She - II (A short narrative)

She sat in a corner, numb. Eyes staring into nothingness. Too empty to feel even grief. There was nothing left inside her, nothing. Not even an ache where her heart was. Eyes dry, bereft of tears, bereft even of expression.

 

There may have been, perhaps, regret - if her mind was capable of thought. An onlooker would not have noticed it, though, she seemed lost, far away.

From where I stood, she looked frail, short and disheveled. No, more than disheveled she looked dispirited. I gestured to the uniformed lady, eyebrows raised. The name tag on her sari read Sujata Dumbhare. Sujata called out in a not unkind voice, 'Vaishali Pradhan, Vaishali Pradhan! Come here!"

A silence fell on the room. The low murmured chit chat from the rest of the inmates died away. All eyes turned to the corner, an expectant hush in the air. 

She stayed there, unresponsive. No change of expression in her eyes, on her face. She was not there. With a sigh of annoyance but tempered by an unaccustomed kindness the warden unlocked the door to the cell, giving a stern warning to the others to stay where they were. As she reached Vaishali's corner I noticed how gently she reached down to tap her shoulder. 

A blank look as she turned her gaze, looking up at the warden. A brief exchange of whispered instructions. And, dully, without any resistance Vaishali allowed herself to be coaxed into getting up. 

She half stumbled her way across the cell, to the door and past it until she stood in front of me. She looked at me without really seeing, waiting for something or nothing. She simply stood there, uncaring, unseeing, simply because she had been brought there, to this spot. I looked at her. She was not pretty, not good looking - just your average, normal, lower class maid servant type woman. A simple cotton saree, a loose blouse that was clearly a hand me down from somewhere, a bindi - vermilion on her forehead. A face that seemed older, much older than the 24 years that I knew she was. I gestured to her to follow Sujata and me to the interview room, a semi private section down the corridor where we could speak without the raucous din of the general cell.

Sujata led the way, Vaishali in the middle while I followed close behind. Reaching the room, Sujata left us with a simple "Call me if you need anything" and we sat down, facing each other across a small table. 

Silence hung heavy while I looked at her face, while she looked at nothing. A few seconds passed as I gathered my thoughts and then gently broke the silence. In a few quick sentences I told her who I was, and how the District Legal Aid system had assigned me, Radhika, to be her lawyer. I introduced my rather short career (just 2 years out of law college, struggling, burning with idealism seeking to do the right thing) and ended with the hope that we could work together and see how best I could help her.

It was like talking to a wall. Or a table. I wasn't sure that she heard one word. In a tone sharper than I should have used, I asked her, "Did you hear what I said just now?" 

That seemed to get through, just a little. Desultory, but finally some response. She nodded. A half nod, actually. Encouraged, but still a bit riled (who wants to waste time talking to a wall?) I said quickly, slightly loudly, "Tell me what happened?"

Vaishali's story:

There was no food in the house. The children were hungry. Somehow, yesterday, I managed to bring home a little food. The lady at whose house I worked, she had some leftover food. Just a little, but I could give it to the 2 kids. Jyoti, my elder daughter (poor thing, she's only 8 years) had to go to Madam's house to collect it. I was unable to go, no? Because of my condition. And HE, that useless, good for nothing fellow? He was not to be seen only. Anyway, so Jyoti went and got the food, in that plastic dabba. She and Arjun ate it all. They're good children, both of them. Despite everything. Poor, good souls. What will happen to them? (She broke down, sobbing, burying her face in her hands)

(After a little pause, she resumed)

I didn't have anything. I wasn't hungry, much. So I drank water. And slept. Or tried to. Jyoti was at home, little girl trying to do all the work. Arjun had gone to play. And this little one,the baby, she was crying. Crying. Crying all the time. She was tiny, feeble, even her voice was weak. What else could she do but cry, cry, and cry? Or sleep, sleep and sleep? I knew she was not keeping well. I knew she was having a fever. When I took her frail, five day old body in my hands to try and feed her, I could feel her little body as if it was on fire.. and what am I saying, "feed her"? What could I feed her? (Suddenly she drops her pallu, her blouse seems empty, two tiny breasts barely making a dent underneath the cloth) Look at these! See? Like little dried onions?!! What will I feed her??

