Libre Magazine

Saman whimpered like an injured cat and tried to strain her pulping, swollen eye to get a glimpse of the world outside her window. She blinked hard at the sky aimlessly, craving to see a glimpse of star twinkling. But all she could witness was a darkened mass that bore no hope for glitters – yet again. Her heart pounding endlessly; amidst the loud, vulgar music echoing from the transistor. Breathing in the foul odor of alcohol and fog of smoke bellowing freely had become torturous for her soul.
She staggered through the dimly lit dilapidated corridor; the walls had long since lost its texture with fungus sprouting through them, the charpoy carried dried stains of vomit that have embedded deeply into their roots. She eyed it without any interest as she made her way to the kitchen.

The kitchen barely containing a sink and a stove was in a worst state compared to the rest of the area, the floor was a breeding ground for roaches, and the rusted stains on the sink faded the memory of sheen it once held. Saman held out a battered pan under the tap to fill the unfiltered water. As she moved towards the stove to make some tea, she finally managed to control her pounding heart; tears burned her eyes but refused to flow down.

She let her tormented mind wade away in time. She could hear the echoes of her past silencing her thoughts. The sirens on her wedding day repeatedly drummed her ears. Those very sirens hypnotized her brains.

Saman was once a carefree and a strong spirited girl, grabbing every opportunity to taste the buds of freedom. Her unorthodox attitude gathered a mouthful of whispers from the villagers. She had an uncanny zest to explore the world of literacy. She would rummage through the piles of waste in search of tattered discarded books and spend hours in awe and wonder staring at the words, incoherent to her senses. But this aspiration was turned a blind eye by her father.

Her father was a local postman who spent whole day delivering posts and by night time indulged in drinking in the memory of his dead wife. Saman’s maid had worked as a sweeper at a local dispensary contributing to the meager earnings in their household. She was always pertained to Saman’s unspoken anticipations, but discouraged her into stepping out of the norms that would bring ‘shame’ to their lives.

Mai submitted to her illness of tuberculosis after fighting an unconquered battle, leaving behind a 14 yr old Saman in the care of a man who had no inclination in responding to his daughter’s needs.

Her father’s negligence towards her upbringing and his alcoholism swayed Saman into fantasying of a world that was parallel to her existing one, but beyond her reach.

Upon reaching her 16th year, her father announced to Saman that her marriage was fixed to a fellow postman, Mirza who worked with him. She was to be wedded off later that week without any questions. Her father had bartered her in exchange for measly sum of money, so that he could luxuriate in his drinking without a compromise. Saman felt her soul slipping away into the hollow of darkness. Her mind burning with reality, as the girls from her world dare not dream of expectations. But her heart spoke differently, she couldn’t decipher what it was looking for, hoping for, dreaming for.

She had not met the man she was to wed until her wedding day. Mirza was couple of decades older to her who by no means could be referred to as a good prospect. A raunchy, beefy man who leisured himself at a local bar entertained by the ‘public’ girls.
He leered at Saman with cynical expression, sprouting beetle saliva at regular intervals. Her senses tortured by the vulgar scent of jasmine flowers wrapped around his wrists and mustard oil massaged in his hair. Saman lowered her eyes fearing at what was to prevail next. Her head drummed by the haunting tune echoing nearby, amidst the loud proclamation of the guests. Throughout the ceremony she sat expressionless, fighting the shadow of tears framing her eyes. She felt the clutches of the noose tightening her cords and walked into her new life with what was left, an empty heart.

If there was any possibility of a blissful wedded life, it was soon to be shattered. Mirza was oblivious to any hopes Saman etched in her heart. He victimized her with his brutality and leeching desires. He reduced her to rags at very opportunity, inducing obscene activities in her presence. Any word of feeble protest from Saman would invite blows of physical abuse and torment. Her life was now plugged into a dark, empty hole that refused to glimmer with the rays of hope.

Two years had passed but it seemed more like two decades of never ending journey. Every blows and scars on her body whispered tales of abuse. She was now immune to any domestic violence that threatened to engulf her. Nowhere to shelter her wounded soul, she had long since accepted her fate with courage.

The hissing sound of the boiling water bought her back to reality. Today had been a repetition of every other day, nothing out of the norms. Her heart had hardened to any softness that it once carried, any hopes that it carved. With a tearing sigh, she poured the steaming tea into the broken earthen cup and carried it to her husband.

On her way out something caught her eye, sitting silently behind the door as if waiting to be her sinister savior. She picked up with trembling hands, a tiny plastic bottle marked ‘RAT POISON’. She stared at it, contemplating the outcome that would prevail. Smiling deadly with conviction, she poured the entire content of the bottle in the tea and went on to serve her husband.