About the Author Saima Habib was born in 1981 in Karachi, Pakistan. She is a student of Business Administration. Children of a Lesser God is her first short story in English which she dedicates to those children of the third world countries who are victims of child labor and violence. It is also her first story in Nuvein. She lives in Lahore, Pakistan.

With careful and stealthy steps, a child was moving towards a shabby coat that was hanging from a nail. He put his hand into one of the pockets of the coat and took out a knotty handkerchief. After opening its knots, he started counting the money inside it. A hundred and ten rupees. A sum equivalent to $2 made his eyes gleam with excitement. Only a little more money was required. He tied the knots again and carefully placed the handkerchief in the pocket of the coat. He applauded himself for having thought of such a fine place to hide his meager savings. His drug addict father couldn’t possibly think of it.

His mother and sisters had gone to condole with a distant relative on the death of her mother. As his little brother accompanied them, he was alone in the house.

After counting his money, he lied down on the dilapidated bed and day-dreamed. His dreams were different from those of a twelve year old. In his dreams, he always forgot that he was Afzal—a twelve year old motor mechanic who had to support a family of seven people-who had seen nothing in his life except abuses and suffering and who had nothing to look forward to. He dreamed himself wearing the new shirt he was saving the money to buy. A radiant smile came on his face. He dreamed of being the owner of the auto workshop in which he worked as a semi trained mechanic. He thought that if he were the owner, he would never have yelled abuses at and hit the children working in his workshop as the owner did. He dreamed of being the owner of an elegant and plush car. Some day, when he would be the owner of a car, he would come to the workshop for getting his car repaired and would yell at the owner for not fixing his car properly like the elegantly dressed man had done the day before. His thoughts wandered to the man who had come the day before to get his car repaired. He recalled that the man had said that he had come from America. Afzal imagined himself leaving Pakistan and moving to America which to him was a heaven of prosperity and happiness.

A shrill sound brought him back to the real world. Terror seized him as he recognized the sound. The dilapidated door of the house had been kicked open .It could be no one but his father. In an instant he jumped down from the bed and tried to hide himself under it. He heard the bang of the door in the other room. His father must be there and looking for all of them- and for money. He knew that in no time his father would be in the room he was in. There were only two rooms in the house. He crouched under the bed. The door of the room flung open and he saw his father’s face. He noticed that his father had grown a beard and had become weaker in two weeks-that was since they had seen him for the last time. He thought that his father was growing weaker and weaker since he had started taking drugs. He was a gambler and a drug addict and came home only when he was in a desperate need of money.

His father went straight to the box in which his mother kept their clothes and fumbled for money. There was nothing except shabby clothes in it. There was a stove in a corner of a room and some utensils were placed on a mud shelf. Ashraf lifted the utensils and fumbled for money. He knew that his wife mostly hid her small savings inside the steel dishes. But there was no money there too. He moved towards the bed. For a moment Afzal’s heart ached as he thought of his hard earned money that he had saved by starving. The next moment, the thought of the ruthless battering he had often received from his father made him forget about it. Trembling from head to toe, he closed his eyes and hoped that his father would not discover him and would go out of the house. The next moment, the firm grip of the bony hand crushed all his hopes. His father took him out of his sanctuary. “Where have you bastards hid the money?” He shouted. “Nowhere.” He replied. “There is no money to hide. Where will the money come from?” “You are lying to me, you son of a bitch”. A tight slap on his face and he fell to the floor. His head hit against the wooden part of the bed and blood oozed out of his forehead. “Where is that whore?” He shouted. Although Afzal was terrified and weak, he could not bear this word for his mother.

“My mother is not a whore. You are a pimp”, he shouted back. His reply made his father furious. He started beating him ferociously with slaps, kicks and fists. He was being battered when the front door opened. His mother and siblings had returned. The voices of the screams made his mother realize the situation instantly. She rushed toward the room and flung open the door. “Leave him, leave him. I implore you.” With all her might, she was desperately trying to free him from his father’s grip. He let him go and caught her instead. “Where is the money? Give me the money”. He started hitting her with his full strength.” There is no money. I am telling you honestly. ”She burst into tears. Blood drops falling from her face were staining the mud floor. Her other five children were watching their mother being battered, crouching, trembling and cuddling with each other. Soon Ashraf was exhausted. Breathing heavily, he left her. Increasing doses of heroin were debilitating his strength. Before he started taking drugs, he would batter anyone who came in his way for hours whenever he was in a bad mood.

