Almost a year ago I visited Razi Kolhi’s village Sodho Thhakur near Malkani Sharif, Tando Bagho. I found the village abandoned of all the basic human amneties. For the population of around 500 people there was not a single school, dispensary/health unit, electricity, safe drinking water and road available but as it’s in the gene of the Kolhi clan that where they settle once; the villagers of Sodho Thhakur have been spending their lives in the same village for generations. “We have been here for more than 50 years. We use to do seasonal migration to nearby Talukas during crop harvesting season but return back at the end of the season”, 60 years old Veeru Kolhi said. In the radius of around three kilometers of Sodho Thhakur, there are other ten small villages of Kolhi community too. Unfortunately, the condition of all those villages is unchanged. There was a government 1 room school in village Krishan Thhakur, but the school is closed since last four years due to unavailability of a teacher. 46 years old Razi Kolhi has been living in Sodho Thhakur for 30 years. Her husband died four years ago owing to cancer since then she has been spending the toughest days of her life in the single room of straw- clay made house. She is the mother of three daughters and four sons. All her daughters and a son are married, while three sons live with her in the on-room hut. I went to meet Razi to better understand the hardships facing a Kolhi woman living in rural Sindh. She was in the fields where she has been working as a laborer since the death of her husband Chetan Kolhi. I sent her son to call her so that we could have a chat about her life but she refused to come, “My landlord is very much displeased with the work of his labourers so I can’t leave work in the middle of the day”. It was around 4 pm in the evening so I decided to wait for Razi to come home. After two hours, she arrived, the sun was about to set in the west, shepherds along with their herds of animals were returning back to homes after spending the whole day in search of fodder. She welcomed me and apologised for being late but was unaware of the fact that I wasn’t bothered by her late arrival but her way of life that was devoid of any comfort. “This is my daily routine, to work in the fields from dawn to dusk so I have become used to it. I have to do this for my family’s survival” Her hands and foots were muddy so she went to wash them and returned back and sat on a wooden bench alongside her son. “Razi, I know you are too tired to talk, but I know I couldn’t forgive myself if I retuned back without knowing the realities of your discomforted existence,” I said. “This is my daily routine to work in the fields from dawn to dusk so I have become used to it. I have to do this all for my family’s survival,” she replied innocently. After a deep breath she continued “Since the death of my husband (Kolhi women are mostly tongue-tied and they never take the name of their husbands publically) it became my responsibility to take care of my children so I decided to continue where my husband had left.” I asked her about her childhood. She smiled, pointed her finger toward a 15-year-old girl standing behind me and said “I was of her age when I got married to my husband. I never played with dolls. The life before marriage was almost unchanged. On day I was working with my mother in the field when my father informed us regarding confirmation of my marriage date” “When my husband was alive, he repeated the same mistake. Though I resisted a lot because I have been paying the price of getting married at an early age, I was aware regarding the difficulties of pre mature marriages of girls but failed to save my daughters”, she added. “How they have been spending their married lives?” I asked her. “Women of Kolhi clan never dream of spending a luxurious life. Their day starts with violence by their men and ends with the same pattern. Between waking up/leaving their beds at dawn and inadequate sleep, they experience harsh daily routine which can never be called life in any sense but they have no choice but to accept it as a reality,” she replied. Almost every Kolhi woman living in any part of Sindh faces similar type of problems. The men believe that woman are little more than servants. After getting married, Kolhi women prove this mistaken belief because they don’t have any other option except to become a slave and keep serving their husbands. Though the men of Kolhi community in Sindh also work hard in the fields as peasants and laborers but they at least find some entertaining opportunities to relax themselves for some moments. Between relaxing hours they often go to hotels in nearby towns and watch films but their women never find such type of opportunities. Resultantly, when the chaos and tensions reach an ultimate stage, they commit suicide. Razi was not among those women who become dispirited when it comes to nurturing her children after the death of her husband. When I asked about her life with her husband, she became silent for a while. Then in a trembling voice she said: “I don’t know the exact date when I got married but I still remember that I had fever that entire day and the whole night. I requested my husband for medicine, but he ignored me. Next day he went to the fields, early morning without caring whether I was alive or not. I have never visited any hospital. I may have many diseases but my income doesn’t permit me to do so.” Meanwhile her brother in law arrived there; she instantly veiled her face and sat on the floor. When I asked her about it, she replied in a hushed tone, “this is our culture to respect men if we don’t do this God would never forgive us.” It was a shocking moment for me because she was respecting someone who never respected her. She remained silent until her brother in law’s departure. . Soon after his leaving, she again became the same Razi Kolhi whom I met some hours ago. “What would happen if you don’t do this?” I asked her. “Once my husband beat me because I forgot to do this and since that day I never forget and have been performing this practice for all the males of our community”. During this whole conversation I noticed that she was eyeing the clay stove continuously which was installed in her open air kitchen. On my inquiring, she said, “I haven’t eaten anything since this morning and neither have my sons. I have to cook the food but couldn’t say this to you”. It was around 8 pm and people had started sleeping in this remote village of Sindh. “Thank you for giving me a brief glimpse of your life, hopefully we will meet again,” I said and left her house. After a year’s gap, I was again on the same road. Suddenly, I thought about meeting Razi Kolhi so I arrived at her village. As I knocked on her wooden door, her son came out. He still remembered me. “Where is Razi Kolhi?,” I asked him. “She died a week ago,” he replied. The news came as a shock because when I met her last year she had seemed in good health. “What happened to her?” I inquired. “She was ill for a long time but didn’t go to the doctor because she had the opinion that one day everyone has to leave this world so it’s better to use money on children rather than to spend it on medicines”. I returned back with a heavy heart and thinking that her life could have been saved if someone had forced her to go to a hospital. If anyone is Kolhi, it doesn’t mean that he/she has no right to live in this country. Only a negligent government can do this to its own people. The writer is a freelance contributor and can be reached at abbaskhaskheli110@gmail.com Published in Daily Times, December 3rd 2018.