The Beggar- A Short Story

Posted: July 15, 2015 in Blog Posts

I stare at his face while I clean his vomit and try not cry. Today is the first day he hasn’t hit me since we have married. Our marriage is vague to me as I was only fourteen when I was married to this tyrant beast. My parents traded me, their only daughter to him so they could have more land and money to their name. I would never call it a marriage rather a business. But I do remember crying, for days. It was horrible. I was nothing but a slave to him. A mere toy for entertainment. I was hardly sixteen when I gave him his first son. I always hated the man. He slept all day and in the evenings he would go out with his friends, only to return past midnight, all drunk and covered  with another woman’s scent lingering all over his wretched body. And every day I clean him up as he threw up, till this unlucky day. I stare him, I stare him good. There is no one reason in the world to argue with me about why I shouldn’t just kill this man in his sleep but the fear of judgment day. So I back off a bit because he has stopped vomiting, for now, and curse my life.

I remember how beautiful I was. Clean, pure, fair with ocean blue eyes. Slim body, normal height and a perfect girl. But now as I see myself, under the moonlit night in a bowl of water, I see a woman bruised and abused over the course of five years. Wrinkled is my face, like an aged woman of the city. My skin is rougher than sand and my hands always trembling like earthquakes. I cry but in silence because I don’t want to wake him up, for he will have to have some fun if he wakes up by beating me. I lie down on my bed under the roofless home, under the mighty sky and pray, for peace and for strength.

I am a beggar. I am a beggar who roams your streets, under the scorching sun. I am a beggar, who all her day begs for money because her husband is too noble not to work, whose husband doesn’t feel like doing any job and sends her nineteen year old wife, mother of four to get him money. Money, that will be spent on bets, wine and meaningless sex. I am a beggar who you ignore. Who you ignore because you think I am a fraud, an illusion but I am not. I am a desperate mother, trying to beg for mine and my children’s life. I am desperate.

As I cry, partially because I hate my life and because I am starving, my three year old daughter drags herself beside me and hugs me. I hug her back and continue crying silently into the dark. After a little while she lets go and from underneath her shirt pulls out a piece of bread, hands it to me and says in her sweet little innocent voice
“Maa! It’s for you! Happy birthday”

Sohaib Arshid For Beyond Sanity Publishing

  1. Afmai says:

    Its heart touching,i feel ashamed.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s