Yelling abuses at all of them, soon he left the house. Afzal’s mother went straight to him and hugged him tightly. He clung to her breast, staining her shirt with his blood. Trembling and shivering, his other siblings also joined them. Forgetting their wounds and the pain for some time, they all cried as if tears would wash the ugliness off their fates.

His mother was the first one to regain her control. “Bandage your brother’s wounds.”She said to her two elder daughters. Wiping their tears off, they got up quietly and went to the mud shelf. They mixed turmeric powder in some oil, tore off apiece of cloth from the old clothes to be used as a bandage and bandaged their mother’s and brother’s wounds after applying the paste on it.

He lied down on the bed-the same bed on which he was dreaming an hour ago. He was feeling too week to stand up. Soon he dozed off. His mother was sitting on floor beside his bed, crying silently. “There is only one day of rest in the whole week for my poor child and the damned being had to come on it too.” She was talking to her daughter who was busy in preparing meal or maybe to herself. She was looking passionately at him, carefully caressing his cheeks so that she might not disturb him in his sleep. “Look at his hands. They are so rough.” She touched the palm of his hand. “I would never have sent him to work if there were a least chance of survival without his salary. I wish I could make enough money from sewing. I wish I could work as a mechanic in his place. ” Tears rolled down from her cheeks and fell on his hands. But she was helpless. She was a woman and the community she belonged to consider it a sin for a woman to be employed outside her home. The pittance he got and the little money she and her daughters made by sewing clothes was barely enough to keep them alive.

Afzal was feeling very week until night. Although he got more than the others’ share of the meager meal of wheat bread and onions, it did no good to restore his strength.

His mother did not wake him up the next day. It was midday when he got up.” Why didn’t you wake me up?” He asked in a fearful tone. “You are too weak to go to work. I doubt that you could have walked to the workshop. Take rest today.” She rolled her fingers in his hair.” Amma, the owner will deduct three days’ salary for it.” He said annoyingly. She could not reply him. Her maternal instinct had forced her not to wake her sick child up in the morning and send him to work in the scorching heat .But since morning she had been thinking of the money would all be deprived of and how she’ll make both ends meet without it. “I was thinking that you should find some work for Akram too.” She said. “Working outside is not a piece of cake. It’s too difficult and Akram is too young.” he replied. “He is ten and you were also ten when you started working.” she replied.

“We do need more money, Afzal. I have to save a lot of money for your sisters’ marriages. I wish I had more sons instead of these daughters.” She looked at her daughters who were busy in doing household chores. “The sons would have shared my burden instead of putting more burdens on my shoulders.” She sighed.

He took rest the whole day….rested, thought and planned. He thought that he would not let his mother receive the inhuman battering the next time. He was her eldest son and it was his responsibility to protect her. He looked at her pale face of his mother who as embroidering a shirt for a neighbor. He looked at the bandage around her forehead and vowed to himself. The next time his father would lift his hand on her, he would hit him. The next time, he wouldn’t let that happen.

He was again on his way to workshop the next day. He was sweating because of the scorching heat and the sweat made his wounds hurt unbearably. Soon he was out of the residential area of the poor in which he lived. Now he was passing through the plush building of a school. It was an institution for the aristocratic children. He saw the children with happiness on their faces, wearing impeccable uniforms, disembarking from elegant cars.

Seeing these children always raised several unanswered questions in his mind. Why were they so happy? Were their no worries in their lives? Didn’t they have fathers to create problems for them? Maybe they had fathers, but their fathers were somewhat different--fathers who earned and provided living to them. Although this perception of a father was strange for him, it made his heart ached. He imagined his father bringing money home instead of taking money away from them. He pictured himself wearing the same uniform and attending the school. The next moment the school bell rang. It meant that he was getting late for work. The bell usually rang when he was past the area of the school. He rushed to the workshop.

