The Easter Egg

The Nat Geo narrator’s voice is calm. He walks the viewers through different stages of the crocodile’s motherhood. She has laid her eggs in a safe place, away from predators, and now finally it’s time to hatch. Their sounds, calling out to the mother crocodile, are shrill. Baby crocodiles emerge from under the earth, after the mother digs lightly with her hand. Brenda almost reaches out with her palms to scoop the children from within the screen, but just then the mother crocodile picks up her babies in her mouth.

The mother crocodile turns away from the camera with the babies in her mouth. Some mothers are known to eat their offspring. Brenda hopes the crocodile isn’t one of them. She has had a recurring nightmare of matriphagy where she delivers a newborn baby but to stay alive the baby has to consume her slowly, with the appetite of a piranha. All the while being watched by her husband, who is not willing to let go of the child, as he waited for a child too long. That too a boy. 

The mother crocodile moves towards the water with the babies in her jaw. Brenda watches with one eye closed. To her relief, the mother only deposits the young into the water. Brenda jumps from her seat when she hears the keys in the lock. She leaves her phone on the sofa, and rushes to the kitchen to serve dinner.

By the time she comes out of the kitchen, Anthony has removed his shoes. The stench fills the living room. She has wanted to tell him to leave the shoes out but she has never gathered enough courage to do so. To her horror, he is looking at her phone. 

‘This is why we don’t have children. Panvati,’ he says, flinging the keys on the dining table. This is not the first time he has caught her watching Nat Geo videos, and every time he manages to catch her, she happens to be watching a video of a reptile whom he considers an avatar of Satan.

Anthony spits out the mushroom after the first morsel. ‘Seriously? Shit. You think eating this trash will make you pregnant?’

He takes the keys and walks out of the house. Brenda starts to tremble. The mushroom in her mouth begins to taste like lead. She spits it out as well. She had tried to make the dish exciting by sauteing the mushrooms with broccoli, onion, and garlic. This Lent she had vowed to herself to eat veg but she had agreed to cook non-veg for Anthony. The mushroom dish was her way of including him in her act of sacrifice, after all it was the Holy Week.  Her vegetarian Hindu neighbour with three kids had told her if she gave up non veg she might just get pregnant this time.

She stares at the wall on which the big TV hung. It was laid with grey and black tiles, chosen by Anthony. The paintings, the curios—all of his choosing. Brenda had no say in anything. She knew friends who were also housewives like her. They ruled their husbands. They weren’t even educated. She had a bachelors degree in psychology and yet she didn’t have the courage to confront him. 

When Brenda’s mobile rings, the plate slips from her hand, in response to the loud ringtone. She doesn’t want to even look at the phone. It must be the clinic again. The more she ignores the call, the more she senses the volume of the ringtone increasing as if challenging her. She moves towards it, but steps on the broken pieces of her plate by mistake. She reaches out for the phone despite the pain. 

Her mother’s number flashes on the screen. She hops on one foot, and gains support of the dining table. Instead of swiping left to reject the call, she accidentally swipes right. Her mother is yelling. 

‘Write this down now Brenda. Write it. I have a list of tried and tested sex positions you need to follow. You should have been doing this research na but it’s okay. I’m your mama. This will get you a child. I asked Father Rosario. He helped me find a lot of information. Other fathers only pray. I’m telling you he’s a gem. I told him with God’s grace you will visit him here with your child! Listen baba, I left everything and gathered this information for you. Write it down now. Things were easier in my day. Dada just had to touch me and I was pregnant with you. Now, all these issues. God is testing us. We need to be more faithful or the world will end soon.’

‘I don’t need this now Ma. Please.’ Brenda holds her head in one hand. It feels like it would explode. First Anthony. Now this. She looks at her phone screen. The timer is on. Her mother is still talking. She hears, ‘I also read about the rabbit. It’s exactly what you need now. Get one. Trust me. You’ll be pregnant if you do it with the rabbit around. It’s better if the rabbit is watching.’

‘Ma! You didn’t even want me to date until I was like thirty? Now you’re recommending sex positions and what? Yuck!’ she said. Leave me alone. ‘You have gone insane since Dada died. Nothing better to do. Always with Father Rosario. Why don’t you marry him?’

