By Ahsan Mehmood.
It was late at night. The Transgender, wrapped in a shawl, knocked at the door of the small shrine where the Cleric lived. The cleric came at the door.
“Yes? What can I do for you?”
“I need to speak with your God”
The cleric was astonished at the request. But he asked the Transgender to come in and took her to a prayer mat.
“Here. Speak to Him. He’s right across the wall”
The cleric went back to his spot and silently observed.
The Transgender stared at the wall. Then started sobbing violently.
Ya Allah. My Lord, I come to you in absolute desperation, with a shattered resolve and zero will to live. I come before you, not to ask you for help, but to ask you some very critical questions.
Is it my fault, my Lord, that You decided to create me? Is it a fault at all, that I am a flawed human being? Is it a flaw, my Lord? You, who are the Greatest of them all; could you ever make a mistake? Am I being labeled as God’s mistake? What does that even mean?
If not, Allah, then I have to ask you. Why am I not equivalent to your men and your women? Why have I been shunned to the darkest alleys of a society where only the most evil of men visit to satiate their hungers? Why have I been pushed to the lowest pit of mankind, which reeks of the worst of barbaric men?
I was born to a normal family and normal parents. The word Normal itself is confusing for me. If men and women, as my family were, are labeled as being normal, then why am I different? Since the very beginning of my memories, I can recall myself being hated on, people repulsed at the sight of me, my family treating me like vermin and my own self; so hurt. So very confused.
What injustice is this, Creator of the Universe? You Who are the most beneficent and the most Merciful, why have not shown mercy upon me? Why was I chosen to be this repulsive creature that had no choice but to fend for itself by choosing the darkest of all professions? I was forced, Allah! I was forced to sell my flawed and socially unacceptable self! What choice did I have? My own family did not accept me. The people who brought me into this world were the first to disown me. The irony of that statement is enough to make any actions of mine justifiable. But still, I fended for myself, whatever the resource was, I did not give up. I never gave in.
I found home with my Guru. With people who understood, people who went through the same uncalled social ridicule. That broken down little house is our safe haven, Allah. We have our hopes buried under those doors and we have our music and each other. We share our grief and that, is our little bit of heaven. We have been damned for eternity by the clerics that you have appointed to preach a religion that was meant to be the most humane religion in the world.
I was beaten. I was raped, beaten, publicly humiliated by a man who held a claim on me. He was brutal in his actions, with an animalistic sense of possession in his thoughts and no fear of any redemption. Why did you make me so vulnerable and a target for hostility? Why did Alisha die due to medical negligence? What injustice prevails on your land, Creator?
Am I not human enough for these people?
The writer is a business student at Institute of Business Management, hailing from Karachi.