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Women's Day Short Story (I am a Woman, Mother of the Land)

I am a law student, but creative writing is my passion. I am an inquisitive person, I love Art and working on myself to accomplish more,

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“Every society has portrayed a woman as a panorama that attracts man from far distance but interest to discover her gradually diminishes when a man reaches that attractive point. Whether that is God or the human beings who have set such two different worlds with different ranks for man and woman when both of them are the residents of….

Her pen stopped drawing her thoughts in words when a knock on the door diverted her attention. She changed her posture to see the person standing outside her office door and waiting for her permission to enter. A grin passed over her face when she found her publishing agent staring at her at the door.

“Good to see your face, Mr. Joe. I was working on my autobiography. Your arrival has brought the spirit of feminism with you. Thanks to you I got some powerful words for my feministic ideas.” A smile glittered on her face as a symbol to appreciate his presence.

“I am happy to see you working again on this book but make sure, Syma.”He sat on the chair, in front of her and continued “don’t dare to write something blasphemous. Already your previous novel has boiled the blood of religious bodies and I am worried that you will be in trouble if this time you do not handle the words wisely.”

“Ah, Joe I don’t want to call myself a writer if I select words to show myself a wise lady. I am on the quest to find those words that would erase the surety from so-called WISE human beliefs. The absurd beliefs that have set standards for everything and have made boundaries between rich and poor, wise and dumb, beauty and ugly and more importantly beliefs which have given dominance to the man and inferiority to the woman.” He frowned as she finished.

Nevertheless, Syma continued her explanation looking deeply into his grayish eyes. “Joe now you are reacting like a typical conservative, anti-feminist man. I know, I know the man factor in you is bothering you after hearing these words but sweetheart doesn’t ask me to hide the reality behind ‘wise’ words. I will write whatever I have experienced from the forty years of my life.”

“I am telling you this not as an agent but as a friend. Don’t ignore the intense hateful behavior the society has towards your thoughts, Syma. Now even your ex-husband has started spreading rumors against you after your newspaper article on the Asia Bibi blasphemy case and rape cases. I am afraid that they will do something to harm you. I am worried for you because you know they have the political power and you are well aware of the dangerous strategies your ex can apply to destroy you when this book will be published.”

“I don’t care what he might do. You know what Joe, I took this pen in my hand not to build gardens on graves but to fight with the sparkling shades that are hiding the realities. If to do so I have to dig the graveyard. I will never take my steps back. After conflicting with myself for thirty years I dare to speak for the truth. I will never let the stains of falsities or lies even touch my pen. Joe, I wish you feel the sensation of my burning heart when these jerks Politian’s talk about providing safety and security to women when they are involved in supplying young girls to the brothers. For such illegal activities, my ex-husband is at the top of the list. He knows that this book will reveal a lot of mysteries thereby he wants to sketch me as an evil lady in the eyes of society but I will never stop playing my role.”

“I am always behind you to back you up, dear, but….” She cut him off midsentence and with her kittenish attitude chilled the hot atmosphere of the room that had prevailed due to their discussion.

“I don’t like to hear BUT from you. The first sentence of your statements always fills me with happiness. After you add the word BUT the former sentence gets injected with some sort of gloominess. This BUT always heats the conversation. So this BUT…..”

“Alright, alright stop repeating this word otherwise I will become allergic to it. I take back “BUT” from my sentence, happy now?” Joyously, she nodded and the two giggled looking at each other.

Soon after Joe left the office, Syma took her diary and sat at the table near the window. Besides a calendar, nothing else was there on her table. She highlighted dates with different colors. Only the date 31 October was eccentrically marked. All the thirty different colors were artistically used to draw a single circle around the numeric 31. So, the date 31 October was like a mirror surrounded by a ring consisting of thirty colors and each color was playing a memory on the mirror, in the center. She was gazing at the colors on the calendar when she got an SMS from a magazine that reminded her that tomorrow at twelve the magazine reporter will collect her to take her interview. After reading the text she put aside her mobile phone and took a deep sigh. Her almond-shaped eyes half-closed when she tried to make direct eye contact with the dawning sun. The mixture of yellow, orange, and red colors in the sky gave such a reflection that the place outside the window felt like a painting. When the sun completely disappeared from the sky she took out a red pen and put a crossing mark on the present date, 28th October.

The next day, the reporter and Ms. Syma sat facing each other. The reporter holding a page where a bundle of questions was written, was ready to put forward the question marks one after another and Ms. Syma was prepared with her statements: swords to cut down the question marks and to dig out the hidden full stops that exist beneath the question marks.

“Ms. Syma if I ask you to define yourself in three to four sentences how would you define?”

“I was a wife and a mother. I am a woman. I want to be a philanthropist and want to work as an active citizen of this world.”

