The Favored Daughter Read Online Free

on the sister’s head instead. Her hands flew to her mouth in consternation, but it was too late, the wedding party had moved inside to begin the feast. Her one chance to officially show this young woman just who was in charge was gone.
    Now, 13 months later, my mother was giving birth in a remote mountain shack. Bereft at the loss of favor of the man she loved, she was alone and wretched. The young wife had given birth to a son three months earlier, a healthy bouncing baby boy called Ennayat with beautiful large eyes as wide as saucers. My mother hadn’t wanted any more children and knew this one would be her last. For the entire pregnancy she was sick, pale, and exhausted, her body simply giving up on bearing children. Ennayat’s mother, however, was glowing and even more beautiful with first pregnancy happiness, her breasts firm, her cheeks flushed.
    While six months pregnant herself, my mother helped deliver Ennayat into the world. As his lungs filled with his first breath and he screamed out loud his arrival, Bibi jan held her hands to her stomach and prayed silently that she too would give birth to a boy, a chance of winning back my father’s favor. Girl children in our village culture were considered nothing, worthless. Even today, women pray for sons because only a son gives them status and keeps their husbands happy.
    For 30 hours my mother writhed in agony during my birth. She was semiconscious by the time I was delivered, with barely enough energy to muster her dismay at the news I was a girl.
    When presented with me she turned away, refusing to hold me. I couldn’t have been more different from Ennayat. He was a rosy-cheeked bundle of health. I was blue, mottled, and so tiny I was barely formed. My mother was so weak she was on the verge of death after the birth. No one cared if the new girl child lived, so while they focused on saving my mother, I was wrapped in cloth and placed outside in the baking sun.
    I lay there for almost a day, screaming. No one came. They fully expected nature to take its course and for me to die. My tiny face was so badly burned by the sun that I still had the scars as a teenager.
    By the time they took pity on me and brought me back inside, my mother was feeling better.
    Amazed I had lived and horrified at the state of my burnt face, she gasped in horror as her initial coldness melted into maternal instinct. She took me in her arms and held me. When I finally stopped crying, she began to weep silently, promising herself that no more harm would ever come to me. She knew that for some reason God had chosen for me to live and that she should love me.
    I don’t know why God spared me that day.
    Or why he has spared me on the several occasions since then, when I could have died, but he did.
    But I know he has a purpose for me.
    And I also know he truly blessed me by making me Bibi jan’s favorite child from that moment on, forging an unbreakable bond between mother and daughter.
    Â 
    Dear Shuhra and Shaharzad,
    Early in my life I learned how difficult is it to be a child in Afghanistan, especially a girl child.
    The first words a newborn daughter will often hear are the commiserations given to her mother. “It’s a poor girl, just a girl.”
    It isn’t much of a welcome to the world.
    Then when a girl reaches school age, she faces the problem of whether or not she will get permission to go to school. Will her family be brave or rich enough to send her to school? When a brother grows up he will represent the family and his salary will help feed the family so everyone wants to educate their sons. But in our society girls usually get married and join the husband’s family, so many people see no point in educating them.
    When the girl reaches the age of 12, relatives and neighbors may start to gossip about why she isn’t married yet. “Has someone asked her for marriage?” “Is anyone ready to marry her?” “She may not be