Wednesday, 2 December 2015

In the flow of fate.

She, Mariam, was encircled with her father, his three wives and some of their children. They sat and bore their eyes on her face while she looked upon the flowering apple tree behind her father's back, out of the window. She somehow sensed the inevitable but unpleasant was about to embark on her yet she sat with silence and patience. When one of the ladies spoke of her getting handed over to a really old man for marriage, her stomach twisted. She was just fifteen year old girl. Fifteen! And here the family, practically could be called hers but she was forbidden to do so, kept assuring her of a new golden life with that old shoemaker man. Mariam's only rescue was her father sitting across her. When she looked at him, he looked away and when she demanded him to consider such crazy idea, he admonished her and resigned to her fate. This, by all means, meant she would get married to that old man and be sent some six hundred and fifty kilometers away from where she currently sat on a big dark brown dining table with the family of her father's but not hers.

Above is paraphrased from the book I am currently reading. The way Mariam's emotions have been sewn together is very fascinating. I could feel her feelings, the twist in her stomach and those brooding healthy red apples laden on the tree. When the author mentioned apples, I involuntarily looked over to the crystal vase placed on my dining table filled with some apples and oranges. When Mariam felt the discomfort on listening to the marriage proposal, I realized how easy it is for me or anyone else to simultaneously eat a cheese sandwich and few twigs of masala twist dipped into tea which was carefully prepared with freshly ground cloves, cardamom and black pepper while somewhere in a virtual world a girl was being thrown to hell by marrying a man triple of her current age. Only the big dark brown table and the reader can be the unwanted witnesses of such morbid conversation.

A story cannot be called just a story when a reader could see its pieces happening right in front of the eyes. I can feel Mariam sitting next to me and blazing Jalil with her fire caught eyes for not speaking on her defense. I am yet to read onward but till then, Mariam is seated on the chair and praying for him to speak on her behalf, as her father.



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