The sun shone brightly Saturday morning. The rays streamed in through the window of Olivia’s little building and brightened the space, which she decided was absolutely perfect. Why had she ever considered it small and dank? Now that it was clean and painted, she found it downright cozy, not cramped, even with the four machines installed and the raw materials stacked nearly to the ceiling, waiting for someone to turn them into salable product. One corner sat empty, and that was where eventually her team would store packages of pads. Mukesh told her each independent group of women designed their own packaging and even chose the name for their product line. She didn’t know any words in the local language, so she couldn’t begin to imagine what the ladies who eventually worked the equipment would select.
A timid knock at the door announced Navya’s arrival. She balanced Jaanvi on her hip and kept her eyes cast downward, even as Ms. Vanya coaxed her inside. The way the young woman draped her veil over the lower portion of her face, only her eyes visible, reminded Olivia of Scheherazade and the Arabian Nights. But the downward cast of the eyes, defeated slump of her shoulders, and withdrawn attitude surrounding her was not alluring and mysterious but dejected and forlorn. Navya clearly didn’t want to be there. This wasn’t the exciting, bubbly beginning she had imagined.
Disappointed her one recruit appeared hesitant at best, Olivia forced a broad smile on her face, deeply aware of the film crew on hand to record this dismal beginning. “Hello! Come in!”
Mukesh also welcomed them enthusiastically and set about demonstrating how to operate the machinery. He opened a box of raw cellulose material they would break down and gestured for Navya to join him.
Noah swooped in for a close up. “Now what is this?”
Mukesh held up a handful of the material. “Many years I could not figure out what was inside. I thought, it is cotton. But the napkin I make from cotton leaked. No good. I called American companies to ask, ‘What is the material? What do you put in?’ My phone bill hundreds of dollars! They asked me what machine I used. Their machine cost millions of dollars. They did not understand, I am not competition. I am one man in India. Finally, they sent a sample. Finally, I knew what to put in my napkin.”
He led them to the first machine in his line. “I did not have millions of dollars to buy industrial machine. So I designed a simple set of four machines to accomplish same tasks as the big machine. First, the grinder.”
He dropped the material into the mechanism and switched it on. The blades tore up the packed raw material, producing a light fluffy result. He cut a piece of thin fabric from a roll and laid it across a rectangular metal mold on the next machine.
“Next, we put the material into the press. First, we put the covering. You see?” This he directed at Navya, who stared, transfixed, watching his every move. “The cover material will pull the fluid away and keep the skin dry. Special material.” Once he’d adjusted the covering to his liking, he transferred the fluffy material into the mold and pulled a lever, lowering a heavy press.
He sealed the ends, showed her how to apply the adhesive backing, then moved to the next machine. “This UV, to make sanitary. Put inside and turn on like this.”
“Fascinating,” Noah said. “You irradiate them with ultra-violet light to ensure the product is completely sterile.”
“Yes. Like women who use cloth could lay out in the sun to make more sanitary. But they will not.” While they waited for the machine to complete its cycle, Mukesh told them, “I wore napkin when I could not get women to volunteer. I made a bladder from a ball, added tube, and filled with goat blood from the butcher. That pad did not work at all. My genitals were wet all day. I do not know how women survive this every month. Cold, wet genitals for a week. They should all be sick all the time. I knew I had to perfect this, even though my friends disowned me and thought me possessed by demons.”
The film crew laughed at his telling. She marveled at his devotion and dedication. And then nearly burst out laughing at the thought of Scott wearing a homemade pad and fashioning a bladder of goat blood. Mukesh’s empathy and concern astounded her. Everything he did for this project was for other people, for women. He did not benefit from his years of work. In fact, he suffered ridicule and ostracism for years. Even now, he sold the machines virtually at cost. When had Scott done something for her without expecting something in return? After everything I’ve done for you? How many times had she heard that as he demanded his way about one thing or another? Come to think of it, what exactly did he even mean? What had he done for her? Everything he did was designed to make him look good or advance his career. Charity is for chumps.
What an asshole. She’d felt compelled to rush to Scott’s defense when Chris first uttered those words and explain that it was her fault, that she’d brought it on them and deserved Scott’s contempt. But a tiny tremor shimmered through her as her image of Scott cracked. Chris was right. Scott was a jerk. Why couldn’t she see that before? If Scott hadn’t left her, she’d still be with him.
Once Mukesh finished showing Navya the final steps and how to package them, he went back to the grinder and encouraged her to try for herself.
Olivia held out her hands to Jaanvi to free up Navya’s hands. The toddler pulled gooey fingers from her mouth and leaned toward her with her good arm. The arm hanging at an odd angle tore at her heart, and she fought tears. The doctor could not come soon enough as far as she was concerned. She snuggled the little girl close, overwhelmed by so many emotions when Jaanvi laid her head on her shoulder. For so long, she had not been able to look at a baby without choking up, without a burst of jealousy and resentment pulsing through her, no matter how much the caustic emotions shocked her. She knew other mothers were not to blame, knew that she had no rational basis for these horrible feelings she tried so hard to push aside and ignore.