(She looks at me with bitter anger, hopeless defiance, challenging me to make and hold eye contact. I try. And fail. Looking away, I whisper, "Go on". Anger giving way to despair, she resumes)

Anyway, that was before.. before THAT day... a bitter laugh, she looks down, eyes resting on her hands resting on her lap. (My eyes follow hers, I look at those hands, those slender, long fingers, her nails painted a cheap bright red - like blood? I shuddered, looked away.)

That day, (Vaishali resumed) he left early even before any of us woke up. I was tired, didn't even have the energy to get up from the bed. Jyoti woke up first and I saw her, poor thing, sweep the house.  A glass of water was all she had before she went out. I tried calling out, to ask her where she was going. She said something, about milk or perhaps tea, or something and she was gone. Arjun was still sleeping, it was around 7, maybe more. I finally got up and went, washed myself, and came back. The little one was sleeping, thank God for THAT I thought to myself. I dreaded what would happen if she woke up. The poor thing, I thought to myself. I looked at that tiny face. 

Thoughts came, unbidden, to my mind. Bad thoughts, I know, but they still came... What to do? It is not as if I wanted to (her voice trailed off. A couple of moments of awkward silence, before she resumed)

I am tired, didi (she said). Look at me! How old do you think I am? Do I look like I am 24? Anyone would think I am a grandmother, that's how I look! And that useless drunkard, all he does is loaf around all day, get drunk, come home and fight. He beats the children, he beats me and then he falls asleep. At least if he sleeps, that is bearable but NO! He will wake up all horny as hell, with that rod between his legs taking a life of its own!

That time too, he pushed me down, climbed on top of me and did what he wanted to. I tried fighting. I begged, I cried, I told him to at least wear a condom. Will he listen, that bastard?! It is of no use he simply turns deaf and does what he wants to and then rolls off.That night I did something I'd never done before. I was desperate so I went to the toilet and washed myself down there, cleaned out whatever I could, even took a bit of cloth and inserted it as deep as I could, hoping that I could remove his filthy seed. For ten minutes, maybe more, I tried everything to clean myself up before I came back to sleep.

(With a forlorn shake of her head, she resumed) Anyway, in a month or so, I knew I was in trouble. No periods, there I was, despite all the washing and cleaning and praying, pregnant once again. I hoped, waited for a few days, praying that the bleeding would start. Nothing. I was desperate. There was no way that I could afford to be pregnant once again. Not with that bastard husband behaving the way he is. 

Went to my mother's house for advice and help. Advice I got, in plenty, all of it useless. As always, she told me to "adjust" but that is not surprising at all. She has been doing exactly that all her life with a husband who is even more useless than mine! (Bitter laugh) Anyway, that was all she could offer so I came away, still wondering where to go, what to do. I think it was the next day, or a little while later, I was talking to "Madam" (the lady of the house where I worked). Madam is a moody lady, she listens sometimes, sometimes she can be quite abrupt and rude. One has to be careful and gauge her mood before speaking. 

That day she seemed in a good mood. We were alone so it must have been a weekday. Cautiously I opened the topic. Slowly, little by little, I told her my fears and, quite surprisingly, she was in a helpful mood. She told me about her own unwanted pregnancy, and how her husband and she went to the clinic for an abortion. She told me too about other things, how to prevent pregnancy permanently etc. She even spoke to her doctor and all. I asked her how much it would cost. She told me not to worry, and gave me some money for the operation - like a fool, I took the money. I should have told her to keep it herself!! (Her voice rose in anger, she was shouting at herself apparently. I asked her, "Why, what happened?")

