I Am Padmaja

"Whispers of Padmaja"

I am Padmaja - 1

Fahima, exhausted, collapsed on the floor, her stick dropping from her hand with a faint sound. Her body was drenched in sweat. Wiping her forehead with her palm, she exhaled heavily several times and then looked up. No man can endure remand, yet a woman has been holding out for four days now. The woman, tied to a chair in front of her, sat in a daze. Not a single sound had escaped her lips in four days. Despite enduring immense physical and mental torture, she hadn’t so much as whimpered in pain. It seemed as if they were beating a rock—one that bled but refused to speak.

Inspector Tushar entered just then. Seeing him, Fahima spoke in a weary voice, "It's impossible. She won't speak at all."

Tushar observed the girl with experienced eyes for a few seconds. Then, in a stern tone, he said to Fahima, "You may leave."

Fahima walked away with unsteady steps. Tushar pulled a chair and sat down in front of the girl. After a prolonged silence, he said, "This is our first meeting."

The girl said nothing. She didn’t even look at him. Tushar studied her intently and said, "Do you remember your parents?"

The girl looked up, her eyes cloudy. Blood dripped from her cracked lips. Her eyes were surrounded by dark circles, and they were bloodshot. Her face had the pallor typical of all detainees in remand. Keeping his expression neutral, Tushar repeated his question, "Do you remember your parents?"

The girl nodded. Yes, she did. Tushar leaned forward slightly. The girl gazed at him helplessly. He untied her hands and, in an indifferent tone, asked, "What is your name?"

Even though Tushar already knew her name and all her details, he asked nonetheless. He felt she might finally speak. And she did. In a heavy voice, she uttered, "Padma... I... I am Padmaja."

Padmaja slumped onto Tushar. He quickly caught her and shouted loudly, "Ms. Fahima, come here immediately!"

Fahima and two others rushed in.

---

1989

Early morning, Rashid Ghatak's arrival irritated Hemlata immensely. She had repeatedly told him, "I’m not marrying off Padma now. I want her to study further." Yet Rashiduddin brought a new groom proposal every week. How old is the girl anyway? Just sixteen. Shamsul Alam’s daughter got married at twenty-four. Padma, too, will marry at that age, and it will be with someone of her choosing. Hemlata ignored Rashid's presence, pretending not to see him. Rashid spat on the yard and said, "Listen, Padma’s mother, the groom I’ve found this time is a real gem!"

Irritated, Hemlata replied, "I haven’t asked for a groom for my daughter. Why do you keep coming here?"
"A young girl staying at home isn’t good."
"She’s my daughter. Let me decide what’s best for her."

Rashid left, unsuccessful and fuming. As he stepped onto the road, he muttered, "Are there no other girls in the village? Why is everyone after just one? Does wanting something mean you’ll get it?"

Meanwhile, Purna, in her school uniform, called out, "Apa? Hey, Apa? Aren’t you going to school?" Padmaja barely opened her eyes and murmured, "No," before drifting back to sleep. Disappointed, Purna went to their mother’s room.

"Ma, won’t Apa go to school?"

Placing down the bedding she was shaking, Hemlata glared at Purna and sternly replied, "She will. Tell her she must."

Purna lowered her head. Hemlata had a strict rule: her daughters must always speak proper language, not the colloquial village dialect. Seeing Purna’s obedience, Hemlata felt a sense of satisfaction. She added, "Padma isn’t well. She cried all night from stomach pain. Let her sleep."

Purna, though young, understood the real reason for Padmaja’s tears last night. She had been at their grandmother’s house and missed the events. Disheartened, she returned to her room.

---

The story continues beautifully, weaving Padmaja's struggles, the societal norms she battles, and the intricate relationships in her life. Would you like me to translate the next part as well?