Infertile

"My wife has given birth three times before. But each time, the newborns drowned in the well and died."

"Did you ever try to find out how they fell in or who might have done it?"

"What’s the point in searching? If it were a human act, something could be done. But this… this is not the work of man."

"Then whose work is it?"

"The Devil’s."

Ayesha stared at Safiq Saheb, her eyes wide with disbelief. Just last night, she and her friend Rubab had arrived in this village for their university project. It was a quiet, almost forsaken place, where houses were few and the wilderness abundant. Trees and dense foliage loomed over the narrow pathways, casting eerie shadows. One would need more than just courage to step outside alone at night.

Most of the villagers lived in poverty, struggling to make ends meet. But there was an exception—Maulvi Safiq Ahmed and his wife, Mariam Khatun.

They were not originally from this village. For seven years, Safiq Ahmed had lived in Mariam’s home as an esteemed Maulvi, teaching children the sacred scriptures. Time had passed, and when Mariam fell ill, her father, instead of seeking another match for her, found it best to marry her off to Maulvi Saheb himself.

Yet, after the wedding, Safiq Ahmed refused to live as a dependent in his in-laws’ home. When Mariam’s father offered to arrange another place for them, Mariam spoke of this village. She had once visited it as a child and had never quite forgotten its quiet, haunting charm. So, after marriage, the couple settled here—Safiq Ahmed teaching young village children, while sustaining his family through farming.

Ayesha and Rubab were to stay in this village for a week, until their project was completed. Meanwhile, in Maulvi Saheb’s home, Mariam was expecting her fourth child. The memory of the past three tragedies weighed heavily on her, filling her days with quiet dread. Left alone most of the time, she had no one to ease her fears. Perhaps that was why Safiq Ahmed had invited Ayesha and Rubab—to provide Mariam with some company. They had gladly accepted.

But the moment Ayesha stepped inside the house, a strange unease settled over her. She turned to Rubab and asked,

"Do you smell that? Something… burning?"

"No, I don’t smell anything."

"I do. It’s the scent of charred flesh… like burnt animal hide."

Ayesha had almost told Safiq Saheb about it, but something held her back at the last moment.

At home, after speaking with Mariam Khatun, Ayesha couldn’t shake off the feeling that the girl was incredibly delicate and helpless—an ethereal beauty, so innocent that anyone would feel drawn to her. Knowing the suffering she endured made Ayesha’s heart ache. She turned to Safiq Saheb and asked,

"But if you keep losing your child like this, won’t your wife’s condition worsen?"

"Mariam was already unwell. That’s the reason we got married in the first place. I used to tutor her when she was little. She’s seven years younger than me. The first time I saw her, she must have been ten or eleven—a brilliant girl. But after she turned sixteen, something changed. She became distant, withdrawn from everyone. She grew intensely religious, refused to appear before any unfamiliar men—not even me."

"Did this happen overnight, or was it a slow transformation?"

"Not all at once, but it happened quickly. The most unsettling thing was how she would sit in her room all day, speaking to someone invisible. Her mother was terrified. They called in countless spiritual healers and exorcists, but nothing helped. Two years passed like that. Then, someone advised her father to marry her off to a virtuous man, saying that the responsibilities of marriage and motherhood might bring her back to reality. Mariam’s father had known me since childhood—he believed there was no better match for her than me. So, we got married."

"And after marriage? Did she get better?"

"At first, she couldn’t open up to me. She never spoke unless I asked her something, and even then, she would only nod in response. But gradually, she grew comfortable. I indulged her every wish.

Then one night, long after midnight, she suddenly woke me up and asked for betel leaves. She had never asked for anything like that before. No one in our house even ate betel. We didn’t have any. It was a stormy night, and I told her there was no way I could find any at that hour. But she gave me an address and said there was a betel vine at that house. I had no choice but to go out in the storm and bring her some. She chewed the betel slowly, savoring it, her tongue turning crimson from the juice. Then, as if suddenly aware of herself, she grew shy and turned away."

Ayesha listened intently. The middle-aged man’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears. She could sense the depth of his love for his wife.

As they spoke, Mariam entered the room, hands resting lightly on her waist.

"Aren’t you both coming to eat? Rahela has finished cooking."

Ayesha studied the 25-year-old woman carefully. They were the same age. She tried to read the emotions in Mariam’s eyes, but they were disturbingly blank.

The next morning, Ayesha and Rubab left early for the fields. They were working on an agricultural research project that had to be submitted soon. They were too busy to notice the time until dusk settled over the village. When they returned home, they found the household in turmoil—Mariam was in labor. The village’s most experienced women had gathered to assist her. Water boiled over the fire. From the next room, Mariam’s anguished cries filled the air. Ayesha and Rubab sat together, hands clasped, whispering prayers for her.

Hours passed. Then, finally, the wail of a newborn pierced the night. Ayesha’s eyes brimmed with tears. Even Rubab, usually so composed, was overcome with emotion. Mariam had given birth to a baby boy. The women whispered excitedly—he looked just like his father. Safiq Ahmed rushed out to buy sweets and distributed them among everyone.

Ayesha and Rubab stayed for two more days, finishing their project in the meantime. The next morning, they were set to leave. That night, as a farewell, Safiq Ahmed prepared a lavish dinner, filling the table with dishes and desserts. Ayesha and Rubab thanked him repeatedly. After dinner, they lingered, chatting late into the night before finally retiring to their room.

Sometime past midnight, Ayesha woke up with an urge to use the restroom. She called out to Rubab a few times, but she didn’t stir. Gathering her courage, she stepped outside alone.

On her way back, she noticed Safiq Ahmed carrying something, heading toward the back of the house. Curiosity prickled at her. No matter how timid a woman might be, curiosity often outweighs fear. Quietly, she followed him.

Then she saw it.

Standing before the old well, Safiq Ahmed lifted the cover. Without hesitation, he dropped the object into its depths.

Ayesha felt a chill crawl up her spine. A small, involuntary gasp escaped her lips.

Safiq Ahmed turned. Their eyes met—hers wide with terror, his disturbingly calm.

Ayesha wanted to scream, to run. But her legs refused to move.

Slowly, he walked toward her. Stopping just inches away, he leaned in and whispered,

"There’s one thing I never told you.

When Mariam was first pregnant, I fell seriously ill. I was taken to the hospital.

After a series of tests, I discovered something.

I am infertile."