Brenda cuts the call and looks back at the trail of blood on the floor. The small shards of the plate and the blood make her think of a miscarried foetus. Her mother’s conversations are getting repetitive. All she can talk about is pregnancy, and to remind her of how lucky she is to be married to Anthony. She reminds Brenda why she left Bahrain—of all the eligible bachelors who were not ambitious and content with living for each day. She would have had to have a full-time job to keep living there. 

Brenda regrets leaving Bahrain. She has fallen for her mother’s version of what a happy marriage should look like. Her mother had brainwashed her into thinking a man who could take care of her financial needs was what she needed. What would she do with losers like her father who needed her to split the bills 50-50? It was the reason Brenda readily accepted Anthony’s proposal, as he was well settled in Mumbai. 

Brenda limps her way to the bedroom. She sits down on her bed and lifts her foot to the light. A long cut. The cut reminds her of Jesus’ crucifixion. The pain is oddly satisfying. She lets it bleed. She hasn’t done enough this Lent. Not much sacrifice. She shouldn’t be enjoying her meals. Even the mushrooms were an attempt to make veggies appetising, though that was more for Anthony than for herself. Maybe that’s why God punished her and broke the plate.

She looks at the open laptop on her bed with the paused video of the mushroom recipe. She closes it and searches for Good Friday videos. Videos of Filipino men self-flagellating pop up. It reminds her of men self-flagellating on the streets of Bahrain during Ramadan. Their blood against their white thobes had conjured up an abstract image of Bahrain’s flag. She is reminded of the whip in her closet. Anthony had wanted to use it. He wanted her to fulfill his fantasies. 

She hadn’t agreed. She shudders as she remembers the way he spat out the mushroom and grabbed his keys to leave. He wasn’t coming back. She could sense it. He was going out to satiate his sexual appetite. She should have stayed back in Bahrain. If she had married a guy who earned less than her, she would have had power in bed, and none of this nonsense. She would have made him lick her till she came. 

She pulls the whip out from the dark depths of her wardrobe. What could go wrong? She closes her eyes, she is doing this for Jesus. He will see the pain. She strips naked, the way he was on Calvary. There is no gain without pain. She looks at her body in the mirror. It can’t do things she wants it to do. She can’t be a mother. She will have to tame it herself. She remembers her mother’s words about the rabbit being a sign of fertility. She reaches for the bunny ears that Anthony had got along with the whip. She wears it. They make her look silly. Like she doesn’t know what she’s doing. She flings the whip lightly. It curls around her body, its tip marking her left breast. She smiles as she bleeds. She deserves it for being unable to become a mother. The breasts which should have been bearing milk by now deserve to be punished.

By evening, when Anthony still hasn’t returned, Brenda decides to not watch YouTube. Instead she prays, fasts and punishes herself physically for the remaining days leading up to Good Friday. On Good Friday, her mother sends Brenda’s sister, Blanche, over to check on her.

‘Is this what you have been doing? See your dark circles are worse than potholes. And why you dressed like a widow ya? He’s just living in another house. He’s not dead. Maybe if you dress sexy, you will attract the right man this time,’ she says. Brenda looks at Blanche’s off shoulder black lace dress. It shows off her curves. She has always been the loud one and Brenda the quiet one. Their mother often said to Brenda, ‘Hope your child doesn’t go on you. Very boring. Wouldn’t survive in the 21st century.’

The sisters leave for the Good Friday mass, to be held on the large open ground near the church. The ground could accommodate the entire crowd of IC Colony. When Brenda first moved to Bombay, after her marriage, she instantly felt a connection to the locality because of the many Gulf returns. It has the highest number of Christians in Bombay, especially Catholics. While Blanche walks ahead of her confidently in pencil heels, Brenda struggles to walk fast in her platforms. Especially because of the wound. 

