Coming of Age

It began with a dream—

a clear ocean flowing around the edges of my knee.

I stepped beyond the water’s edge

and gathered the translucent rubies from the heart of the water.

*

The water, the fish, and the pebbles settled there,

around my small feet.

The rubies shattered into pieces—like dusk-like dust,

they vanished with the water.

*

“Wake up, your mother needs you,” the voice

like the flow of water echoed in the darkness.

I pulled the pillow above my eyes, as if to sleep forever—

“Your mother needs you,” the voice jolted me awake.

*

I entered the next room, where my mother

lay on the floor with her legs spread—

silent sorrow reflected in her eyes

As she grasped my hands. I couldn’t understand

*

What it was—until my mother’s silence broke with a whisper

“Change my clothes, please,” her face was pale. She had always

been the sole beautiful soul in the house.

“Why should I do that,” my trembling hands questioned.

*

Still lost in the thoughts of a dream

I believed I was still dreaming,

perhaps this time in a deeper sleep.

I removed her dress. Broken rubies, I recalled.

*

There they were—piece by piece, soaked deep in red, spreading

across the floor and the edges of my hands.

New red rubies flowed from within her.

And all I could feel was my mother’s heartbeat around them.

*

Slim thighs. Slim waist. I dressed her without hesitation.

But the red rubies were uncontrollable.

I had to wrap various fabrics around her hips.

“Let’s move me here. Help me move now,” her voice echoed with pain.

*

We couldn’t move her. She didn't want to move.

But she needed to move. “Take care of your siblings.”

I suggested we move her onto a blanket

and then move the blanket. I had turned sixteen that month.

*

Father was impressed. He did as I suggested, but then, deep in his

silent throat, he sat down, holding his head in his hands.

It was two in the morning. No taxi or car could be summoned.

Kabul those days fell silent and curfewed after midnight.

*

I finally began to realise what was happening.

I turned to my silent, paralysed father

sitting in a corner, still holding his head.

“Take my mother to the hospital, she is unwell.”

*

That was the first time I had asked my father to do something.

He looked at me in surprise, listening.

“It’s past two in the morning, who will help us?”

We both felt helpless now, sitting in the corner.

*

We almost forgot about my mother and her pain.

“Then ask my uncle to help us,” I said.

It was a wise decision. My uncle arrived with a car within minutes.

*

They carried her, wrapped in a blanket, to the backseat of the car.

My mother forgot to say anything else.

I remember the moon that night.

It was full. Cold-bright and silently still.

*

The trees were silent, and spring felt colder than winter.

I opened the gate. The car, my mother, and my father disappeared—

into the night. I stood in the centre of the yard, gazing at the moon,

And I remembered God. That’s when I cried,

*

Praying to the boundless sky and the boundless pain.

Only God knows how many tears I wiped away that night

until my other siblings woke, searching for my mother.

They cried too. There was no news of my mother’s condition.

*

The following night, we waited for my mother's return.

She did return, with a yellow glow on her face.

Her eyes were steeped in pain and nostalgia.

With those eyes, she gazed deep into mine.

*

I kept looking at her, wondering why was I a woman.

Why was she a woman? How were we women, like each other?

With unwanted growth. Periods. Pregnancy. Childbirth. Stillbirth.

All I saw in her eyes was fear, and her fear for me, a woman like her.

*

Not knowing that I felt her pain in my dreams, perhaps somehow

my dream cast a spell on her belly, like broken shards of glass.

I only awoke to come to her, to gather the red pieces,

as they each wiped the joy off my mother’s heart, chest, and face.

*

That night, I grew up feeling sensible and strong. Alone. With her,

my hands and my heart, capable of measuring who I was to become,

next to her, erasing each deep pain with a sigh, like a dragon never

losing our inner fire, with echoes in my ears, from one woman to another.

*