“Some of your recent articles on blasphemy and other sensitive topics such as human trafficking, child abuse, rape, and your novel based on the theme freedom for women have created controversial debates. Don’t you think that open discussions on such topics can make the situation more complex?”

“According to my opinion, these issues have now become sensitive and quite difficult to get in control because we didn’t speak at the time when they were initiated. Silence becomes a language of love between an individual and his God but it becomes the root of the major issues when human beings stopped discussing their minor problems with each other. Stop putting a finger to lips when rueful souls are desperate to tell the world: how they were brought to the brothers? How much pain did they get when their beauty was destroyed by acid attacks? Who sexually abused them? And why they became victims of honor killing?”

“In your novel, you have written that “every religion promotes peace and love. A woman is considered to be the symbol of affection and love so before God woman is more valued than any other creature.” Do you agree that through this statement the readers can decipher that you hate the men in power because of your feminist thoughts?”

“I don’t agree that I hate the men in power. The only thing is that I don’t support men, or even women, who misuse their powers. Lust for power has divided human beings. I don’t like when in human society there exists the relationship of superfluity and inferiority. Right now I am supporting women therefore I call myself feminist because this was the title given to those women who stood against suppression. If the situation is the other way around in the future I will support man and I will call myself a supporter of masculinism. The thing is, I don’t want anyone to get suppressed under the misuse of power. We are the creatures of God. When the sun shores its rays equally on everyone then why we have adopted this discriminating behavior for the human beings because of their gender, status, and class?”

“Traditionally woman has been given some specific duties and religion also supports it. Plus in our culture for the survival of some cultural customs woman is needed to practices them. Why don’t you support these customs and duties?”

“I don’t know why men try to find religion in women’s actions. In Islam, the conservative Muslims think that when a woman is in veil religion is followed, and in Hinduism when a woman keeps fasting for her man they think their religion is followed. Such examples are found in other religions as well. Why we don’t talk about man’s duty? The duty assigned by Islam not to look at a woman with bad intentions, the duty Hinduism has imposed on man to put effort into the maintenance of the wife. No one talks about them therefore I say the man is dominating the woman in almost every society. Secondly, our customs teach a woman to bow in front of a man but why don’t they teach a man to respect the woman. Instead of warning girls to secure themselves from boys I wish we would have taught our boys to respect girls. The rate of rape cases wouldn’t have got this much extension.”

“My last question ma’am your ex-husband has made some infamous confessions about your personal life. What you want to say about this?”

“He is like a fish in the water. Power is water for him. He must have smelled a rat that in my autobiography I have revealed some mysterious facts! He is suffering in fear like a fish about to lose his water.”

Syma’s statements became top headlines for the news channels for the next two days. Now everyone was waiting for her book to be published. They would make more comments on it, but she was relaxed as if nothing had happened, or she was already aware of this reaction. It was around four pm when holding the magazine in her hand she was examining the punctuation marks and was trying to find out how they changed the meaning of her statements. She was continuously smiling at how spicy the interview was made through the punctuation marks. After spending half an hour reading the interview she decided to get back to work. Instead of typing her life events and adding more pages to her autobiography she took out a colorful page and let her pen draw her feelings in the form of a poem.

He seeks beauty in long hair, slim figure, and almond eyes

I showed him the brunt face of my soul that howls and cries

Is beauty a set of set standard features? I pondered, then asked with a gaze

When found the question mark, my rebellious attitude he felt he has traced

He then made a new painting of mine, using the colors of impurity and deceit

What mistake did I make? I ran on a voyage to find the answer in the dark streets

A century passed, and then I found a mirror, saw my image pleading in it

Zipped lips, tight handcuff, blood-sucking mosquitoes, these all made me rigid

I started narrating my story loudly; it echoed and reflected me

Who are you??? I heard someone asking me this when I fell on my knee

Don’t you know me! I am a mother, a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a human

Oh! Why are you making it complex? Why don’t you simply say you are a Woman!

Before she would write the whole spelling of WOMAN in the last line of her poem she felt someone’s presence behind her. When she turned around, in a blink of an eye a person wearing a black mask cut off her head with the sharp knife in his hand. She fell from her chair to the floor. For thirty seconds she laid on the floor with her soul, rubbing her feet in pain. The last thirty seconds of her life reminded her of the thirty colors, the thirty memories that were the turning points in the journey of her life; each led her to a new phase. The ring of the thirty colors was now rotating and each color played the memory absorbed in it on the mirror. She was observing each memory. Some decorated smiles on her face and some created a wave of sadness in her. It was the memory of the death of her child in her womb when her husband kicked her belly that separated a soreness that was greater than the pain she felt when the knife cut deep in her throat. The calendar fell from the table when she hit the table in pain. The date she was murdered also got marked, not with red ink, but with blood. The date of 31 October got a stain on her blood and the day ended with her.

Yet, the sun will rise again,

Rays with a new face

But the purpose will be the same

That is to give life to the land.

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