an answer from her.
How does she face this someone? What all did she really see? Was it just as much as she had said—the professor forcing himself upon her? Would this someone ever understand her state of mind now, and more importantly then, when she was being molested? How is she, Raheema, any different from the other women who sell their bodies in return for money, which she had been doing in return for the favour that Mahajan had once done her? Scores of such questions clouded her mind and she didn’t have an answer to any of them. Whatever it was, at that moment, she wasn’t prepared to hold any conversation with the girl who was privy to her life’s closely guarded secret. In her mind, she believed she was the culprit.
Rupali kept on insisting and trying to make her talk. But Raheema was lost in her fearful thoughts. The next time when she heard Rupali’s voice and became conscious of where she was, she wondered who all Rupali would have shared this with. For a while, she thought her job in the college had come to an end. The thought of how she would now earn a living and secure a future for her daughter had started bothering her. So she tried to defend her position, even though Rupali hadn’t accused her at all.
When she decided to speak up, she only denied all that Rupali had said. She told Rupali that nothing like that had happened and that she might have confused her with some other peon. But her only problem was that her face and body language didn’t support her statement. She couldn’t look into Rupali’s eyes when she spoke. On the contrary, her face had turned red. And she started stammering. At one point, when she could not communicate any further, she wanted to run away. She wanted to run out of that room, that hostel, that very campus. She wished her running away could undo everything.
In a state of panic, she tried to get up from her chair, but Rupali comforted and consoled her. Then, suddenly, she couldn’t take it any more and tried to rush out of the room. Rupali jumped out of her bed and held her arms. Raheema’s skin felt ice-cold. She was shivering.
Rupali could not think of any other way to stop her, so she hugged her tightly.
‘Please let me help you, didi . . . ’ she pleaded.
Perhaps it was the soothing sound of her voice or the warmth of her body that comforted Raheema. That one moment broke the ice between them. Raheema could not hold back her emotions any longer. She cried her heart out. She gave voice to her emotions when she screamed loudly in Rupali’s room. Her unbearable pain gushed out of her eyes. Rupali allowed her to vent her feelings. She continued to hold her body close to her chest and in the tight grip of her arms. She kept rubbing her back gently, allowing her to lighten her heavy heart. For some time, neither of them spoke.
A bit later, Rupali offered Raheema a glass of water. When the two of them sat back again, Rupali was all ears.
‘Didi,’ she said, clearing her throat. She was finally talking now.
Rupali kept looking at her moist eyes when Raheema started narrating her story.
Raheema was in her late thirties. Yet, for her shapely body and appealing facial features, she made an attractive female in the clan of other lady peons on campus. Rupali had realized this when, earlier in the day, she happened to take a closer look at her. She was a widow and a mother of a fifteen-year-old daughter. She lived in the nearby slums where most of the residents were from her minority community. Years back, she used to work as a domestic help in a few houses, where she would clean utensils and do other household chores. But when, three years back, her husband died of cancer, she had no other option but to look for a better job. On the one hand, she had to run her household and on the other, she had to take care of her daughter’s education. Like her, she didn’t want her daughter, too, to clean utensils. She had dreamt of a good life for her daughter.
Much before
How does she face this someone? What all did she really see? Was it just as much as she had said—the professor forcing himself upon her? Would this someone ever understand her state of mind now, and more importantly then, when she was being molested? How is she, Raheema, any different from the other women who sell their bodies in return for money, which she had been doing in return for the favour that Mahajan had once done her? Scores of such questions clouded her mind and she didn’t have an answer to any of them. Whatever it was, at that moment, she wasn’t prepared to hold any conversation with the girl who was privy to her life’s closely guarded secret. In her mind, she believed she was the culprit.
Rupali kept on insisting and trying to make her talk. But Raheema was lost in her fearful thoughts. The next time when she heard Rupali’s voice and became conscious of where she was, she wondered who all Rupali would have shared this with. For a while, she thought her job in the college had come to an end. The thought of how she would now earn a living and secure a future for her daughter had started bothering her. So she tried to defend her position, even though Rupali hadn’t accused her at all.
When she decided to speak up, she only denied all that Rupali had said. She told Rupali that nothing like that had happened and that she might have confused her with some other peon. But her only problem was that her face and body language didn’t support her statement. She couldn’t look into Rupali’s eyes when she spoke. On the contrary, her face had turned red. And she started stammering. At one point, when she could not communicate any further, she wanted to run away. She wanted to run out of that room, that hostel, that very campus. She wished her running away could undo everything.
In a state of panic, she tried to get up from her chair, but Rupali comforted and consoled her. Then, suddenly, she couldn’t take it any more and tried to rush out of the room. Rupali jumped out of her bed and held her arms. Raheema’s skin felt ice-cold. She was shivering.
Rupali could not think of any other way to stop her, so she hugged her tightly.
‘Please let me help you, didi . . . ’ she pleaded.
Perhaps it was the soothing sound of her voice or the warmth of her body that comforted Raheema. That one moment broke the ice between them. Raheema could not hold back her emotions any longer. She cried her heart out. She gave voice to her emotions when she screamed loudly in Rupali’s room. Her unbearable pain gushed out of her eyes. Rupali allowed her to vent her feelings. She continued to hold her body close to her chest and in the tight grip of her arms. She kept rubbing her back gently, allowing her to lighten her heavy heart. For some time, neither of them spoke.
A bit later, Rupali offered Raheema a glass of water. When the two of them sat back again, Rupali was all ears.
‘Didi,’ she said, clearing her throat. She was finally talking now.
Rupali kept looking at her moist eyes when Raheema started narrating her story.
Raheema was in her late thirties. Yet, for her shapely body and appealing facial features, she made an attractive female in the clan of other lady peons on campus. Rupali had realized this when, earlier in the day, she happened to take a closer look at her. She was a widow and a mother of a fifteen-year-old daughter. She lived in the nearby slums where most of the residents were from her minority community. Years back, she used to work as a domestic help in a few houses, where she would clean utensils and do other household chores. But when, three years back, her husband died of cancer, she had no other option but to look for a better job. On the one hand, she had to run her household and on the other, she had to take care of her daughter’s education. Like her, she didn’t want her daughter, too, to clean utensils. She had dreamt of a good life for her daughter.
Much before
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