It was a late evening of winters in Kashmir. The idea of having a hot cup of kahva with the local bakery Kulcha, was the only single focus of the lady. She was blessed with pregnancy; her mother was trying everything to keep her warm and aptly fed.
It wasn’t much of a tradition but the lady chose to stay with her mom. She was running her 7th month. The lady was so happy to be with her mom, she felt special and she thought, she was going to create life out of her flesh and blood.
The connection was too strong, the daughter was born dumb to her mother.
Every morning the mother would visit new temples, only to pray for the little voice she wanted to hear. While others would offer milk and flowers to the deity, she would offer her tears too. She was unwilling to leave the God alone; she wanted an answer.
There were no constraints from the husband’s side either, he was a fine gentleman. He wasn’t in town at this time and he loved her a lot. He never told anyone, nor did he visit temples. He was simply waiting for the precious gift. He was so opposite to his mother-in-law.
Mother and the daughter would communicate through the eyes mostly. The love and the affection and that look, which mother could put on her was difficult to explain. Perhaps she had too many wishes in her mind, to come true.
As a habit, the mother on her return from the temple would apply vermillion on the daughter’s forehead and feed her the Prasad. In gratitude, sometimes drop of tear would run down the cheek of the daughter. The mother would wipe her tear and plant a kiss on her forehead.
Breakfast wasn’t a rich affair in this middle class family. But the warmth and love was filling the empty spaces making up for things which their little money couldn’t buy.
Time passed by. The final month of pregnancy had arrived. The start wasn’t that great for her. Perhaps the news of permanent transfer of her husband to another town made her unhappy. Finding a new job those days wasn’t an easy affair either.
The whole responsibility as it is fell on her mother, but she wasn’t complaining. As the date was nearing, too many thoughts flooded her mind. She didn’t want her new born to be like her daughter. The mother had tied a sacred thread on her arm and assured her in her own way. And God was yet to pass the verdict. The devotee had left no stone unturned to the best of her knowledge and believed that she was asking for basic blessings.
Then one day during the early wee hours of the morning, the daughter felt the terrible sweet pain. Mother rushed her to the hospital. The doctors tried everything to save the child, but the child was still to be born. Mother, with heavy heart, took the dead child in her hands and put itnext to her daughter lying motionless, wide awake. The nurses and doctor helped the daughter to sit upright. She took the dead child in her arms. There was no milk which was going to be fed to her flesh. Tears rolled down her cheeks, there was dead silence in the room. Suddenly a loud shrieking voice tore through the gloom. The daughter squealed in pain and fainted.
The mother was astonished to hear her daughter’s voice. Had the God answered her prayers?