Caught in a spider's web?

When she was gambled away,

Put at stake,

Like a mere piece,

It was justified;

The control of a man over his wife,

The once loudest voices,

Were mere whispers.

When she was dragged by her hair,

Along the floor, feet kicking,

To the assembly, complete with men of "power",

And her cries, pleadings as a queen, sister,woman,

Echoed through the halls,

You could almost hear the devil whispering

Into the ears of the silent men.

You averted your eyes,

Not because you felt ashamed

To gaze upon her pitiful state,

No. You looked away,

To make it more bearable.

To make your silence, your idleness,

Your guilty conscience  more bearable.

As her brothers tried to strip her,

Of her honour, her dignity,

And the others had their heads bowed,

She pleaded to Vasudev,

Cried out his name, for help,

Until it became a whisper,

From a hoarse throat,

A request he would heed nevertheless.

He had spoken up,

Whose voice had spoken for all the hushed.

He had raised a hand,

A hand that had concealed her,

From the eyes of prying vultures.

A voice, a hand,

I wish for all the women

In this moving hell.

A voice of comfort

For the terrified girl,

Alone, in a room full of men.

A voice to the one,

Who peeked back with doubtful eyes

Only to walk faster with fearful ones.

But no longer will the naari

Watch from the floor,

With tear-stained eyes.

No.She will rise.

She will rise to drench her hands

In her defiler's blood,

Run them through her mane, and knot it,

High upon her head.

To the silent, the idle I say,

When you choose to be mute,

You will hear whispers,

Whispers of the demon.

And when you hear it long enough,

It's words will echo, louder, through you.

When you avert your eyes

From the distressed,

Your gaze will fall upon

The eye of the fiend,

And when you look long into its eyes,

You will see your reflection

Looking back at you with dread,

As you realize,

You were simply a prey

Caught in the spider's web.

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Some of you may have realized the woman I have featured in the begining of the poem is Panchali. Look her up if you would like to. The scene I have featured here is Panchali vastrakshepam/ cheerharan. 

I hope I have succeded in making you realize that it's wrong to be the by-stander in the face of an injustice. It's almost as bad as being the oppressor.

Thank you for the reads!

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Have a lovely time ahead.

-Ebonylarch

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