My husband and I reside and work in Mumbai. At first, our plan was to deliver our baby in a large city hospital for convenience. But then my husband suggested:
– “This is our family’s only grandson, you should return to your hometown to give birth so my parents can boast to their relatives.”
So, a week before my due date, I went to my husband’s ancestral home in Uttar Pradesh. The plan was to stay there for one month, and once our son turned a month old, we would then move to my mother’s house.
Life in my husband’s house – the bitterness of “grandson, mother’s burden”
My husband’s family was not short of money. My father-in-law enjoyed a comfortable pension and had plenty of savings. Even so, my husband gave me extra cash before delivery so I could cover my personal expenses. He had already purchased everything the baby might need—clothes, diapers, and supplies.
I assumed I would be properly cared for, eating well and resting, but reality was different. My mother-in-law was extremely frugal. She often bought the cheapest meat and fish at the market, sometimes so smelly it was nearly rotten. When I frowned, she insisted:
– “There’s no odor, just add some masala and it disappears.”
Most days, I had to pick vegetables from the garden instead of buying from outside. My meals were endlessly ladyfinger, bottle gourd, and spinach, to the point I grew sick of them.
Even after my son was born, conditions didn’t improve. The paya porridge she cooked was always half-raw because she turned off the gas early to save fuel. Staring at that bland dish, I swallowed it along with tears.
Worse, she complained non-stop:
– “My son works tirelessly to provide for the family. Ever since my daughter-in-law came here, expenses have only risen.”
After scolding me, she ranted about high prices and claimed my husband’s money barely covered costs. I knew the money was sufficient for me and the baby, but she shared it with her sister-in-law nearby so they could afford more meat and fish.
The day I walked out of my husband’s home
Before my mother could arrive, my mother-in-law barged into the room, scolding and demanding:
– “All the money my son gave is finished. I even had to dip into my own savings for you and the child, so you must return it. Plus, the electricity and water bills increased this month because of your stay. You need to give me 3,000 rupees more to make up for it.”
I froze in shock. Having just delivered, I barely had money left. Finally, I texted a nearby friend to quickly lend me enough so I could hand it over.
Boiling with anger, I clutched my baby and left my husband’s house.
Back to my mother’s home – a sharp contrast
Returning to my mother’s house, the difference struck me immediately. Maa adored her grandson and spared no effort. She bought chicken, fish, beef, and plenty of fruit so I could eat properly, reminding me:
– “You need full nutrition to make milk for your baby.”
At my mother’s, both my child and I regained weight quickly. When I tried to give her money, she brushed it away:
– “My daughter stays at her mother’s house for a few months only. Can’t I take care of her and my grandson?”
Hearing this, my throat tightened and tears streamed down.
A harsh lesson
After a month in my husband’s house, I finally grasped the saying: “Grandsons are precious, but mothers are forgotten.” In truth, all children share blood, but people’s hearts are different.
My story is one among many. Everyone admits: not every woman is fortunate enough to have a mother-in-law who treats her like her own daughter. If unlucky, with one who only counts expenses and sees her as a burden, then postpartum pain becomes even heavier.
From that time, I learned:
In my husband’s family, I must stay reserved, behave respectfully—but never expect love equal to a daughter’s.
Rs 500,000 and the sh0cking revelation
At 5 a.m. one morning, while feeding my baby in a dim room in our village in Uttar Pradesh, my mother-in-law rushed in pale-faced and shook me awake. She pressed a thick envelope into my hand.
“Here’s 500,000 rupees. Take your baby and hide outside the city. Return after ten days. Don’t ask questions.”
Her eyes showed both fear and concern. My heart pounded. How could a miserly woman, who quarreled over every rupee, suddenly hand me such a fortune? Something was terribly wrong.
Before I could speak, I hurried off, clutching my child and catching a taxi back to my mother’s house.
The afternoon call
The following afternoon, as I rocked my baby to sleep, the phone rang. A rough, unfamiliar man’s voice said:
– “Are you Mrs. Shanta Devi’s daughter-in-law? Know this: your in-laws are caught in a grave matter. If you are wise, don’t return now.”
I froze, my pulse racing.
The truth revealed
That night, I phoned my husband. After a long silence, he sighed:
– “I didn’t want you to know… but I can’t hide it anymore. That money was meant for my mother to send you and the baby away. Because…”
His voice cracked:
– “…Father borrowed heavily from village loan sharks for land investment. The project collapsed. When repayment came, they threatened disgrace, even kidnapping. Mother feared most for her grandson, so she told you to leave immediately.”
I was stunned. Behind her penny-pinching, my mother-in-law had been desperately shielding the family from ruin.
Storm in the village
Rumors spread quickly:
– “Sharma’s family owes more than Rs 2 crore!”
– “The lenders will seize their home, who knows what’s next.”
The next day, thugs swarmed the courtyard, hurling stones and abuses. My mother-in-law dropped to her knees, begging, while my father-in-law nearly lost his senses.
My husband rushed from Mumbai, but the savings he brought were insufficient.
The hidden note
That night, I recalled my mother-in-law’s strange expression as she gave me the money. I searched the envelope and, besides the cash, found a trembling line scribbled on paper:
“Bahu, if misfortune befalls us, protect the grandson. The Lal Kitab lies in a wooden chest buried behind the village temple. Only it can rescue this family…”
I shivered. So there was another secret.
The breaking point
Next morning, when villagers gathered as the loan sharks terrorized us, I chose to present the Lal Kitab before the Panchayat and the crowd.
As the goons threatened to torch the house, I stepped outside, baby in arms, holding the book aloft:
– “This is our ancestral land—the soil of worship. No one may seize it! If you dare, face the Panchayat!”
Silence fell. The moneylenders’ faces tightened, for if they desecrated sacred ground, the entire village would rise against them.
My mother-in-law sobbed. My father-in-law collapsed, whispering:
“Daughter-in-law, without you, this family would have lost everything…”
An unfinished chapter
But I knew the storm wasn’t over. The debt still hung heavy. Was the temple land truly a salvation, or would it open another dark chapter?
Cradling my child, I vowed: “In this battle, I will never again remain a silent daughter-in-law.”