She feels weak. They find a spot towards the last row. Blanche sits on the second seat, Brenda sits in the seat facing the gate. She can see families walk in from both the front and back gates of the ground. Couples stroll hand in hand or with babies and grown-up children in tow. Blanche whispers into Brenda’s ears, ‘She’s wearing the same dress she wore on Christmas, see, she thought no one will notice. I remember. And see that lady’s make up, like a chakka, she looks.’ After a point, Brenda grows tired of the comments and zones out. Later, during the long reading of the passion of Christ, she faints. She opens her eyes again to Blanche sprinkling water on her face. ‘Brandy, wake up!’ Blanche only uses that name when she’s tense.

After mass, Blanche orders chicken lollipop and fried rice for Brenda despite protestations. When they return home, Blanche forces Brenda to sit and eat, staring at the plate until the last grain of rice is gone. Brenda refuses the chicken lollipop, but Blanche shoves one into her mouth until she chews the meat off the bone. Then she gives her the medicine she has bought from the pharmacy. 

Alone once again, Brenda opens YouTube to continue watching the crocodile video but her eyelids threaten to close. Blanche had not told her the name of the medicine. All she had said was it was for anxiety. Maybe she needed the rest. After watching the video for a bit, she starts to doze. She shuts the laptop close and gives in. She sleeps throughout Saturday and wakes up only on Sunday. Her phone has registered multiple calls from Blanche and their mother but there’s still no news of Anthony.

At Easter mass, amidst all the families, Brenda is fidgety. Alone. After mass, she goes to DMart to treat herself. She will buy an Easter egg for herself.

They tell her they are out of Easter eggs. 

‘How come?’ she says, confused, her eyes scanning the shelves for the orange and white of Kinder joy eggs. During her childhood, the toys from the Kinder joy eggs were her comfort toys. She used to collect them and keep them on the living room shelf. She was so possessive about the toys that when Blanche took one, she had bitten her so hard that her sister had to go to the hospital. 

Her hands push away the chocolates, candies and condoms from the shelves. She finds herself trembling and yelling at the salesman, who looks at her with anger. 

‘Today is Easter! The Lord is risen! How can you not have Easter eggs? You just don’t care about us, do you? You don’t care about me!’ 

When another salesman approaches her, she almost loses her balance and holds onto his shorts to steady herself. A saleswoman rushes towards her, holding her as if she will fall again, and caresses her hand. She explains they are out of stock but she promises to send the egg to her house as soon as it arrives. Brenda is moved by the woman’s concern. She stares at the sindoor and the dark red lipstick on the woman’s face and wonders if this saleswoman is able to have children of her own. Brenda thanks her and limps her way home. 

At home, she undresses and lies down on her bed. Her foot is still throbbing. Blanche had applied balm but she knows the cut is still raw. She closes her eyes and instantly falls asleep. 

A loud bell wakes her up. At first, Brenda thinks it must be her phone, then she realises it’s the door. She jumps out of bed and tip toes towards the peephole. Her vision is blurry. She feels groggy. Unable to see anyone through the peephole, she opens the door carefully and peeks through the safety door’s grill. There is a small package on her doormat. Beautifully wrapped with a big purple ribbon. The wrapping paper is shiny and adorned with rhombus designs. She unlocks the safety door and looks for a card with any identifying information. She finds none. She brings the package inside. 

Placing it on the table, she wonders if it could be a bomb. She remembers announcements from her commute in local trains. One can never trust idle packages. She decides to take the risk. She slowly unties the ribbon and then unwraps the package, making sure to keep the wrapping paper intact so she can reuse it. The cardboard box is white and sealed with tape. She opens the box to find a lot of paper resembling hay and amidst it all, an egg. She remembers the saleswoman’s promise but this egg doesn’t have the wrapping of Kinder Joy. It looks like a real egg. She lifts the egg carefully and stands on the sofa, raising it towards the tube light.

The shell has small lines running through it like veins. Darker, deeper lines start to form on its surface when she brings it closer to the tube light. Then the egg begins to crack. With each crack on the egg, she senses her breasts getting heavy. It takes several minutes for the egg to crack open. Her breasts start to ache as if full of milk. She sits down on the sofa, staring at the open shell in her hand. A baby croc crawls out. It makes noises calling out to her. Her breasts feel like they are about to burst. She knows crocodiles don’t need milk. They are not mammals but her heart tells her they do. When the croc’s jaw clamps on her breast, the pain and pleasure finally make her feel whole. She weeps.