They said the Div did not knock, that it only took and left without a trace; everyone in town knew what the taps against the roof meant for their families and children. Saboor knew this, the way he knew the shape of the mountains and the hardships of hunger throughout the cold winters. Still, as night settled over the village, he found himself staring at the door as if it might offer some warning. Maybe some mercy before it opened and tore his reality apart. Pari, his sister, slept beside him, her small hand holding onto his shirt. Even as she rested, she held on as if some part of her understood what he had spent all day trying not to understand or even believe. “Only one child.” The story had always sounded like a horror tale— a way to keep children close, to keep them obedient with fear. But tonight, the story would all come true, and it wasn’t one where the fairytale would override evil. Across the room, Father moved quietly. Saboor watched him closely, inspecting his every move to maybe find some sort of regret, some type of plan for it all not to come true. Their stepmother sat near the kitchen, not cooking, not speaking, just staring blankly near the counter; No one said a single word, they didn’t need to.
Saboor turned to the side and studied his sister’s face. For a second, it all seemed like a bad dream. He tried to imagine the room without her, the rest of his life without running around in the fields together. He couldn’t. Suddenly, Saboor had the courage to call out to Father, once, twice, until he finally looked up, his eyes filled with hollow hopes and emotion.
“Is it true?” The room was silent, as if the question was hanging on by a thread for seconds which almost felt like a lifetime. For a moment, Saboor thought his father might somehow reconsider, maybe tell him it was all a lie. Maybe he’d awaken from a nightmare, a nightmare in which his beloved sister, Pari, is to never be seen again, but sold off for the sake of ending poverty.
“There are things we do to survive,” Father said. Then, there it was— a sound, something forming beyond the door. Pari, half asleep, called out for her brother, her grip tightening against his shirt. Saboor waited for a growl, a hand, something monstrous to fill the doorway. But nothing came. Then suddenly, time felt meaningless. His father was no longer empty-handed; in his arms, wrapped tightly, was Pari. Saboor lunged forward, but his stepmother caught him.
Pari began to cry fully awake, reaching for him, not wanting to leave her brother. “I’m here!” Saboor called out, struggling against the arms holding him captive. But she was already being carried toward the door, toward the waiting dark which she would call her new home for the rest of her life, toward the thing they called a Div, which Saboor finally understood. He fell right onto the floor, only being able to hear his sister’s cries slowly fading into the distance. The village would say the Div had come, that it took one child and that it was an honorable act, but Saboor knew the truth. Sometimes the Div wasn’t a creature of shadows, of fear. Sometimes, it was the choice no one wanted to name.
