Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1686262-Forgive-me-God
by jaya
Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Contest Entry · #1686262
A mind in turmoil.
Forgive me God!

Martha stood by the window watching the gathering twilight. Still not strong enough to stand for too long, she sat down on the wicker chair. A sigh escaped her. Her hair that turned a premature gray, hung dry and disheveled down her drooping shoulders. Sharp features attained new angles with suffering etched out in the droop of her mouth. Haggard and pale, she looked ten years older than her real age of thirty. She gazed into the open without seeing anything. Her face wore a blank expression.

The dying sun slanted on the pastel colored clean mosaic floor. Outside, dry, yellow leaves dropped noiselessly to the wet ground. A soft wind stirred in the trees. The road wore a deserted look but for an occasional passerby. Martha turned her gaze to the plants in the yard; the greenery soothed her tired eyes. Her eyes filled with tears in gratitude at nature’s kindness.

Before the nightmarish scenes replayed on her mind and heart, Martha heard the kind voice of her mother-in-law

“Martha dear, how are you feeling?”

An elderly lady walked in, her stick staccato on the mosaic floor. Acute arthritic pains showed in her dragging, slow pace. A gnarled hand touched Martha’s shoulder.

“Much better Ma.”

“Why don’t you wash and join us for dinner before it gets cold?”

“Yes Ma, in a moment.”

“I don’t know why you have fallen sick so suddenly dear. But I know that unless your hollowed cheeks fill, and eyes shine with health, it’s going to be a dull world for me and to your husband.”

Martha’s eyes welled at the old lady’s concern for her. No wonder, thought Martha. She was the centre and periphery of the household till a few days back.

She lay wearily on her bed after a nourishing dinner. Martha smiled to herself recalling her husband’s culinary skills, before giving in to blessed sleep.

She woke up with a start in the middle of the night. Sweat covered her brow and body. Hot and feverish, she started sobbing uncontrollably while tears fell unabated as she remembered her three-month-old fetus limp and lifeless in the nurse’s hands. The male child looked pathetic with well-formed features and limbs. Its head hung forward as if in deep sleep. As she soaked in the shocking fact that it would have been her son, had she given him a chance to live, she heard the doctor who operated on her.

“ That was the child you made us kill Ma’m, by your so called right to abort.”

The lady doctor looked stern, and resentful, her voice accusing Martha of her decision to lose the baby. Martha never expected to see it. Overcome with shock, she fainted.

The little human figure haunted her night and day during her sickness. A mother’s heart was connected in an indestructible bond with the child whom she decided to lose. When did the mother in her become this hard? When did she give in to the wishes of a monster called selfishness?

As she stared at the limp form, reasons she had to undergo the MTP seemed false, and had no substance.
God! Do I deserve to live any longer? Martha’s tensed mind refused to come out of the slough of self-hate, and dismay at her heinous deed, even now nearly two months after her abortion. Guilt hung thick on her mind, searing her conscience. Why was I so obsessed with my career and social recognition? Why have I made the poor, innocent mite a sacrificial object? God! Can you forgive me my sin?

Walls seemed closing in, stifling her. She ran outside into the open, the wind buffeted on the plains around. The lone tree looked a specter with its twisted limbs dry and bare.

Martha fell on her knees pleading with God. Looking up at the stars, her eyes sought His rays of forgiving.

“God, my Father, forgive me.” She cried aloud in anguish that tore through her body and soul.“ Take pity on a sinful woman, God, or I’ll have no peace left my Savior!”

Martha sobbed on repenting her misdeed, and the waste she made of God’s grace.

Kind hands lifted her, carried her inside softly whispering, “Martha dear,  God accepts your repentance and forgives you.”

MTP = Medical Termination of Pregnancy.

Word count: 727

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