All the women left the room, and Mahpali finally realised that her husband was Ghulam Bejar. In their father’s life, they became orphans. When she grew tired of lying down, she stood up and leaned against the wall. Her eyes fell on the dress she was sewing for Eid, which she had left there. She held it against her chest and said, “Now who will I wear this for? My time has ended, yes! Ten years of a life full of love and loyalty ended with three words. Could my love and affection not prevent this? Could my ten years of companionship with you not stop this? How could you say that I am like your mother and sister and tell me to go?”

After that, Mahpali never saw Shah Bakht again. She wanted to see him but never took any steps to do so. She knew that she had only one path to choose. The day after her wedding night, Mahpali packed her bags and left for her new home. As she was leaving, her father placed his hand on her head and tried to comfort her, but Mahpali took a step back. She didn’t look at anyone and got into the car. Months and years passed, and Mahpali had five children, but she never returned to her neighbourhood. Her parents and brothers would come to see her, but Mahpali could never reconcile with the situation. Whatever happened to her, she had sworn never to complain. She always faced harsh words and comments, but her husband Ghulam Bejar treated her kindly and well. Ghulam Bejar, tired of all the talk and noise, took his children and moved to a separate house away from everyone else. Mahpali was relieved, thinking that all her pain and sorrow had ended. But fate wasn’t done testing her. It is said that destiny lies in the lines of one’s palms. If Mahpali had known that destiny was in the lines of her palms, she would have cut off both her hands. But they say no one knows the future. Once again, her dark fate showed itself to Mahpali. Ghulam Bejar always suffered losses on his land and was in debt. One night, he drank more than usual and came home half-drunk and confused. Mahpali gave him dinner. He ate, and Mahpali sat in front of him. He looked at Mahpali and threw a jug of water at her. Mahpali was bewildered. Ghulam Bejar got up without saying a word, grabbed her hair, and dragged her into the room, hitting her. He turned and hit her again. The only thing Mahpali said was, “What is my fault? I haven’t done anything!” Ghulam Bejar vented his anger and jealousy on her. He said, “Don’t scream, or I will divorce you, and if I kill you, no one will find out or come for you. You will be like a carcass eaten by vultures.” He cursed and insulted her, but Mahpali didn’t say anything. Her silence made Ghulam Bejar angrier. He wanted Mahpali to scream and shout, but she remained silent. Ghulam Bejar shouted, “I don’t want you. Go wherever you want.” His words came out forcibly, and he yelled so much that foam came out of his mouth, like an enraged bull. “Go, I don’t want you. You are like my mother and sister (a form of divorce).” He pushed Mahpali out of the house and said, “I’m telling you to leave my house. Don’t you understand human language?” Mahpali cried and said, “Ghulam, don’t do this. Our children will be disgraced. You’re not in your senses right now and don’t know what you’re saying.” Ghulam Bejar slapped her and said, “You’re saying I’m crazy? You’re saying Bejar is crazy, and you will marry someone else? Is that your plan? You’ve found someone else for yourself while I’m at work?” Mahpali went mad, “No, Bejar, hit me, but don’t accuse me.” Ghulam Bejar was out of his mind and shouted, “I don’t want you. You are like my mother and sister (a form of divorce). Go, I divorce you. One divorce, two divorces, three divorces. Go, you are my mother and sister.” He staggered and fell unconscious. Mahpali spent the whole night praying to her God. Ghulam Bejar, in another room, was lying in a drunken stupor. When he woke up in the morning, he remembered what had happened the night before. It was too late. He held his head in his hands and thought, “What have I done?” Spit cannot be picked up once it has fallen to the ground. But there was one way: if Mahpali agreed, his home would be saved from ruin, and his children wouldn’t be lost. He shamefully entered the room. Mahpali, exhausted from crying and vomiting, had taken a corner of the room and sat there.

Mahpali thought, “How did he not know which bed was his mother’s and which was his wife’s? Divorce is only for the wife!” She had slowly embraced her sorrows, but a storm was raging inside her. Mahpali said, “Mir, you have separated me from yourself. I don’t want anything, but if you give me my children, I will take them with me; otherwise, I will go alone.” Ghulam Bejar knew that these matters were beyond him now. Mahpali’s pride had also surfaced. She glanced at the house one last time, didn’t show any weakness, and stood outside. She remembered her past and headed to her father’s neighbourhood. She went to the same place she had once sacrificed for her life, but this time Mahpali wasn’t coming to be sacrificed. She was coming to free herself from sacrifice. She thought, “The questions from people and the world will be many. Maybe my children will ask too, but I am not obligated to answer any of them. I have my own authority, and that’s it. Neither Dadallah nor Shadallah, neither Pordel nor Mahlab—no one is my guardian. Others have lived my life, but now I will live for myself. My life is just beginning.” She left without looking back. The farther she went, the closer she got to herself. She sat under a tree to rest and leaned against it, closing her eyes. She had just been separated. The birds and shanties were returning to their nests. The leaves of the mesquite tree were closing. Silence had taken over the world. Mahpali had also found peace, as she entered her own world. There, she was alone with her life. Mahpali’s eyelashes were closing. Sleep gently settled over her eyes. A cool breeze blew, and the tree swayed its branches gracefully. The wind played around her, and Mahpali, half-asleep, tasted the joy of life until she finally fell asleep…