Everything was like everyday when he reached the workshop. His fellow children looked at his bandaged forehead without any particular response. They did not ask him how he got his wounds. They looked into his eyes, he looked into theirs. They understood and said nothing. It was not something novel for them—a part of life they all had to undergo. He thanked God that the owner was away and so his being a few minutes late went unnoticed and unpunished. But he was absent from work the day before and that according to the norms of the workshop, was not a mistake that could be over looked. When the owner came back, the first thing he said was about his absence. “So the prince has come to work today.” He laughed loudly. “Why didn’t you bring your damned face here yesterday, you bastard?” A kick in the stomach and the pangs of pain went through his whole body. “Where were you yesterday, serving your mother’s mate?” The abuses went on and on but he could say nothing. This time he couldn’t say, “My mother is not a whore. You are a pimp.” By now he knew the price of this sentence.

When the owner’s heart was contended with verbal abuses, he ordered him to get back to his work. The whole day, he tried his best to concentrate on his work neglecting the pangs of pain emanating from his whole body.

Considering what he had to face at work, he was thinking agonizingly about his younger brother. He didn’t want Akram to get out of the house, lose his childhood and become an adult at the age of ten like he had become. He thought that his father was enough to give them an idea of the misery they all had to face in the world. But when he thought about his sisters, he saw the urgency of putting Akram to work. His eldest sister was already past her prime marriageable age. In a society where marriages were arranged by the parents, mostly without any consultation from their children, and where the expected dowry from the girl was given a high importance while deciding whether to ask for her hand, the daughters of a drug addict had a little or no hope.

“Come out of your nirvana, philosopher.” Twenty year old Hameed who was his boss’s distant relative patted on his shoulder. Everybody around them laughed. They all called him philosopher because of his habit of remaining absorbed in thoughts for hours. “I was thinking of finding some work for my younger brother.” He replied in a low voice.

“It seems as if your highness has been considering this matter for hours. So what conclusion has your highness have reached?” Everyone laughed again. “I will talk to the boss about your brother.” He became serious instantly. He had a habit of becoming serious in the midst of a laughing scene. Afzal looked up at his face. “In this workshop?” he stammered.
“Can’t you find work for him at a better place?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find work for your brother in a multinational where he will sit in an office, wear a suit and give orders to his subordinates.” Hilarious laughter around him made him realize the idiocy of his wish. “Try to live in your own world, Afzal and come out of the dream world you are living in.” He was instantly serious again. “I’ll talk to the boss about your brother.” Hameed patted on his shoulder and left.

Although Afzal got leave from his work at around ten o’ clock in the night, he always took the longer route to reach his house that passed through the bazaar. He would always enter the shops and look for new white shirts---it was his favorite color. He spent most of his free time imagining himself looking elegant in a new and impeccable white shirt.



The sales men of the shops always frowned at the ragged boy entering their shops. They knew that he could possibly not be their customer. He always noticed their expressions but their humiliating looks gave him an eccentric kind of a joy. Their looks didn’t make him feel bad like everyone else’s did. One day and that day was now not too far, he thought, he would enter their shop boastfully as a proud customer who possesses money to make a purchase. He would then have a careful look at all the shirts and would buy the one that would look best to him. This dream had the power to bring a gleam in his eyes and a smile on his face even in the worst of the circumstances. He was absorbed in the thoughts of his shirt on his way back home.

As usual, only his mother was awake when he reached home. As usual she cuddled his stinking body into her arms and kissed his unkempt hair. She felt the bones on his back and noticed that he had become weaker. A tear rolled down from her cheeks and was absorbed in his hair. She brought the meal of wheat bread and pepper for him. He was gulping it down with water when she asked about Akram’s employment. “Amma, it will take some time. It’s not that one day you ask for work and you get it the next day.” “The sooner he gets the employment, the better it is. I want to save some money for your sisters’ marriages. As you know, the dowry….” “I know Amma,” he said with a sigh.

But despite his mother’s insistence, he was unable to find work for Akram. The owner of the workshop had said that there was no need of another boy in the workshop. But his mother had other sources too. She had talked to a woman in the neighborhood and they had found work for him as a household servant.

