Shanthi. Shanthi. Let shanthi soothe my mind. But it eludes. The anguished body still lives. And the sporadic screams that rent the silence. I clawed the earth and the foetus struggled to be free. Struggled to push out of the tightening cervix. Father? It cannot be. You do not know of this, yet. You sought from me such glory. And I have failed. I have failed. What have I given you but a useless grand daughter. A curse. Sumana. Sumana, take her away. I must give her away. The blood oozes and soaks the thighs. The body still quivers with remembered spasms. There was passion before. Yes. Rohana would say to me, Rukmali you are so full of passion - you attract chaos. But I have no passion left. I am emptied. Rohana, you and the country.
Lokuge, Chandani, Wild Blossom, Kunapipi, 16(1), 1994.