RAPESCARS...They Never Heal
PROLOGUE
I
tried to open eyes but could manage only a half. I squinted around. Everything
was blurred…
I was feeling immense
pain in my abdomen.
The cruel cold floor
made me realize that I was naked. A light piece of apparel was lying over me;
hiding my so whatever left dignity. It
was my ‘duppatta.’
I strained my eyes to look around. Another
piece of garment was hanging on the fan above me. My blurred vision took some
time to recognize red ‘Salwar.’
Perhaps Raman intentionally put it there, to
torture me more and in a bid to impede me from getting out.
My hands searched for
my ‘Kurti.’
Leaving the task
undone, my left hand returned barren and reached to thighs.
.
It landed upon some
sticky viscous liquid. I raised my hand to look and found that it was semen and
blood. My squalid fingers smeared in filth, made me nauseated.
Taking support of my
arms, I tried to sit. I felt frail as if the last calorie had been squeezed out
of my body.
My head was
thoughtless. It wasn’t fear, nor joy but a strange sickness, a gloom of having
lost something very precious. I was not crying but tears were steadily finding
its way.
With hands supporting
my upper body and preventing it from falling back, I sat.
My eyes, now, were
opening a little more, could look around.
I wasn’t a stranger
to those walls. The fan, which had soothed Raman and me during our numerous
meetings, too knew me well. However, that day, they all had turned hostile. The
walls, the ceiling and the fan, all were glaring at me, naked.
When I looked at the
plain walls, they replayed the incident they had witnessed. Or it might be the
sole perception. However, I sharpened my semi-consciousness and was figuring
out what I had gone through. Love
jostled with me for more than a year to make me blind and insane. It made me
trust to his emotional statements. Lying with his head in my lap, in the very
room, fondling my hair and permeating his gazes into my eyes, he had said, ‘I
wish to say something to you, Akriti. You know and understand me the best, even
better than my parents.’ He flattered me with success and burdened me with the
obligation to believe that if I knew him better than his parents did, then I
too, could assure myself that he would never deceive me.
Soon the illusion
took over me– the illusion that I had known him well enough to hand over myself
to him.
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Thanks for your invaluable perception.