The Question

It was winter. A winter that none had seen in the past decade. You could see your own breath and if you stood out in the open, it might have just frozen. And it was in this harsh winter, was a girl born early in the morning. The world had not yet come to life, when this little one breathed its first breath; and ominous it was - the birth. The clouds burst open, and it rained as if with a vengeance. Either it was God crying for having to part with that soul, or may be He was venting His anger for creating this one.

There was no rejoice or happiness; nobody to celebrate the continuity of life - for she was a girl. What was wanted, needed, required, wished for was a son. The brunt for birthing the wrong gender, was borne by none else than the mother. Nobody cared. They had all gone, grieving. She only had a frail blanket to keep her and the unwanted protected, from the harshness of the words and the winter. Howbeit, she couldn’t suppress the joy of creating life, even though it wasn’t a son. She knew not what to do, feel or say. Lying in her bed, she stared at the sky, searching for Him, and for an answer - had she never been born, how would a son today? And if her daughter wasn’t born today, how would a son tomorrow?