Insensitive to Pain

It was Saturday. Mom and I stood outside our apartment complex as usual for our morning bus- that took me to school and Mom to the college. Suddenly, Mom asked,” Have you settled down at school Aadhi? Because I feel that you are unhappy.”

I looked at her, suddenly aware that she was talking to me. She smiled, “This quietness is unlike you. We moved from Dehradun to Kolkata months ago. You have made friends, haven’t you?”I didn’t answer her, instead I gazed at the autos and buses, observing the way they whizzed past us, almost as if they were mocking the pedestrians. Mom was about to venture into a lecture about how I am the friendliest soul on the entire planet when thankfully the bus arrived, saving my misery. I rushed in to get away from her. I found an empty seat next to a girl of roughly my age.

She had brown eyes that were serene like the still waters of a lake, an upturned nose and thin lips curved in determination, which in a way ruined her fairy-like appearance. I quickly sat beside her, so as to escape from the incessant talking of my good-hearted but somewhat clueless mother.

Anyway, I decided to start the conversation as it was 6kms to my school.

“Are you going far?” I asked her, giving her my best smile.

Her eyes fixed on me. I had a vague feeling that I was being scanned. After a few moments, having safely passed the scanner test, she replied, “I get off at Shyambazar.”

“Excellent. I get off just before there. Which school?”

Her eyes flashed me a sudden look of pity at my naivety. “I don’t go to school. I work at the local saree house.”

Of course. Just because my school allowed casuals on Saturday didn’t mean that it was the same everywhere. But she seemed young enough to be going to school. I frowned.” What is your age, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“15.”

A year younger than me! I gaped at her for a full minute before she felt the need to explain.” Actually I was gang raped last year after which my family disowned me. You might know my name. It is Zakia Ansari.”

I did not pay close attention to newspapers but had heard that name somewhere before. She continued, “I have no money. I sleep in an NGO shelter . The saree seller makes me work hard and doesn’t give me food to eat. I am constantly hungry and there is a pit in my stomach. I have no money to buy medicines with when my body aches. Yet I carry on with my life. ”

I kept staring at her, unbelieving the fact that I was seeing a girl who had survived all odds in her life. And I was worried because I didn’t have friends in my new school? Still pressing her, I asked, ” How did it happen?”

She rolled her eyes.”Party. Guy dropping. Friends appearing from nowhere. Screams quitened. Shouts stifled. Indescribable pain. Found on the roads. Amma- Abba freaking out. Me out of school with no chance of a future now that some unknown boys have ‘dishonoured’ me.” She shrugged. Isn’t it the commonest of them all? Yet, the damage is never less. Neither the physical first, nor the emotional after.” By this time she had tears in her eyes and even I found my eyes getting moist.

“The police did everything but they were sent to juvenile court. Justice, they called it. What could I say? What was done was done. My family chose to hide behind the veil of honour and allowed their beloved daughter to perish in the society.”She was weeping like a daily train, fast and persistent, eager to get all the passengers out only to start again.

She laughed midway her sobs, which to me sounded harsh and resentful.”See my helplessness? I don’t know your name, I have never seen you before and yet I shared my horrific past with you. Truth is, nobody since that day has asked me what had happened. They had cunningly avoided it and I could not share it with even the people whom I called family. I was a lively girl but the incident left me cold and broken. Your face seemed so free and innocent, just like me before it happened, that I could not resist from telling my story to someone who could at least relate to one hundredth of the trauma that I had undergone on December 25th.”

I informed her, ”Adhira Dobriyal.”

“Do you know what your name means?”

“It means lightning.”

Zakia gazed at the sky which had turned a shade of dark grey. The monsoon was approaching. “There had been a thunderstorm that day, but you didn’t strike me. You could have ended my misery right then.”

I felt ashamed, feeling for a moment that she was right. Her cruel smile full of hatred for the world only made my sadness deeper.

“Aadhi? We are there.” It was Mom, calling out to me.

I got up from my seat. She smiled at me. I wanted to give her a few hundred rupees to help her out but my purse was at home and Mom was in the front. I knew that even she wanted to be helped with money. But I was unable to. I smiled apologetically and got down from the bus. Before descending, I noticed that an old lady had taken my seat.

“With whom were you engrossed in conversation?” Mom asked, as we walked to our respective destinations.” Only your face was visible from where I was sitting so I couldn’t catch the face of the other one.”

“A rape victim.”

Mom replied, “Oh, don’t you know? That is the latest nowadays. Concocting stories for making money out of pity.”

“Zakia Ansari.”

“ My God! She? Wait, long hair green eyes?

“Short hair and brown eyes.”

Ma smirked. Clearly, I had been countered in the most brutal manner.