She had a name

Mufzina was just three years old when her father left home to look for a job. 

No one in the village ever heard about him after that. 

In this land of conflicts, no one was sure about anything?

Her young mother may live her entire life waiting for her husband. 

How could she marry again without knowing the whereabouts of her husband? 

The entire village would damn her if she did that. 

Without the death certificate of her husband, she couldn't avail herself of any

government welfare. 

In between the game of life and death, she became a half-widow.

The remote village seemed to be a prison for that young woman and her little daughter.

***

A narrow mud path through the middle of an apple orchard led me to a small wooden building.

It was a small school. Children were busy with their books. 

I was there to know about the children who were adopted by an orphanage. 

Children from far-flung villages were being provided free food, accommodation and education by the orphanage.

I entered a small room of about 30 students. 

Little boys and girls were studying the English alphabet in that first standard classroom. 

While talking, I asked the teacher how many students from the orphanage were studying there. 

In the flash of a second, she raised her hand and pointed her fingers towards a little girl and said, “she is an orphan”. 

That little girl suddenly rose from the floor without raising her head. 

She stood there as if she had done a grave mistake. 

I wished to yell at that young teacher, “Bitch, she has a name, which is not

 orphan.” 

All the other children in the class were looking at that little girl. 

I didn’t want to talk to the teacher anymore. 

I walked out of the classroom. 

That little girl was Mufzina.

(Name changed, based on true events)