Flowing Water Forms A Canal

Unwavering Hope

Now, it's easy to reminisce about how it all started, but back then, I was just a scared sheep.

My husband, who is a drunkard and womanizer, just took off from the joint family two-storey building with a large sum of money. I don't know how much it is, but my daughter and I have to bear all the swears from my in-laws because of that.

After a few months, I learned that my husband was involved in a theft case and was being held at a village police station 50 miles away from our village.

All the while, I'm living in a house full of alcoholics, gamblers, and other types of perverts. I can feel in my bones that my father-in-law and brother-in-laws tried to make moves on me because, even though there's another route, they always walk through my room to get to the bathroom at night. I never rested my eyes peacefully in this house. I think I never got raped only because of my mother-in-law and the presence of my kid. All day long, they look at me as if they got a chance, they might eat me.

He stayed calm and straight for just about six months after the marriage. After that, this asshole of a husband would drink and beat me every damn day. I'm facing all this alone, but I cannot go to my parents because my dad, who is a measly weaver, can't handle these problems. He can't set them straight; he doesn't have money, popularity, or at least enough voice to handle these arrogant, wealthy perverts.

This big family of 40 people was set straight and stable in its own way and stayed wealthy because of only one person: my big brother-in-law Raghuram. When he speaks, all 40 members shut their mouths and listen to him. He speaks very rarely, but when he speaks, it's to the point. When he wants something, he'll get it by any means. I still wonder how he was born into this family, as good as garbage. Some people in the village say looks can be deceiving. He's not a saint. Genes cannot go wrong. Even though he's not as reckless and addicted as his brothers, he does visit whorehouses from time to time. But he never got caught, and no one ever dared to question him.

Whatever, when I found out my husband was being held in the police station, he wasn't at our house, or our 100 acres of paddy, or our 200 acres of coconut plantation, or our weaving farm, which consists of goddamned 6 to 8 godowns, each with 100-150 weaving machines working 24/7, or any fucking whorehouses. I personally went and checked other places, except whorehouses, so I sent our family worker there. He came back with helpless eyes. In those eyes, I felt the betrayal done to me.

Raghuram is there in one or another fucking whorehouse, but he ordered the worker to tell me that he found nothing. This man, he'll be ready to help every goddamn man as a sarpanch in the village, but not my husband. Why does he hate him so much? With that, I lost hope of receiving assistance from anyone, so I just said screw it and started preparations to go to that village, clutching my two-year-old child in one hand and a bag full of saris and snacks in the other. Two days ago, my mom sent me a chunk of her stashed money.

After two days of traveling on a bullock cart, I barely reached that place. With a fever, total body aches, and an exhausted brain, I just collapsed at the entrance of the police station. There was a kind constable who raised me up and gave me a glass of cool pot water on that hot summer afternoon. I fell at his feet to thank him.

From there on, I fell at every constable, SI, and CI's feet, pleading to release my husband. After two days, they agreed to release him in exchange for 3,000 rupees. I had foreseen this and brought along my gold, so I pawned it and gave it to them.

With the leftover 1,500 rupees, I carried my asshole husband to my village, but I didn't go to the in-laws. I found a house for rent and set up weaving work with two workers there. After a few weeks, my husband recovered from the police wounds, and he would go out and sell the finished clothes.