Five00 Fiveoo-21

Whispers by the River

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Somewhere on the banks of Yamuna, 1986

You brought me here today. You, wearing my favourite shirt, and me, clad in your favourite salwar.

“Sushma,” you said, your eyes sparkling. “Look at what I’ve got for you.” You pulled out a Yashica camera and placed it gently in my hands. In that moment, my joy erupted, like I was the only melody in a world that had just begun to sing.

One moment we were talking, the next, your lips were on mine. I impulsively pulled back, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I know you’re scared,” you urged, your eyes searching mine, “but we’re about to be married. It’s okay.” I gave in. You put your hands on the back of my head and bit my lips, I couldn’t pull away that time. A shiver ran down my spine. Your lust took over, you raped me.

On the same banks of Yamuna, 1992

I bring you here today to scatter Ram’s ashes. You’re in tears. I’m in tears. We’re both drowning in this pain, together.

“I can’t take this, Sushma! It hurts so much”, your voice breaking as your tears fall, heavy and endless.

Six years ago, I uttered the same words at this very place when you tore away my innocence as I bled profusely. “I can’t take this Ramesh, I can’t, it’s hurting”, I pleaded repeatedly, you didn’t care.

You had undressed me forcefully, thrust your disgusting manhood inside me.

You dropped me home with my tattered salwar hidden behind your jacket like I was something to hide. Just the thought of your jacket brushing against me made my skin scream in disgust. I shared everything with my mother, who was more worried about whether the neighbours had witnessed my disgrace.

I knocked desperately on the doors of justice, hoping for a glimmer of relief, and they punished you by ordering you to marry me.

I started drinking, recklessly trying to destroy the tiny life growing inside me, the thought of carrying your offspring made my blood churn. I prayed for a miscarriage, begged for it. I failed. Ram was born, with Neonatal Immunodeficiency. But the moment I saw him, held him, all that hate vanished. He was ours—mine to love.

But it was too late, there was not a single day he wasn’t fighting some battle, his fragile body constantly at war. He was a brave boy, clinging to life for five years.

Today, here we are, for his mukti.

But it’s not the innocent who need mukti—it’s the sinners. Sinners like you, and like me. As you scatter his ashes into the Yamuna, I take your revolver, steady my hand, and point it at the back of your head. Without another thought, I pull the trigger. I pull out the camera you gifted me, snap a picture of your lifeless corpse for proof.

I will knock on the doors of justice once again, this time, to turn myself in.

 

Glossary:

Yashica camera: A brand of camera, popular in the 1980s and 1990s, known for its quality and use in photography.

Neonatal Immunodeficiency: A medical condition that weakens the immune system of a newborn, making them more susceptible to infections and illnesses. It is often seen in infants with genetic disorders.

Mukti: In Hinduism, “mukti” refers to liberation or release from the cycle of birth and death (samsara). It is often seen as spiritual freedom or salvation.

 

Image by Petra from Pixabay

 

 

 

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