I had not hidden the money, it was in the small cupboard. When he came home and changed his clothes, his eyes fell on the small bundle. It was 5,000 rupees. It stayed home for barely 3 hours, before he stole it from me - I begged, I pleaded, fell at his feet, tried to take it back from him. He kicked me in the stomach, called me all sorts of abusive filthy names and he was gone. My money too. He was not to be seen for 4 while days, god knows how much money went to drink and how much to those randis that he visits... I had to narrate the whole sorry story to madam. She wanted me to go to the police. Easy to say, no, go to the police?! Tell me, can people like us ever go there and get justice? What they will do? Pull him in and beat him in front of me and the children! How will that help? Will I get the money back? Where will the police be when he comes home again seeking revenge? Will they be there to ensure that he doesn't drink again? Bah!!

Madam refused to help, after that. She thinks I am a fool. She must be right. She's so different, no? Educated, independent and all. Not like us. Tell me, madam, does your husband beat you? (She looks at me. I don't reply, just show her by a shake of the head, "No" while remembering that one time when Girish held my neck in rage)

Anyway, why should I bore you. As you know, the baby was born last week. Jyoti was all excited, poor little thing. She as there at the government hospital all the time, she and my mother. It was a pre-mature baby, she was born one month before time. Poor thing was under weight too. Born hungry, destined to remain hungry, but with a voice! What a voice!! At the time of her birth her voice was loud, like a loud speaker. Even the nurses used to laugh and crack jokes, telling me she will be a political leader! (She smiles, wanly, at the week old memory) In two days I was back at home. And in all that time he didn't come to visit, not once! When we reached home he was there, lolling on the bed, watching some stupid show on TV.

All that he said was "One  more girl like you? Useless!" My heart sank. Is that all he has to say, I thought to myself. I showed him the baby, tried to get him to hold her for a minute. He simply got up, used an abusive word, and left home. 

That's how it has been. Not just now. That's how it has been for a long time. I am trying to remember, has he ever spoken tenderly, gently with me? Perhaps in the beginning, maybe a few times. But from the time Jyoti was born? He's been like this ever since. Not even when Arjun was born did he change... in fact, he's often... (her voice trails away here, drooping in defeat) 

So, THAT day, (incidentally, that's yesterday) Jyoti came back with a small plastic bag of tea and Parle biscuits. She had gone to the corner shop and swept the floor and washed some vessels to earn this. We had that, the three of us, Arjun, Jyoti and I. The little one was stirring awake. Her voice, which was so loud last week, had trailed off and was barely audible now. Weak from hunger, weak from fever, the poor thing suffered. I looked at her and my spirits sank. What am I going to do, I wondered? How do I feed her when I have nothing to give? Jyoti tried lifting her up but I told her to get ready for school and to take Arjun along She's a good girl, my Jyoti, always obedient and responsible. 

In a while the house was empty. The child was now in my lap. I was feeding her. An empty house, an empty pair of breasts. Nothing there, just the little thing sucking on a nipple, hungry for milk, hungry for life with no hope of anything... Alone, all alone, I looked down at her, at her face. Her eyes were closed, her mouth and lips moving, sucking at nothing, and nothing that I could do to change her fate.

In a flash I saw visions of her future. Darkness was all that I could see. A life of desperation, of suffering, of hunger, and sickness and beatings and worse. My heart swelled to bursting point. The little child, now realising that she was sucking on an empty bag began to cry. A small, weak voice but insistent, grating, getting on my nerves. I tried telling her "Keep quiet, keep quiet" over and over, but would she listen? No! She kept crying, squirming, twisting on my lap, in my arms... I can see her face now, I can see my hands now (she lifted her hands and looked at them, I looked too) and I can see my fingers, as I placed them around her neck and pressed and pressed and pressed, these nails puncturing that tiny neck until her face turned blue and she cried no more.

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She was discovered by a neighbour who, ironically, came into the hut wanting to borrow milk. Vaishali sat there, like a statue, with the dead child on her lap. Her hands still firmly around that yet to be named daughter's neck. 

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"Why did you do it?" I asked in a horrified whisper.

"Because I loved her" the mother replied. 

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