Akram’s employment and the small money he got as a salary had no apparent effect on their condition. They lived in the same way, eating their poor and insufficient meals and wearing tatters. May be the additional money was being saved as his mother had planned, he thought.
In his life of a continuous toil, Sundays were the only days of rest for him in the whole week. The only luxury he knew was to lie in his bed and this was something he could manage on only Sundays. One Sunday when he was dreaming as usual of his new shirt, the door of the house kicked open. Fear pangs ran through his body as he saw his frail father coming into the house. Silently, he revised his vow of protecting his mother and came out of the room into the small veranda. He was shocked to see that his father was accompanied by three devilish looking men.
“Your husband has lost three thousand rupees to me in a gamble.” One of the men told his mother. “We have got nothing to do with him. Receive your money from whom you have won. ”She replied.

“You might have hot nothing to do with him. But his children have got a lot to do with him.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out a piece of paper. “Read it if you can.” He flung it in front of her eyes. It says, “I’ll give you three thousand rupees in two weeks and in case of my inability to do so, will give my daughter’s hand in marriage to you.”

“It bears the thumb impression of your husband.” He said. “One week has already passed, on is left.” He emphasized on “one”, ogling at her daughter from head to toe.

His mother was stunned. In utter disbelief she was holding the dilapidated door of the room as if she would fall on leaving it. She looked at the man whom her husband had destined to be her son in law. He was older from her husband and the fact that he was a libertine was evident from his looks. They were scrutinizing her daughters from their dirty looks and this was unbearable for her.
“Get out, you devils.” She shouted. “Get out or I’ll call the police.” “The police!!” One of the men mocked. “As if police would listen to the complaints of paupers like you. Go to the police and I’ll eat my hat if they listen to you.” The truth of his statement made her realize the idiocy of hers. “We’ll come next week. Get one of the things ready .Money
or … .”He ogled at her daughter again. They all left.

There was the voice of a painful moan and she sat on the floor on her knees. “Oh God! I had to see this day too. Why did I not die before this day? What sin have I committed to deserve this?” She was beating her breast and crying loudly. Her daughter was standing still, her eyes fixed on some distant spot. Afzal’s emotions were quite impenetrable for him. He was raged and terrorized at the same moment. While his other three sisters were trying to soothe his mother, he was terrified, thinking of what lie next.

His mother knew the limitations of her choices. Seeking any legal help was out of question as she knew that the legal system has never had any support for a person with no powers and no money. Since her husband had left supporting them, all the relatives had turned their backs toward her. The voice kept echoing in her ears. “Money or…..”

Afzal passed the next week making elaborated plans of eliminating those people and rejecting them because of faults in their viability. He thought of stabbing them to death by stealing one of his workshop tools but they were more than one and so he couldn’t be successful that way. He thought that if he could win the support of some guys in the workshop or in the neighborhood, then they would beat these men until they bleed to death. But the idiocy of this plan was evident to him as he knew that nobody would come to his support. He knew his worth.

Although his mother tried to appear normal, her swollen eyes and sleepless nights spent in silent crying exposed her apprehensions. Sometimes when he thought over all this, he felt angered at his mother. Why wasn’t she thinking of teaching them a lesson. She was old and experienced and maybe she could find a way if she seriously thought over it. He didn’t know that her experience had taught her her limitations in the society.

The week passed slowly and with a painful silence. Sunday came and brought the painful experience of dealing with those rascals again whose bones she wanted to tear apart and feed to dogs. She considered these so called companions of her husband were responsible for his drug and gambling addictions and the consequent ruin of her life. But when she finally had to deal with them, she handed over their required sum to them without saying a word as if she was dumb.

“Wow! Ashraf is so lucky to have such a rich wife.” One of them winked at the others. They all laughed. “This is the last time I have given you anything. From the next time, receive your money from your debtor. Even if you kill him, I am not bothered.” She said in an authoritative tone. They all laughed again. “She is not only rich but very gutsy too.” She looked at her aggressive husband who was listening to the remarks on his wife as if he didn’t understand them. Laughing and passing remarks, they all left.

His manhood woke up as soon as they had left. “You bitch.” He moved toward her. “You had so much money and you couldn’t give your husband a single penny just a month ago.” He caught her by her hair and shoved her to the floor. She couldn’t say that it was the money her children had earned by toiling day and night and she had saved it by starving her children and didn’t want to throw it away.

