Seeing the balcony flooded with rainwater, I got up from my bed. I placed my teacup on the table and started walking toward the balcony when my eyes got stuck on the north window. A fierce storm and rain were raging outside, with lightning flashing across the sky. Right in front of my eyes, a shadowy figure swiftly moved past Rupa Pagli’s hut. There was no electricity, and darkness engulfed everything. Only the occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the surroundings. Still, I grabbed a torchlight and searched here and there to understand what I had just seen. But I found nothing.
Rupa Pagli is a girl from our village. She has no parents, no siblings—no one in this world. She grew up wandering the streets since childhood. If someone gave her food, she ate; if not, she remained hungry. If someone gave her old clothes, she would immediately put them on! Even in the scorching summer, she always wore five to seven layers of clothing. She would sweat profusely but seemed completely unbothered by it.
My husband is the local Union Parishad member. Out of sympathy, he built a small shelter for Rupa using eight tin sheets in a corner of our house. She sleeps there at night and roams the streets during the day. Sometimes, I call her over and give her food. But lately, she seems to have lost interest in eating rice. Whenever she sees it, she covers her mouth with her clothes and gags. I asked her a few times, “Does rice make you nauseous?” But Rupa never answered. She just stared at me with a blank expression. Instead, she would pick up fallen unwashed mangoes from the ground and munch on them hungrily.
Lately, I have noticed significant changes in Rupa’s body. She looks heavier than before. This worried me, so without telling anyone, I took her to a gynecologist one day. After conducting some tests, the doctor confirmed that Rupa was four months pregnant.
I was utterly shocked. What should I do now? Rupa is a mentally unstable girl who cannot comprehend right from wrong. Even if we restrict her movements, she disappears whenever she gets the chance. Who could have done this to her? What would happen to her unborn child? My mind was clouded with countless thoughts.
And then, that incident! Did I see it wrong? Was it just my imagination? As I kept thinking, I walked toward Rashed’s room. Rashed is my husband. I had to tell him about this today—maybe he could come up with a solution.
But when I entered Rashed’s room, I was even more shocked. Despite the stormy weather and the late hour—it was nearly eleven o’clock—Rashed was not in his room. At first, I thought he might be in the bathroom, but he wasn’t there either. Rashed is usually buried in paperwork, so I rarely visit his room unless he calls for me. But where could he have gone so late at night? My heart started pounding anxiously.
Just then, Rashed walked into the room, wiping his head with a towel.
“You know, Sayla, the wind blew open Rupa’s door, so I just went to fix it. A woman shouldn’t sleep in an open room all night—it doesn’t look decent. With how dangerous times are, anything could happen.”
I simply muttered, “Hmm,” and left the room. Rashed gulped down a glass of water noisily.
Rashed and I have been married for nearly 28 years. But I have never been able to give him a child. At one point, he spent a lot of money trying to fulfill our dream of parenthood. But doctors clearly stated that, while we could keep spending money for peace of mind, I would never be able to conceive. I had asked Rashed many times to consider marrying again, but he always refused. Instead, he reassured me, “If the problem were mine instead of yours, would you leave me? Just like you can’t live without me, I can’t live without you. Whatever Allah has planned, let it be.”
After that, I never brought up the topic of marriage again. Rashed is now 48, and I am 45. After walking this long journey of life together, I couldn’t accept the idea that Rashed could do such a thing with a mentally unstable girl young enough to be his daughter.
From that day forward, I secretly started keeping an eye on Rashed—not out of suspicion, but out of a sense of responsibility. Rupa is an innocent girl, and whoever the father of her child was, it was my duty to find him and make him take responsibility. Over the next few nights, I saw Rashed coming out of Rupa’s hut several times.
When the protector becomes the predator, I knew I had to act.
I knew Rashed would never confess on his own. So, one night, when he entered Rupa’s hut, I followed him inside. Seeing me, he was utterly shaken. He tried to come up with excuses, but I stopped him. “There is only one way to atone for what you’ve done—you must marry Rupa tonight.”
Rashed refused outright. Finally, I gave him an ultimatum: “If you don’t marry Rupa, I will leave this house right now and never return—not even in death.”
To pacify me, Rashed ultimately agreed to the marriage.
Rupa has now given birth to a beautiful baby boy. He calls me “Ma” (Mother). I named him Rajputra—Prince. Holding him close, I find solace in my once-empty life. His innocent words and sweet calls of “Ma” heal all my wounds.
With proper care and treatment, Rupa has now fully recovered. She is expecting another child soon. Rashed was always content, but now, for the first time, he has found true joy—his happiness is complete.
And as for me, holding Rajputra in my arms, I have finally experienced the fulfillment of motherhood.
