Fiction: What does Naina do when her father calls her to wipe the blood off her mother’s dead body?

Ma is dead.

When I walk into her bedroom, I find her lying on the floor, one hand resting on her stomach, the other casually by her side. The pallu of her sari has been stretched across her face, hiding it. A sliver of collarbone peeks through. I kneel and wipe blood with my thumb.

I press my palm into the marble floor and allow the blood to soak into my fingers. We were taught this a long time ago. I push my fingertips harder against the stone and watch them swell, absorbing blood like a sponge. There is a slight discomfort in my wrist, then Ma’s blood begins to move through my body. I don’t want it inside me.

The house is silent. It is a little after 3 am and Papa is in his study, composing a message to send out to relatives. My son Raghav is at his friend’s wedding. I haven’t told him yet.

In the bathroom, I wait for drops of water to fall into a bucket of milk. My throat contracts and coaxes vomit to coat my tongue. I choke and bite down hard. No tears, not tonight. The bucket half full, I carry the milky water back...

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