^{@arjinarahman ©}

A Mother's Waiting

In a quiet village of Narayanganj, Bangladesh this winter seems to last longer than ever. The fields have dried up, and everything around is covered with grey clouds. On a morning like this, in the middle of the foggy field, an old woman stands alone. Her name is Arohi.

Arohi was not the type of person who would stand like that. She used to be the liveliest woman in the village. If someone had a festival, or someone had any problem, she is the first one to go and help. But her life has changed in the past five years.

Her daughter, Rupa, was young and full of life. She was Arohi’s world. Rupa married a bank officer of Dinajpur. A couple of months after the wedding, her husband was transferred to Dhaka and took Rupa along. Initially, they spoke on the phone several times. But over time, all communication was cut.

Initially, Arohi thought—perhaps Rupa is busy. Then she wondered maybe rupa is upset. But now? Arohi doesn’t think, She just waits. She rises early in every morning, wraps a shawl around her whole body, then she walks to the edge of the large village fields. She waits and looks into the distance—as if someone is approaching from there.

The villagers don't say anything. They know Arohi goes there every morning because she believes rupa will come back that way. Some people say Rupa has died. Some say she has forgotten her mother. But to Arohi these words don’t matter. She believes that one day, Rupa will come back.

This field, this cold, this fog are not going to remain forever. But one day, Rupa will break past the fog and hug her mother again.

Arohi is still standing there even today. Her hands shake in the cold air, and her eyes are filled with tears. But she waits — because a mother knows that a child’s love might return late, but it never dies.

I invite the following users for the contest
@dulcem05
@davidmarkgeorge
@robertorrivas

Here is: Contest Link .
Organized by @solperez Ma'am.