Life: A Story | ✔

Part- 4

The assault, the torture continued on several more occasions. But as scared as she was, she kept her mouth shut, and never told anyone what her uncle was doing to her, just for the sake of a secret.

How the mind of a girl who was now five years old would have been affected when the disgusting person assaulted her with his fingers, his tongue? Nobody but only I knew. She was struggling. Sometimes, she even tried hard to break free, but the man was much stronger than she was, and he continued doing his heinous paedophilic act every opportunity he got. He took advantage of an innocent girl who didn't scream and took all the torture that happened to her silently for a promise of keeping a secret.

Yet, I was helpless at this brutal sight and couldn't do anything. My hands were tied, and I being the 'life' itself became a part of it with complete dejection.

Then, the most dreadful day came when he broke all his already crossed boundaries, and let his lust take over him completely. That day, he imposed himself on her fully.

The pain she went through was excruciating; it was at its peak, and yet not a single tear drop left her eyes. She felt uncomfortable, she felt agony like she'd never experienced before. She was never fond of this game from the beginning, but seeing something like this happen to her made her think it was no game at all.

This brutal act was burning a hole in her heart, and she disliked her uncle with everything she had. A girl so little had to endure this much brutality by the hands of a man who was supposed to give her protection. It was like her pain had increased double- fold with the betrayal she felt, as she was forced to let go of her innocence. It was engraved in her mind, and she closed her eyes to stop her uncle from whatever evil act he was playing on her.

That day she might have understood that her uncle was a bad man doing bad things to her. And from that day onwards she never fell asleep at her maternals' again.

Just like many times, she was again at her maternals' and she was asked by her uncle to come to him. But she replied with "No, you're a bad man," in a mere whisper. Then, fled from the empty room and in the safe cocoon of her mother's laughter filling the kitchen and her own heart with safety. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest, because she thought she'd spoken something terrible, and didn't want her mother to find out.

She didn't know, but she'd taken that one step towards courage at a very young age. It was an irony that I was proud of her, but she wasn't.

*

It was with passing time the horrible memory of a very quiet yet devastating, earth shattering afternoon left her heart, and the fact that her father moved to another town for business purposes did her a great deal of good as she moved out with him too.

But it never fully left her subconscious mind. The proof of it came when at the age of eleven, she was shown a video on self-defense in her school, and all the horrible memories related to her past came crashing down on her.

That was the day she understood me, and understood me well. And as I'd feared, she despised me from the core of her heart. I became hopeless, but the thought of leaving her never crossed me, for I was loyal to everyone I gave a part of me to, until the time of meeting death came.

For her, I was part of her horrible past though; one that she wanted to remove at all costs. One that was hindering her present and was making her weak and vulnerable. She cried, screamed silently under her pillow that night, wailed for the lost time of her cowardly behaviour, and above all she felt disgusted with herself for allowing it to happen. For allowing a man to touch her inappropriately the way he pleased, because she had made a horrible promise of keeping a dirty secret.

She tried hard to remember the day when it had first happened, but her mind was blocked and she couldn't remember anything. Although she remembered giving her assent to his cruel deeds, she felt her insides churn with anger at herself.

I was no saint! I'd said yes! I was not allowed to cry. It was my fault it'd happened. All these thoughts tortured her the following days, and she cried almost everyday silently under her pillow, not making a sound. Though in the daytime no one could say she'd even spilled a tear, in her heart she wasn't happy.

She needed to tell someone what had happened to her in those years. She wanted to tell her father, but the thought of him taking the blame to all of it was what stopped her. Then, she thought of telling her mother. But would she believe her? Would she believe that her brother had done something unforgivable? And what would happen to their relationship if she told her? As her mother adored her brother so much.

These thoughts coming out of an eleven year old were shocking. It was as if she'd grown many years older in these couple of days. And she blamed me for everything. I tried to stop her from this blame game. I tried to remind her of the day she fled, but the self-blame was so intense, my inaudible voice got ignored. Yet again, I cried with her, but no one heard my muffled sobs.

She even complained to God on those lonely nights why me? Why it'd to be me? Why? But the answer never came to her, and slowly she even stopped praying. In her mind, it was the weak that needed God, then why didn't he help those who were in need? Why it was said, 'God help those who help themselves'? Because clearly those who knew how to survive on their own, never even needed a God.

Slowly, the idea of never being weak was planted in her mind, diminishing every trace of sadness from her heart, only leaving anger at its wake.

From that day on, she promised herself to never cry for that night. But how often did the determination, the mask of anger slipped at night in the coming years? Only I knew.

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