In this moment, with soft baby hair snuggled against her neck and sweet baby smell permeating the air, the weight of the little one warming her arms tripped a scale. She recognized a deep and lingering sadness that her own little girl wasn’t here in her arms to play with Jaanvi and perhaps be passed around to the other mothers. But she also felt a twinge of happiness, a twinkle of joy peeking out from the darker, harsh emotions that had consumed her for nearly a year. She rested her cheek against Jaanvi’s soft little head and simply enjoyed the moment, relieved to find she could.
Navya thrust her hand into the box of cellulose material and repeated Mukesh’s actions, remembering every step with no reminders or additional instructions. When she finished, Mukesh examined her work. Jack and Noah moved in close to examine as well.
“Yes! Perfect, first try!” He turned to her. “Very good. Good quality.”
She bounced Jaanvi and beamed at Navya. “You’re amazing! I just need a few more exactly like you, and you’ll be ready to launch your line.”
Navya pressed her fists together and stared at the ground. Behind her veil, the woman appeared to flush—with embarrassment or discomfort or pleasure, Olivia couldn’t tell. But she felt certain the young woman was unaccustomed to praise of any type.
Mukesh bobbed his head and gestured toward the machines. “Okay. Go. Make more.”
Within an hour, Navya had a decent-sized stack of pads. Her production time decreased with each repetition as she became more familiar with the steps. Though she hid behind a veil, sheltered in her uncle’s home, Navya was a smart and talented young woman. And now the young woman would be able to use that to build a business and contribute to the local economy rather than sitting at home doing nothing.
Olivia’s chest seemed ready to burst with happiness at the thought. She bounced Jaanvi and made faces until a wide smile broke across the little girl’s face and she giggled. That big baby-belly giggle sparked a giggle of her own, lighting the kindling of general happiness into a flame of excitement she didn’t know what to do with. She tickled Jaanvi, each laugh prompting one in return. Soon, her restless feet danced around the room, both of them laughing, and Olivia couldn’t remember a time she’d felt so good.
She’d forgotten what happiness felt like, it had been absent from her life for so long. Even before the terrible tragedy ripped her life apart and tore the stuffing out of it, she had simply been existing. She hadn’t been miserable, hadn’t really even been unhappy, but her life had lacked joy, something to fill her with happiness. On some level, she must have expected her baby girl to fill that empty space. And instead, the loss had created a bigger pit, darker and emptier than anything she’d ever known.
As she danced around the small space laughing with baby Jaanvi, their happiness seemed to spread. Ms. Vanya clapped along to her aimless steps and began to sing in a language that she couldn’t translate yet understood on a primal level. That dark empty place didn’t have to be where she stayed forever. She had the capacity to feel good again, even if she continued to mourn the loss of her daughter. The two could exist within her together. What would her daughter look like if she’d survived? She’d be nearing her first birthday—younger than Jaanvi, but she imagined balancing her daughter on her hip, laughter erupting from a gummy mouth. And somehow, through the pain, the thought made her smile and tear up. And next thing she knew, she laughed and cried, the emotional storm exacerbated by the realization that, had she not lost her baby, she never would have come to India and met these people, nor would she be dancing around with Jaanvi while Mukesh taught Navya a skill to build a new life on—while a film crew captured the entire thing for a documentary. She laughed and cried harder.
Ms. Vanya stopped clapping. Navya left the UV machine and moved to her side. “What is wrong?”
They didn’t know. They couldn’t. She must look like a crazy woman standing there laughing and crying all at once.
“I’m okay,” she reassured them, wishing the statement true. “I had a baby girl. But she . . . is no more.” She liked the phrase that Ms. Vanya had employed to describe her late husband. Her baby was. But now she was no more. Somehow it didn’t hurt as badly as saying her baby died.
Ms. Vanya and Navya each placed a hand on her and lowered their heads. They didn’t say anything, and they didn’t need to. What could they say in the face of such horrific grief? There were no words, and their silent sympathy expressed an inherent understanding.
“What is her name?” Navya asked.
She didn’t know if the verb tense was a mistake but didn’t care. She liked that better too. What is her name? Not what was her name.
You are still a mother.
And her baby girl was still her baby girl. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to share the name with anyone, not even her own mother. She hadn’t been able to name her on the birth certificate either or the death certificate that immediately followed.
The look in Navya’s eyes above the veil that hid her face, told her the young woman understood. They had both experienced horrific, life-shattering pain. They would both have to work hard to overcome it.
“Lucy. Her name is Lucy.” The name had come to her suddenly one night just before she fell asleep and from that moment, she’d thought of the baby by her name.
“Beautiful,” Navya said.
“It’s Greek for light. I looked up the meaning. She would have been the light of my life.” She glanced around the room, Mukesh and Ms. Vanya watching with sympathy in their eyes, cameras with blinking red lights recording her most intimate and raw emotions on display for the entire world. She scrubbed at her cheeks, erasing the tear lines. “Enough of that. We’re here to launch a business. What do we do next?”
Mukesh looked at the stack of pads Navya had made. “Take to women. Convince them they want to buy, and they want to make.”
Olivia nodded. “Recruit and sell. Got it.”