The Garden of Red Whispers
A tribute to the unborn angels
The place I called home was Bloomsville, a village where flowers bloomed all year long. The spring was a constant there.
The days were as beautiful as the nights. It’s my sweet heaven on earth.
My parents named me Lily. I had so many friends. Robins, wrens, bees, butterflies, and ladybugs were the closest. They all liked me so much and always wanted to stay around me. We enjoyed singing and playing together.
I was born into a humble farmer family. My childhood was painted in hues of vibrant blooms and the gentle melody of robins, wrens and hill myna.
Spending time in the nature with my friends and helping my parents were my priority in life.
I used to play hide ‘n’ seek with butterflies and ladybugs while humming a happy tune. Never went a day when we had not smiled together and danced with joy in the garden.
I was the lover of the rain, the sunshine and Bloomville's sweet breeze.
The fertile land yielded not only healthy crops but also an abundance of joy, making my early years a bouquet of innocence, happiness and love.
As the time gracefully sailed me into adulthood, I found myself in a harbor of a new family.
Perhaps it was written on my fate.
My parents married me to a wealthy man from the nearby town.
This event of my life propelled me into a journey that promised an easy living, but I was unware of the concealed fate that was waiting for me.
The days went by and I started to realize the true nature of people.
My in-laws were completely trapped in the rigid confines of traditional beliefs.
They viewed women pretty much as the bearers of sons, glorifying a culture and convention that revered male heirs and looked down upon the birth of innocent daughters.
I wondered— how did they escape the knives of the same prejudice!
Perhaps they had compromised their conscience at the feet of societal customs and doctrine.
The delightful and evergreen garden of my youth felt like a dichotomy of existence.
Consequently, the societal expectations and prejudices kept on paralyzing my shoulders.
I felt like losing myself in the process of pleasing everyone else.
The ladybugs were no longer dancing in the warm sun with me. The tree branches were empty with no robins singing for me.
The easy life I hoped for was not so easy after all.
My pregnancy news stirred a storm of emotions in my heart on one fine morning.
A dark cloud of anxiety started to loom all over me instantly.
The horrifying and frightening anticipation of the unknown sent chills in to my spine.
Soon I realized that the gender of the child would determine not only my fate but also the destiny of my unborn. She would not even be given a chance to prove herself to this world! How terrible!
The hospital soon confirmed my fear to be true on a dreaded day — it was to be a girl.
Panic seized my heart and mind, as I envisioned the looming challenges my daughter would face in a patriarchal family blinded by antiquated prejudices.
I very well realized that this wealthy household that was rich in age-old beliefs, prejudices and injustice would never allow my child to thrive, let alone be cherished.
The piercing angry, disdainful and disapproving eyes of my in-laws felt like nightmares in the brightest hour of the day.
“You are trouble. You have brought misfortune to my family,” my mother–in-law chided me.
A sense of relentlessness troubled me to the core that night. My heart was beating like the wild drums which everyone had turned deaf to.
That night, I went to sleep with a heavy heart.
As I woke up the next morning, I found myself in the familiar garden of my childhood in Bloomsville.
I was surrounded by the ever-faithful happy ladybugs. It was as if the time had folded backwards.
I wondered through the echoes of my footsteps, mirroring the sorrow I had in my heart.
My eyes, once bright and full of life, were dull-burnt, and I had forgot how to smile.
I laid down once again amidst the blossoms, and tried to feel the soft caress of the fragrant breeze.
As I was about to get drowned in the sea of sorrow, I heard a voice.
“Mother! Mother!”
I looked around while feeling startled.
The voice came again.
“Mother! I am Mary, your daughter!”
Then I realized that it’s the voice of my unborn daughter reaching out to me, a delicate whisper that echoed with innocence.
She had a lot of questions for me.
“Dear Mother, do not you want me to live? Do not I deserve to experience this beautiful world? Why this world is so cruel to me! What is my fault?” she asked.
Her words pierced deep into my heart, igniting a wild fire of emotions.
The moment made me feel so devastated to the every cell in my body.
I felt like shouting at top of my voice, cry and scream, but I could not.
Helplessness was driving me crazy.
“My poor baby.”
I could not speak a single word. I was crying hopelessly without realizing how to console her.
She pleaded to me again, “Mother! Look at my little nose, my tiny legs, and the delicate webs between my fingers. Am I not a miracle who deserves love and life?”
I was torn and helpless between the harsh reality awaiting my daughter and the unconditional love I had for her.
“Mother, ask your friends, the ladybugs, to help me. Do not I have the blessings of Mother Mary? Am I not a part of her divine creation? Help me, mother! You are my only hope,” she started to cry.
The innocent voice of the unborn child mirrored the purity of her soul.
My daughter’s plea overwhelmed me to the bottom of my bleeding heart.
I was going through a sense of helplessness and frailness that only a mother could understand. My heart felt like gouged by thousand needles!
“If you cannot save me, then transform me into a ladybug.”
“I will fly away too far from here, to a place full of love and acceptance. If I am the reason for all the miseries, woes, and troubles of this world, may the world be better without me. Bid your curse a farewell, mother,” continued Mary.
I felt a surge of maternal desperation in that very moment.
My desire was to shield my child from this savage and monstrous society.
I pleaded and begged to the ladybugs for help.
“Help my child! Help her please!”
Before my words and hope were about to disappear into oblivion, a little magical golden ladybug emerged from my belly.
The golden ladybug circled around me for a while, and joined the swarm of ladybugs.
They embraced her in a celestial procession that soared towards the distant horizon.
The fluttering of their wings made the air to vibrate to a natural rhythm and surreal hymn.
I remained fixated on her departure. Tears were flowing untamed.
Meanwhile a honking car disrupted my attention!
“Wake up, it’s already morning! We’re running late for the hospital!” my husband shouted.
I helplessly tried to prepare myself to face the stark demonic realities of this prejudiced society. It was not ready to give both of us a fair chance to prove ourselves.
The shallowness and delusion of this very concept of society and family made me feel sick to the core.
The hospital stood in arrant contrast to the vivid memories of the garden.
Its clinical walls and anxious whispers were so daunting.
I gazed eagerly through the window of the waiting room.
I found that a lone ladybug was delicately perched on a green leaf.
As if it was patiently waiting for Her arrival.
Tears streamed down my face in silent acknowledgment.
“The whole world is divided for me into two parts: one is she, and there is all happiness, hope, light; the other is where she is not, and there is dejection and darkness…”― Leo Tolstoy
I read some heart-wrenching posts on female feticide in Asian and African countries that shocked me! Although, the laws are in place to improve the circumstances, we as a vibrant community have some duty towards this noble cause. Many attribute this ill-mindset to culture, tradition and race, however I believe the root cause is the patriarchal mindset that exists across gender and continents, even in our western countries. We all need to come together to spread awareness and fight it. We are a small group of friends who have pledged to spread awareness on this through engaging civil societies, schools, colleges, and organizing meetings in country-side. This piece is dedicated to all those unborn angels, their mothers, and the organizations or people who are fighting this battle for many years. I pray for their souls to rest in peace! 🌼🍀👣
This story is written in response to the lovely invitation from Janis. An incredible invitation. Thoroughly enjoyed the creativity it brought in me. Thank you.
Also please read these fabulous writers. They are so amazing. A shoutout to Janis, Oliver, and Julia!
