts and went on with her worship.
Radha felt a little relieved. She was not late. She walked to the edge of the bank, sat down, and looked at the far horizon where the sun was still rising. She hugged the dress tightly and thought quietly, I only have to wait now.
Radha was still watching the horizon when she heard hurried footsteps behind her. Sumati and Vishakha came running, both out of breath.
Sumati reached Radha first and asked quickly, "What happened, sister? You ran here so fast. Did something happen? You stopped coming to the river long ago. If you needed help, you could have told me."
Radha did not turn to her. She kept her eyes on the horizon and answered with a small, silly smile, "I'm sorry I made you worried. Nothing bad happened. I'm just waiting for my son."
Sumati frowned, confused. "Your son? What do you mean?"
Radha finally looked at her and said with the same quiet smile, "I saw a dream yesterday. It told me my son will come today, at sunrise, here at the riverbank."
Vishakha burst into loud laughter. "And you believed this dream? Do you think the river will hand you a son?"
Her sharp laugh made the old woman glance up from her prayers and glare. Without saying a word, the woman stood and walked farther away, not wanting her prayers to be disturbed.
Sumati, on the other hand, grew angry. She looked at Vishakha with a hard glare, upset at her rude words.
Radha did not look at Vishaka. She had grown numb to Vishakha's mockery. Yet at times she still wondered — why did the woman smile at others, but never at her? Perhaps her empty arms invited endless scorn. Still, she replied in a calm voice, "If you don't believe me, then you can wait with me and see if my dream is true or not."
Vishaka smirked, folding her arms. "Even if I wanted to waste my precious time like you, I couldn't. After all, my husband is not the head of the Suta community or the royal charioteer of Hastinapur. But me and my husband—we must work every day just to have food for our children."
Her words stung, but before more could be said, Radha suddenly stood. Her eyes widened, fixed on the far horizon. Her breath quickened.
Sumati and Vishaka both turned, curious to see what had caught her attention.
Far on the river, a large basket floated with the current. Behind it, the rising sun lit the water as if the whole river glowed. Her heart leapt — no, this was not a dream. The river itself was delivering her child.
Radha's lips parted, her face trembling with joy. Her knees weakened. For years she had waited, wept in silence. And now, before her eyes, the dream had become real. Her hands folded tightly in prayer, trembling as tears blurred her sight. The basket blurred through her tears, yet in her heart she already felt the weight of a tiny body in her arms.
Author's Note:
At last—Radheya has entered the story! I've been waiting for this moment for so long, and I feel both nervous and excited to finally share it with you.
Also… I need to confess something. I had said I would publish chapters daily, but I got a bit overconfident. Turns out, I really need at least two days to write and edit each chapter properly. Please forgive this lazy author. I don't want to rush and give you something half-hearted.
So from now on, I'll be posting on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. If ever I can't make it on one of those days, I promise I'll let you know. Thank you so much for your patience and kindness—it means more to me than I can say.
And now, as a thank you, here's a sneak peek from Chapter 8:
Radha kept her eyes on the basket. It floated gently in the middle of the river, as if the water itself carried it with care. For a moment she felt calm. But then the sound of rushing water broke that peace.
The river current grew stronger, faster, louder. The calm surface turned restless. Radha's heart sank. The basket began to shake with every wave.
Her hands trembled. "No…" she whispered. If the basket turned over, her child would be lost.
Without thinking, Radha pulled the small yellow dress she had stitched for her son from her lap. She pressed it into Sumati's hands. "Take care of this," she said quickly.
Before Sumati or Vishaka could stop her, Radha jumped into the river.
"Radha! Stop!" Sumati cried out in fear.
"Are you mad?" Vishaka shouted.
But Radha did not hear them. The roar of the river drowned every voice. In her mind, there was only one thought—
I must reach my son. No matter what happens to me.
The water pulled at her, heavy and merciless. She kicked and struggled, her eyes fixed only on the basket tossing ahead.
This was her first trial. The river was testing her. Was she strong enough to become the mother of a boy who would one day face storms far greater than this?
Radha did not care about the danger. She had only one answer—
Yes. I am his mother. And I will never let him go.