This first person account of a prostitute depicts and unravels the onerous journey of a harlot from becoming a devdasi to reforming into a survivor, conquering the tribulation in her life in a daunting manner. This narrative portrays the life of a h...
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I can recollect the screech of the horn when a truck approached towards me. I stood with the buyer in a narrow lane. As soon as the truck stopped, the man lifted and jammed me into the truck. I could see oodles of girls but could recognize none.
The portal of the truck was locked. Darkness engulfed me and scared me out of my wits. The truck was so overloaded that we didn't even have space to move. As the vehicle crossed bumpers, we tumbled over each other and some of us even got hurt because of the jerk. I sat there in total confusion about where this journey would land me.
After few hours, our vehicle reached the red light area of Delhi . A small staircase, just enough to fit a human body, took us to a kotha (brothel) in a bylane of crowded and dusty Swami Sharadhanand Marg, called GB Road. It is a stingy place which smells of blood, semen, sweat, cheap perfumes, alcohol and tobacco.
Around open drains, junk yards and public urinals, bestride the loathsome area. I, with all other anguished girls was taken to a brothel in 14th lane. There we were treated like a herd of animals as we walked through a dark corridor with our hands tied back. Our sad faces looked at each other. Each eye recollected a story and had an unusual fear stored in them.
Though we wrangled and fussed, we were taken to the pimp who sat on a sofa, wearing a deep pink zardosi saree, with matching bangles and lipstick on her lips. We were made to stand in two queues beside the sofa facing her. Her eyes wore a deep cheap kajal which made her look beastly. Her fat physique made her more atrocious. She was being helped with her knee pain by two men. I saw a knife kept on the side table with the fruits.
A plan ensued my mind. I secretively advanced towards the table and took the knife. As the procurers were distracted, I went up to the brothel owner and jabbed the knife upward under her chin. I was glad that I could show the daunting courage to fight against the evils. But my felicity remained no longer when two helpers gagged me and began lashing me ferociously.
The brothel-owner slapped me several times and pushed me on the ground. She ordered her men to tie me up in shackles and put me into cage. I was taken to a dim-lit room with noisome smell. There I was thrown into a wired cage in which I could hardly sit straight. Then they threw cold water on me and went out.
I felt oppressed and lonely. My hearts desperation drove me to flashback of the endearing moments spent with my beloved mother. My heart sobbed to recount her cosmic love and endless care for me. Tears bloated my dewy eyes as I treasured the last time she had fed me with her lovely hands. As I imagined her face, I cherished the elegance and cuteness her eyes held.
My weak arms enclosed tightly as I recollected the memories in which she sang a lullaby and made me sleep. Hours passed like this and I was into the world of nightmares due to the insecurities haunting me.When I woke up, I was shivering as I had fever. Not only that, the black and blue cuts depicted the agony I went through and the pain inflicted on me. I was unaware whether it was day or night, the room being too dark.
What I knew was that I felt shattered as I had been tortured and I survived severe injuries inflicted on me by the pimps. I kept waiting for someone who would come and take me out of the cage where I was held. I wished if I was a princess in a fairy tale where a prince would come riding a white horse and save me out of the shackles which bound me.
I was starving and shivering. I yearned for a blanket; I craved for my mother's lap. I wished the door to open soon and light up the room. The door indeed opened but after two days. I was broken now. I didn't have the strength to protest. I was ready to accept all what came my way. When they witnessed my pitiable condition, they shifted me to a room.
Inside there were 25 girls standing by the doors of the tiny room made out of thin wood, containing only a fan, a red light, a roll of toilet paper, a few condoms and an air freshener. Here I met many prostitutes of my age and even more or less than mine.
All of our luggage was kept on a steel rack which reminded me of a train. I had come to a new place. I really felt awkward to talk to my co-workers. I don't even remember how I made friends when I was merely a child. What I could recollect was that as I grew up, I had many friends with whom I played.
But now it was really difficult for me to make friends or to adjust in a place which was indifferent to me. Thus I was unable to ask someone to help me with the huge suitcase. As I was seen struggling with it, a girl came and helped me. We exchanged mirthless smiles and she exclaimed her name to be 'Paromita'.
She had a walnut dark skin that glowed because of a brush of makeup and light touch of lipstick. She had beautiful almond shaped eyes embellished with deep kajal, long candy brown hair tied into a thick braid which was affected with bad case of dandruff. though she had tried to hide but, I noticed the purple bags under her eyes and also the single bushy bar above her eyes.
When she swiped a twig of her hair behind the ears I could see her fingernails bitten to the nub. She had worn a blue blouse deep enough to seduce a man and a petticoat below. her beguiling parts were slightly hidden. It seemed that the makeup was enshrouding her innocence.
After the task , we chatted and to my stupefaction, she belonged to a rich family from Calcutta (in West Bengal ). She was kidnapped two months ago and brought here. She would turn thirteen after a week. 'Paromita' studied in a convent school and was a topper in her class. She aspired to be a teacher but destiny had other plans for her.
After she came here ,she tried a lot to escape. But even her martial art skills failed when they raped her brutally and burnt her breasts. She showed me her burnt nipples which were hidden by the blouse. As she narrated her tragic story, she kept crying. I could feel the thorn in her flesh.
My new friend's wretchedness provoked me to cry my heart out. I felt extremely sorry for her. I realised that their torture had turned a beautiful rich girl into a dirty, withered poor looking girl. I imagined my state after two months and had goosebumps on my hands.
After sometime, I needed to pee. As I was directed by paromita, I crossed a dim lit corridor slowly and then climbed a steep iron staircase to reach the bathroom. I could smell the Stench of urine which made me feel emetic. When I entered the place, I saw a yellow stained indian toilet seat and a half broken green bucket beside with a dirty mug, both of which had greasy bodies.
Though it had a nasty appearance which was stomach churning but I had no other option. I held my breath and after finishing my course left the place with relief in my mind. Later I came to know that this was the only place which we were to bath, wash clothes as well as freshen ourselves. I decided not to bathe as long as I could revisit myself because getting habituated here was quite a strenuous process.
