The Babul Trees (Draft 2)
Author: Rizwan Ahmed Memon
As I entered the Edhi center, the innocent children came to see me.
I was completely different from them; the only thing that we had in common was that we all were orphans.
“Children, this is your new friend, Kuee,” said the supervisor in charge of the orphanage, introducing me to the children.
“Welcome, Kuee.
The supervisor showed me around the center and told me what to do and what not to do.
I remained very silent for many days in the center.
Children wanted to talk to me, but I worried they would mock me.
However, no one ever tried to mock me.
Everybody seemed to have a sad story in their past.
“All children living here have a story to tell,” said one of the girls.
“Come on, Kuee.
Don’t be hesitant.
We all are your friends,” the supervisor said, encouraging me to tell my story.
I lifted my head up and started to tell them my story: “I was born with a birth defect.
I am almost 30 now, but my height is like that of a 3-year-old child.
I remained at home all my life to avoid being mocked.
I hadn’t had the chance to play with other neighborhood children.
I had too short legs and arms.
I couldn’t walk, but my father and mother loved me.
Kajlo, our dog, was my best friend.
I spent many years with him.
Our house was by the graveyard in Samtiya, and it didn’t have any walls.
The house was full of Babul trees, the thorn trees.
Mother says when they came to this place there were only Babul trees, so they wanted them to be there.
My father, Habib, cut the branches of the Babul trees, the thorn trees, and put the branches around the house.
The branches were full of thorns, so it was not easy to pass through them.
We were happy with our little world.
My father ran a donkey-cart to make both ends meet.
My mother, Basran, sewed quilts and coverlets.
She always helped my father run the house.
I played games with Kajlo.
One of our favorite games was “Thread and Note”.
I would tie a ten-rupee note with a thin white thread and would sit by the door.
Kajlo would take the note and put it in the middle of the road.
As people saw it and tried to grab the note, I would pull the thread back. It was fun.
We loved that game.
Our house didn’t have a real wooden or iron door.
Mother had hung a quilt on the Babul trees on both sides.
My parents were old, and our days were very difficult last year.
Father’s only way to bring home bacon was his donkey and cart, but he had grown too old and weak to operate the donkey cart.
Baba couldn’t control the donkey, so he had an accident last year.
Baba’s cart had fallen into a ditch and both of the wheels were broken.
Our life had been very tough ever since the accident.
My mother had become weak and her eyesight was too damaged to thread a needle to sew the quilts.
We didn’t have food.
Father started to look after the graveyard in order to get some reward from the visitors.
He swept the graves, watered the little Neem trees in the graveyard, and put stones over the graves.
He would go there early in the morning to the graveyard because this was the only time when some people came to visit their deceased ones.
People didn’t give him much.
He barely made fifty rupees, and that was not every day.
Our starvation forced my mother to beg.
She started to go door to door in the nearby village, Akil.
I will tell you the experience of one of our one days.
It was December 31, 2017.
The last day of the year.
We had nothing to eat the previous night.
Mother was pretending that she was sleeping on her cot, covering her entire body.
Father, Kajlo, and I were sitting in front of the fire under the Babul tree.
It was our kitchen.
It didn’t have gas, Chinese pots, or an oven.
We did not have any appliances.
We ate meals on the Bindis made out of date palm tree leaves, and we had bowls of plastic.
Our fire was natural too; we burned the Babul tree dried branches.
These thorn trees have always been useful for us.
As the Fajir Azan voice could be heard, Mother removed her razai, the old cotton made quilt.
She couldn’t bear to see us so hungry anymore.
She was thinking about going to Akil early this day.
“Dhia, Kuee,” she called me.
Our relatives called me Kuee, which means a small female mouse.
“Ji, Aman,” I replied.
“I cannot see my slippers.
Kajlo must have taken it.” Father heard it.
He had the slippers on his feet.
Kajlo had brought them to him to wear since his own shoes had become too worn and one of the shoe’s sole had come off.
Father removed the slippers and gave them to Kajlo.
“Woof, Woof,” said Kajlo.
He went to Mother and put the slippers before her feet.
I saw Mother had worn two Kam
January 2018
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