The room was empty, with a yellowish glow. Angry wind, broke opened the windows. The curtain flew, along with the wind. The papers, which were on the table, flew around the room. Door knock turned, a woman entered the room and rushed to close the windows. Then, she picked up all the papers, lying on the floor. It was her husband’s business documents. She sat on the chair, and re-arranged the document papers. One paper was missing. She searched, every where and found it lying under the cot. She fell on the floor and saw a brown cover. She pulled out the brown cover, along with the paper. She placed the documents, arranged properly on the table. And took the brown cover and walked towards her bed. She sat and tore the brown cover. There, was a dairy and a letter. She opened the diary.
3rd March, 1943 was the happiest day of my life. I held my son in my hands. He looked very beautiful, with closed tiny eyes. When, I lied him on my lap, he made some sweet movements and sounds. He held my finger tightly in his hand. I flew in happiness. He is my world. He filled my life with happiness. I named him ‘Ahmed’. Ahmed is my father’s name. I love my father a lot. In his memory, I named my son Ahmed and I want him to grow, gathering my father’s characters. After five years, my brother-in-law sent a letter. I opened the letter eagerly. It was not letter, it was Supreme Court Order. The order said that, I have to handover, my husband’s property to him. I, no more, have rights over them, because, years before, my husband had lent some amount from his brother. Now, his brother approached the court, asking to pay back the money with the interest. Which amounts, to 500 crores i.e., the exact rate of my husband’s property. In one day, I and my 5yr old came to street. I didn’t have power to fight back. I accepted everything, because I have my son. He would, take care of me.
I went on streets to get a job. I started my job as a dishwasher, in a shop. There, the owner allotted us a room to stay. I got admission for my son, in a local school. The food, they provided was not enough for my son. So, I would feed him, my rice as well. Everyday, I would sleep with empty stomach. All other women, would shout at me, for loving my son, this much. My only answer for them all, would be, “my son will take care of his mother, when he grows up”. Everyone would laugh at me and my foolish words. They all would say,”Are you gone crazy, mad woman, the world has changed. Once your son grows up, you would be left in streets or in old-age home. So start saving now.” But, I know my son would never let my hands off. I grew him up, with lots of love and care. He got graduated and was looking for a job. I prayed with tears to GOD, to grand my prayer. GOD, answered my prayer, Ahmed got a job.He got his first salary, he called me with a happy face and gave the salary on my hands. This brought tears, Ahmed wiped off my tears and said “Mama, don’t cry, this should be your last tears.” His words brought smile in my face. He held my hands, I know he would never let it go. Years passed, my son was 28. Now, we have a beautiful house, 5 cars and 4 companies. I decided, to get my son married. I searched for many brides. But none satisfied my desire. At last, I decided to get my son married to, my servant’s daughter, “Fathima”. I know Fathima, from her childhood. She was such a sweet girl with best characters. My son accepted my request and they both got married.
Fathima, took great care of me. She looked after me, like my own daughter. After, some months I suffered from severe stomach ache. I approached the doctor, he informed that I have Abdominal Cancer. This shook my heart. But, I’m not scared to die. Because, my daughter-in-law would take care of my son, after my last breath. I didn’t say this to my son or my daughter-in-law. I got cancer, because of pre-longed ulcer, which grew because of starvation, After a year, my granddaughter was born. I decided to name her “Sumaiya”. But my daughter-in-law ignored it and named her “Shaima”. After, that my son as well as my daughter-in-law, both began to ignore me. I felt sad, their negligence, brought tears. The one who brought happiness, took back it. As years rolled, their hatred increased more and more. One day, my son said me “Mama, it’s difficult to take care of you. Fathima, is also tired. She can no more, wash your clothes and feed. So Mama, please, stay in the old-age home. They shall, take good care of you.” As he completed, tears approached. I begged him, not to leave me. In sympathy, he left the idea. One day, my son said everyone to pack the clothes, as he’s taking us all to a tour. I felt happy and packed my clothes. When I got into the car, Fathima stared at me, I ignored it. Near, a building, the car stopped. My son asked me to get out of the car. I got out, he took my bag and walked in holding my hands. He left me in a room, and said me to stay there, for four days. I begged him, to not leave me. I kept holding his hands. But, he left my hands and walked off. I spent four days, in old-age home. Everyday, I wait near the entrance, for my son’s arrival, but he never came. I weep everyday, thinking about the women who laughed at me. I never thought, my son would change. I bore him for 10months in my womb, risking my life. I sacrificed, my food. I hided my disease, because, I can’t see my son worrying about me. But, the son who held my hands with closed eyes, now left my hands with opened eyes. “
She turned the last page of the diary, which said, “ 9th September, 2012. Son, I’m in my deathbed. I don’t know when, will be my last breath. Before, I close my eyes, I want too see your face, only for the last time. My breath is waiting for you. Please, don’t make it too long. I have attached, my will along with this diary. It’s all for you, at least to thank for that will, please come to me. I lastly pray that my son and my daughter-in-law, must never experience or reach my state at their old-age. I wish, your eyes must never get wet, by your children ….”
She closed the diary and look at the calender, displaying “20th September, 2013”. She wept, closing the diary. There was a letter, she opened it, it was the court order, mentioning that the 500 crore property is returned back to Ayesha. The property stated, now it’s owner is Mr.Ahmed the S/o Mrs. Ayesha. She took the diary and gave it her husband Ahmed. He cried out, “ Mama, forgive me ……. “