“You are not bothered even if they kill me. I won’t let you remain alive for uttering such bullshit again.” He kicked her with all his might.
Afzal saw this with terrified eyes. A lot of things mingled in his mind- his vows to save his mother, his plans to kill those men and their viability. The voice echoed in his mind. “I won’t let you remain alive.” In a state of furious rage, he went to the room, managing to escape his battering father. He quickly cast a glance at everything in the room, lifted a pestle and with his full force struck it on his father’s head from behind. His father caught his head with both his hands. Uttering a loud scream, he fell to the floor. His bruised mother got up from the floor. “What have you done, Afzal? How could you imagine doing this to your father?” Forgetting her wounds as usual, she ordered him to fetch some water and started rubbing her husband’s hands and feet.

His mother’s attitude was beyond his comprehension. She was trying her best to help that person regain his conscious who might have even killed her. “Amma, you said that you didn’t care even if they killed them.” He asked shockingly. “I said it in rage and to discourage those rascals who have led him astray. He is my husband and your father. Whatever he does, we are bound to respect him.” She said amongst tears This concept was unfathomable for him that a man who had given them nothing but battering and suffering, who was about to kill his wife and sell his daughter was “respectable”. Still, he obeyed his mother and silently did whatever she asked him to do.

His father spent that evening with them. Till the night, because of the unavailability of the drugs he was addicted to, he condition was miserable. He fell to his wife’s feet and asked for money. “There is not even a single penny left. All the money I had saved by depriving my children of food for my daughters’ dowry has been taken away by those rascals.” She wailed. But her husband was in no mood of listening to her grumbles. Staggering, he left his house and was lost in the darkness.
Their days become sadder after this episode. His mother’s silent crying became more frequent and the dearth of dowry for her daughters was the only topic of conversation she had.

In this sorrowful life, his much longed happiness was about to come. After he had saved his secret share from the going month’s salary, he had enough money to buy a good shirt. In his life span of twelve years, this was his only dream that was coming true and he wanted to cherish his joy. He thought of what and how would he tell his mother about it. Then he decided that he would come home in his new outfit and he would be looking so graceful like those school children and she would be so happy to see him that she would not scold him on saving the money secretly. He was thinking of a suitable day to make the purchase. He got free from work at night and he thought that night was not a suitable time for a thorough examination of colors. The only viable option for him was to take a day off from the work shop. He knew that he would be punished for that but punishments no more mattered to him.

When he came home from work the next day, he pretended to be suffering from a severe head-ache. His mother was really worried for him. She massaged his head and touched his forehead to see if he was suffering from fever. After some time, he said that he was better so that she would go to sleep. He was so enthusiastic that he could not sleep the whole night despite the fact that he was very tired. The whole night his heart was beaming with joy.

The next day, when he intended to go out after the breakfast, his mother prohibited him from doing so. “I am Ok. I’ll be back soon.” He said and stepped out. He fumbled in the pocket of his shabby shirt to feel the money. The very touch of those currency notes gave him endless joy.
Soon he reached the market. He entered into a shop of shirts and started examining them by touching and picking. “What do you want?” The salesman frowned like all salesmen did when they saw him. “I want to buy a good shirt.” He emphasized on every word. The salesman looked at his shabby clothes and he could see the disbelief in the salesman’s eyes. “I have the money.” Even the uttering of those words gave him delight. The salesman said nothing and started showing him the shirts. He chose one of them. It looked best to him and it was of his favorite color---- white. He loved white color because he thought that it was the symbol of elegance and neatness and he loved these attributes although he was not lucky enough to have a touch of them in his miserable life. But his new shirt was about to bring that desired touch, he thought.
He paid for it and came out of the shop.

His heart was beaming with ecstasy. Clutching the shopping bag that contained his shirt closer to himself, he was almost dancing his way back home. When he passed through the school, he looked at the plush building and smiled. For the first time, looking at the building didn’t arise any complex in him. He was too busy celebrating his little, innocent joy. He envisioned himself in that shirt and the perception brought a huge smile on his face.

Just as he was crossing the road, an excessively speedy car came on the road from the wrong way. On seeing him, the driver of the car tried to apply the brakes but it was too late. The car hit him and as he fell on the road, crossed over him at full speed.

The driver of the car succeeded in escaping like the drivers of most of the cars do. His deformed body was lying on the road, in front of the school building, with his new shirt by its side. His blood had changed its color to red.