The Son

Her son had Anencephaly.
It is a disease which made his head huge and disfigured and made his eyeballs bulge out of his skull. It kind of looked like the way it did in cartoons. But instead of springs, his eyes had bloody, gross projections.

But she did not know what it was called. All she knew was that her son was cursed. She had married the man she loved, without her parents' consent.  When she was rushing out of her house holding his hand, they'd shouted out saying she'll never be happy. And they were right.

Her husband was a great man. He knew she blamed him for their son's condition. He did too.  He never spoke a word when she screamed her head off blaming him for all her miseries. He loved her and their son more than anything else in this world. Every penny he earned as a construction worker was for them, every drop of sweat that dripped from him was for their happiness. But he knew that wasn't enough. He'd never make them happy. And he had accepted the fact. He had accepted his life.

Today was her son's first birthday.  She used to work as a maid for a rich family before he was born. That was where she learnt this foreign tradition. She'd been dreaming to do the same with her own child ever since. She spared no cost, knowing her son wouldn't be having many birthdays. She'd bought a cake from an air-conditioned shop and invited everyone she knew. Even her mother showed up and constantly kept reminding her who was to blame for the hell she called life. She also cooked beef which pretty much showed how posh the party was. 

She had money. More than most of her relatives and neighbors. She had earned it all by begging. It wasn't hard. All she just had to do was to sit with her son beside Baytul Muqarram mosque with an empty bowl in front of her. Keeping the bowl empty was important. She emptied it every 15 minutes because that's how fast it filled up. Every day she went home with at least ten times the money of any other contemporary beggar.

Her son earned people's pity pretty well. But most experienced beggars do too. The difference was, he scared people too. Even if it was for a split second, people wondered what would've happened if it had been them or their children. And, so, they were all generous to her.

Her son died two months and fifteen days before his second birthday. There wasn't much lamenting as she knew it would happen. They buried him under a tree behind their house in their village. After the burial, she saw her husband standing beside the grave, silently crying.

He was a good man. And she was going to give him the love he deserved. She went and leaned against him beside their son's grave. She remembered how all day she thought of how her son was going to be when she was pregnant. She never wanted much. Not once, she thought it'd be nice if he grew up and became a doctor or an engineer. She just wanted someone who'd look after them when they were old. A day-laborer is broke the moment he stops working. She had seen her husband's colleagues, over 70, still working because they'd starve to death if they didn't.

She stood up straight and looked around. A small piece of land, a tin-shed house and a pond filled with fingerlings. All achieved in the last one year. They never needed to go back to that rotten city.

She smiled.

Her son had done more for her than she had hoped for.