|Photo by: Calmtwood/Flickr|
My very dear little one,
Unfortunately, I will not be celebrating your birth since I have already attended your funeral.
I would never know how much pain you felt when bricks and stones, thrown by your grandfather and uncles hit your mother and killed you along with her. I am so sorry that your father did not try to come to your rescue and neither did all those who watched you die unseen, unheard.
Even though I was not present at the scene, I too, am guilty of this murder as I have been a silent observer for years on end, while many others like you and your mother were slaughtered like animals at the altar of so called honour.
I am sorry that I let you die before you were born.
Life, cruel as it is, can have many joyous moments. You would not know the warmth of a hug or the thrill of your parents kiss. You would never open your eyes to the wonders of this world; the blue sky, the birds, the flowers, the rivers and the rain. You would not experience the magic of a good story or the thrill of writing one yourself. You could have discovered the cure for an incurable disease or painted the most beautiful picture in the world.
Alas, it was not to be, and instead you are lying unborn in your mother’s womb, in a cold airless grave.
But maybe it is better this way. Maybe, you are in a happier place than where you would have been if you were born.
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Worry not, there are many babies like you, born and unborn, that are joining you daily. By the time I finish writing to you a few others would have joined you in your fun and games. It would be a rather unbalanced playgroup though; as there would be many more girls than boys!
You see my child; you belong to the species called humans. These humans claim to be the highest form of all of God’s creations.
To me, they are on the lowest rung of the evolutionary ladder. A cat or a dog would have nurtured and cared for you, protected you with a fierceness that would make even much stronger animals think twice before hurting you, and finally, when you were strong enough, let you go and explore the world on your own.
Look, now don’t cry, tears belong to the world, not in heaven. Be thankful for what happened. See, if you were actually born you had a 10 per cent chance that you would have contracted some disease, suffered, and died before you had reached five years of age.
If you had survived, you had a 30 per cent chance of going to school. By the age of 16 or even earlier, you would been married off to some stranger. If you had refused such a marriage you could well haven been killed. If you ran away from home to stall the forced union, you would have ended up in a brothel or on a street begging for food. If you had found a man you loved and gotten married to him, your father or your brothers would have killed you.
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You would have enjoyed three to four years of your life in return for a lifetime of suffering. Now surely, that is not such a good deal. One brick hitting and killing you is better than a thousand slaps, kicks, bricks and bottles of acid scarring your body and soul for all of your living days.
I do not know where to post this letter since I do not have your address. This too is better as I do not want your happiness to be tainted by the sorrows of the few you have left behind that mourn for you and your mother.
With all my love.