The Solitary Girl – 3

One day when I was returning home from school along with a friend, I came across an event which brought about a sea change in me. I saw a ten-, twelve-year-old lad, sitting and sobbing, while tears were rolling down his cheeks. Just like a summer torrential rain. There was such a pang and sigh in his voice that would rend one’s heart. I moved towards him, my friend called me from behind: “Leave him Parvin! What do you have to do with him?”

But I couldn't leave that lad alone. I couldn't observe the warm tears that rolled down and dropped his cold cheeks and just pass by indifferently. On his side, I saw the pieces of a broken water pot and the water splashed on the ground just near the broken pieces of the water pot. I immediately realized everything. I bent, saying: “Dear boy, a worthless water pot is nothing! Why are you weeping? Are you afraid that your father may quarrel you?” I immediately became remorseful of my remarks, for the boy’s trousers had some patches on the knee, his hands were tainted, callous and coarse and he was wearing a worn-out shirt. Everything became clear to me. He had every right to sob and shed tears just like a spring rain. He removed his tears with the torn sleeves of his shirt while saying with a chocked voice: “I don’t have a father. I wish I had one and would quarrel me. The water pot belongs to my master. What should I say, when he asks: what happened to the water pot? He will definitely beat me to death!”

I felt broken. I bent more and started weeping with the poor kid. He was sobbing and I was weeping slowly and by heart. My friend pulled me by shoulder saying: “Get up and let’s go. It doesn't look good. Are you mad? What are you doing?”

And I had really gone mad. For a moment I considered the kid my own brother and myself an orphan girl. I wept. What else could I do except weeping? If the lad was the only orphan boy of the city and the water pot the only water pot breaking and pouring its water in the city, I could help, but the city was full of broken water pots and tears of kids just like him.

That night I was obsessed with the agony and suffering waving in the innocent, tearful eyes of the lad. I couldn't even for a moment clear my mind of his thin face. I thought and thought until an inner feeling separated me from my bed. I expelled sleep from my eyes and spoke from my heart in the form of a poem. The tears of the lad were rolling down my cheeks and heart along with my poem and the night had put its sad weight on my shoulders.

A lad broke a water pot and wept

I don’t dare going home I am here kept

What should I do if boss dwelt

Water pot is his I had it only for rent

If he asks for indemnity I’ll be in debt

Shame isn't lighter than death

He’ll censure me for pot I bet

I will have nothing to say albeit

Many things I’ve seen but never desired

My heart is a heart not stone petrified

Kids have time to weep and cry

Alas! My time to even weep is dry