Taqdeer

4. Scars

My knee bounces as nerves try to take the best of me. I don't want to panic, not now not here and not for the past. Tia-

I remember how my father talked about my mother. She was his whole world. They had the kind of love people would write about in books. He used to call her his rose, his begum. My mother was beautiful and she was as in love with him as he was with her.

I look back at my wife and I understand. I understand how you can put someone above yourself and keep doing it forever. I sigh before looking back down at my shoes. "Tia my life hasn't always been easy and remembering it brings out parts of me I do not like.

My past has haunted me everyday and it makes me vulnerable. It possesses me like an evil spirit and I cannot get rid of it no matter how hard I try." She presses her back against the headrest, sitting patiently without a word.

"I was what people called a miracle baby. My mother had always wanted children and so my father agreed but they just couldn't get pregnant. Everyone wants their own blood and whatnot so they never went for adoption.

My parents had been married for seventeen years when my mother got pregnant with me. Everyone was over the moon from what I've heard. The new heir for nawabs. That was a big deal. My parents were really happy, my father did everything to keep my mother happy. She was his rose, he would do everything she asked for.

And then I was born, and the clear sunny days this place had seen were covered with black clouds."

Tia pulls her knees up and rests her chin onto it. Her white and grey saree matching the mood of this story.

"There was a huge storm on the day that I was born. Roads were blocked, there was water everywhere, this city was almost flooded. Nothing of that sort had ever happened before and people weren't prepared. Especially my father.

My mother was wailing in pain but he couldn't take her to the hospital because there was no way. She gave birth in this house, with no help or assistance from anyone. All she had was my father." Tia sighs. "He must've been scared."

"He was. Rightfully so. Because he lost the love of his life that day." Tia blinks before the weight of my words settles on her. "He blamed you."

Not a question. It's a statement and it's correct. "My father hated me. I took away his wife. She was his whole life and I snatched her away the second I took my first breath and she took her last.

I was raised by the house help. Because my father never bothered with me. The first person to hold me was the one who raised me. She had worked in our house for ages. She was very old but she was kind to me. She died when I was five, and her death ruined my life.

I had never talked to my father until I was five, because I'd never met him. I had seen him as I'm sure he had seen me, but he never came closer and I was never allowed to go near her. My badi ammi, the one who raised me always made constant efforts to keep me away from him and I later understood why.