Just breathe

Rukhsanah

After my iddat (mourning days) were over, I  got remarried. How else would a divorced mother and her four daughters survive in the community?

My husband was worse to my children than Cinderella's stepmother and stepsisters combined. He had two faces: a good one for the rest of the world and nefarious at home.

Not being a biological father to my children he was reluctant to give them a roof. But who am I kidding? Even their biological father had rejected them.

After a lot of pleading, he agreed to keep my children, but only on one condition: I had to pay for their stay. Quarter of the payment was made by what my son, Bilal earned; however, for the rest of it, I had to earn.

"My wife can't be caught begging. What will the world say?" he ranted when I told him I could beg on the streets to earn a little money. "I am a reputable man. Your begging would dishonor me. I allowed your son on the condition that he won't be a part of my family."

With me and Bilal as breadwinners of the family, my husband stayed back at home with my daughters, who were required to ensure to take care of the house and ensure his needs were fulfilled. But the payment was just an excuse.

When we were gone, he would rape, my eldest daughter, Bushra, who was just 14. However, it wasn't hidden for long. Soon the world would get to know about my unmarried daughter. My husband would get out of all this mess. It would be my baby who'd have to face the world. No matter how unfair it looked, it was always the woman who was at wrong. As a mother of 3 more daughters, I couldn't just watch this happen. I had to do something about it.

****

I had seen this in many dramas: they'd put poison in a drink to kill the unborn baby. My hands trembled as I poured the poison in the water.

Nothing would happen to my Bushra, I told myself as I walked to her room with the poisoned water.

"This water doesn't taste good, Ammi jan," she told me after taking one sip.

"It is because it has medicine in it," I lied. "Now quickly drink it so you can get better."

"Don't leave me alone with uncle, Ammi jan, even after I am better," she pleaded.

"I won't," I promised.

I then left her there in the locker room. Secretly watching her through the window, till the poison slowly did its job.

"Ammi Jan," she cried in pain.

Hang in there for a bit longer my dear. I promise everything will be fine.

I left her there, whimpering in pain, hoping not to rush this. Little did I know I was too late.

Next morning, I had to rush her to the hospital, but it was no use now. I had murdered my  child with my own hands.

What a terrible woman am I? I couldn't give my ex-husband a healthy son. I couldn't make my children's father stay with them. I couldn't protect my children from the evils of this world. And I murdered my own child. I failed as a mother and as a wife. Then why? Why am I still alive?

I look at the knife in my hands, tears running down my cheeks.

"I am sorry, Bushra," I whisper.