Roshan: The Light Faded By Ignorance
Mariam Majid
Student
The mountains crossed each other forming a rugged terrain, dotted by trees and bushes that were all encased in a layer of snow. The sun was setting, casting hues across the sky similar to the shades of the peaches that were commonly grown in the region. Down to the foot of the tallest mountain lied houses miniscule compared to the magnitude of its surroundings. The houses being made of mud and clay provided no assistance in keeping out the harsh cold from seeping to the residents who had just faced an increase in their household. A child was born after an intense period of labor, frail, weak but at least alive unlike the previous miscarriages which they were still confused and deeply shattered about. However, the child being a girl brought despair to most of the family, as the jarring and disagreeable conditions were considered not fit for her.
Yet, her parents cherished her deeply, providing her with every ounce of care and food they could afford despite their poor financial state, disregarding the disappointed gazes of their elders. They named their bundle of joy, Roshan, meaning bright or full of life. However, providing care proved to be incredibly difficult, with a constant need to visit hospitals and the closest one being an hour away. The first checkup unmasked a new horror. Roshan was diagnosed with the most severe form of Thalassemia and was terminally ill. Hearing these words enter their ears devastated Roshan’s parents, their heart felt crushed, and their hope crumbled into dust. She was fated into a seemingly terrible life and was cursed by the people that loved her the most. Roshan was a victim of her parent’s ignorance, and she alone would have to pay the price.
Test after test, procedure after procedure and injection after injection, the hollow, cold empty hallways were a constant presence in her life and the uncomfortable seat in the transfusion rooms a constant nuisance even though she was accompanied by numerous other patients who were all in the same boat as her she still felt alone, devoid of friends or the feeling of being truly normal. Why wasn’t she normal? Why couldn’t she live her lives like others? Why did her relatives treat her like a pest or some kind of monster? What was so wrong with her was that they couldn’t treat her “normally”? At school, Roshan struggled to make friends and was constantly called a “mosquito” or a “vampire”. The closest she got to making a friend was in second grade and later she heard that her friend’s mother had prohibited her from going near her. Roshan later understood it was because of stigma and classical society stereotypes. She was furious, disappointed, and incredibly exhausted at all. She just wanted to be normal. Soon her perception of the word normal itself was drastically changing; it was an ideal for her. To be normal is to be perfect.
Years passed, and the days shortened as Roshan started needing her transfusions earlier, putting much more financial strain on her parent. Her mother had passed away due to a stroke leaving her father to care for her alone. After Roshan’s mother’s death, the father, Ali, felt even more obliged to ensure that Roshan could fully live up to her name. Diligently working day and night, laboring in all sorts of jobs just to provide enough cash for his precious daughter’s treatment, yet this cycle of labor had no end. Ali started falling into debt as the loans became nearly impossible to pay, he was being demotivated from all directions, but he could not falter, he could not walk away, he could not break his promise to his beloved wife and he would at all costs cure Roshan, for that was his purpose and his only way to cleanse the sin of deeming an innocent life to an endless myriad of pain. No matter how much blood and sweat he poured he could not cover up the costs, Roshan started missing her treatments. She became even more so feeble and even when they found a donor, the blood was sometimes unsuitable or unsafe for use. The light slowly darkened, and despair loomed around the corner. Roshan was then hospitalized due to her given state, but the hospital proved to be of no help. One late night, Ali received a call from one of Roshan’s doctors. Why would anyone call this late at night? It could not be because of that, right? No way, because of that, Didn’t the doctor state Roshan was getting better? So, it must be for another reason! Ali’s mind raced to form conclusions and deflect the miserable thought but in the back of his mind he knew, he knew he was just pulling at loose strings.
“Roshan is no longer with us”, the doctor muttered and words alone were enough for Ali to feel an immense pain unlike anything before. Ali slumped down and tried to scream, but no voice escaped from his throat. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he looked out the window. The sun was rising casting bright hues across the sky just exactly how it was when Roshan was born, but this time the dawn only reminded of what Ali could not keep, and of what he had lost.
But Ali could not falter, not yet; his job was not done. He had to arise and warn, warn those before they feel the same despair he has for that is his duty and punishment for being ignorant.
Is this all inevitable? Were all his efforts in vain? Could this all have been prevented? No, no, yes. A simple test can prevent one from a lifetime of misery, but the stigma surrounding it leads to secrecy in marriages which further leads to a more problematic stage. Getting tested is merrily ensuring the body is being well kept and is not devoid of anything furthermore, the belittling and seclusion of those terminally, extremely ill or in a constant need of blood donations is simply the cruelest thing one can project to those who are already in suffering. With one action at a time, Pakistan can be free from the horrors and the burden of thalassemia allowing those like Ali and Roshan to experience life at its fullest.
