It was a lazy Sunday afternoon in the Khan Haveli, the sun casting a golden hue across the vast fields as the gentle breeze slipped through the grand arched windows. Murtasim sat on the sofa, lounging in his casual attire, reading the newspaper while Meerab reclined on the other side of the room, sipping her tea. The air was peaceful, almost too peaceful, but neither of them was ready for what was about to unfold.
Meesam, their little whirlwind of energy and curiosity, had been playing quietly with her toys on the carpet. But, as with most children, quiet meant she was brewing a question that would change the mood in the room.
“Abbu?” her sweet, innocent voice broke through the calm, startling Murtasim out of his thoughts. He lowered the newspaper and peered over the top, his deep brown eyes softening as they landed on his daughter.
“Yes, beta?” he replied, folding the newspaper and setting it aside. He smiled warmly, but the sight of Meesam's serious expression made him slightly nervous. That look always meant one thing: trouble.
Meesam, with her round eyes sparkling with curiosity, tilted her head and asked the question that would haunt Murtasim for the rest of the day. “Where do babies come from?”
Murtasim blinked. Once. Twice. The question hung in the air, causing the ticking of the clock on the wall to grow louder, or maybe it was just his racing heartbeat. His mind went blank. Meerab, who had been quietly observing from across the room, almost choked on her tea, her eyes widening with both amusement and horror.
Murtasim’s hands twitched as he shifted awkwardly on the sofa. “Uh... um... babies, you say?” His voice cracked slightly as he stammered, glancing at Meerab for some much-needed backup. But Meerab, with a glint of mischief in her eyes, sipped her tea and leaned back comfortably, clearly enjoying the show. She wasn't going to help him out of this one.
“Yes, babies,” Meesam repeated patiently, her small hand still clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit. “Like... how did I come here? You and Ammi must know.”
Murtasim could feel a bead of sweat forming at his temple. His mind raced, searching for a simple, innocent explanation. How was he supposed to answer this? He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. “Well, beta... uh, you see… babies... they… uh… come from… you know…” He scratched the back of his neck, wishing the floor would swallow him whole.
Meesam frowned, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “But where do they come from?”
Meerab bit her lip, trying to contain her laughter. She had never seen Murtasim look so out of his depth, so utterly helpless. This was the same man who commanded respect and fear with a single look, who could take down any adversary with ease—but here he was, floundering in front of a five-year-old.
Murtasim’s panic began to show in his voice. “Uh... well, babies come from… you know, when two people love each other very much... and, uh, they pray... and... and then... Allah sends a baby. Yes! That’s right. Allah sends babies.”
Meerab raised an eyebrow. Nice save, she thought sarcastically, crossing her arms as she watched him squirm.
“But how does Allah send them?” Meesam was not satisfied. She was too smart for her own good.
Murtasim’s face flushed. “Well… uh... He... um... He has His ways, beta. Special ways. You wouldn’t understand right now, but... uh, when you’re older, you’ll know. Yes, you’ll know everything when you’re older.” He tried to smile, but it came out as a nervous grimace.
Meesam wasn’t convinced. She stared at her father, unblinking. “But how did I get here, Abbu? Did Allah send me in a basket or something? Like in the cartoons?”
