Tainted Face

To whomsoever it may concern,

By the time you read this letter, I will be long gone. It’s a shame that my life has become so unbearable that I have to resort to such a means of escape. I have been disowned by everyone with nobody there to help me in my hour of need. I hope you help those like me before they meet the same fate. This is my story.

It was around 11.30 a.m. about four years ago when Baba was in the front of our house-cum-tailor’s shop. We lived alone in a tiny village on the outskirts of Mumbai. Ma had died some years earlier, when I was only 14. Since then, Baba kept to himself; couldn’t really talk to me. I reminded him too much of ma. I think he despised me. It was a small house, just two rooms big; the front room Baba worked in and the kitchen.

I had to take care of all the household duties. It was a simple exchange; women saw to the home while men worked to put food in our stomachs. Since ma’s death, I had stopped attending school. I was in the kitchen cleaning some rice for our afternoon meal when four men entered our home. I was accustomed to seeing many men enter our house, after all, Baba was a Gent’s tailor, but these men were different. Just the look told me that I wasn’t going to be safe with them around. One by one, they entered the kitchen. I looked at Baba from the tiny window that connected the kitchen to the front portion of our house. But he just bowed his head in shame, turned around and walked out of the house. I knew what was going on. Baba had sold me.

One of them locked the door behind and turned back towards the kitchen. I was trapped in my own house. I began to scream as another one approached me while two others pinned me down, their hands clasped on my mouth. Tears streamed down, dripped onto my clothes and soaked them The more they tried to constrain me, the more I tried to loosen their grip on my wrists, kicking them whenever they let go of my legs. My clothes were torn off by the fourth man and he ravaged my body as the others looked on. I prayed for someone to help me, but my screams could not be heard. I was helpless. One by one, they each had their way with me, leaving their own marks across my body by way of bites, slaps and cigarette burns. They made me know, drilled it into my body that I now belonged to them and there was nothing anybody could do, rather, there was nothing anybody wanted to do.

A big crowd had gathered outside my house to witness the tamasha. Everybody just looked on but nobody came forward to help. As I was being carried out by one of the men, I saw my father sit on the steps, his eyes filled with tears. That was the last time I ever saw him.

From my village I was brought to one of the many slums that stifle suburban Mumbai. This was my first visit to Mumbai and I got to see it through the 2x2 window of the small room, not bigger than the size of my own house, I was confined to. This room felt alien to me and there was no way to escape. I didn’t know the city and I had no money.

There were two other girls in that room, around the same age as me. At least I thought they were. I was completely lost and had not slept since I had been raped. Outside the room, I heard two voices, that of a man and a woman.
“Madam Ji, these are young, fresh maal. You have to set a high price for them. You know how Bhaskar Sahib likes the new ones to start high.”
“Are they virgins?”
“No Madam Ji. Only one is not. The elder of the three. The men who found her made sure no other man would want her.”
“Haan. Ok ok. Chal Chal. Now you leave. Tell Bhaskar Sahib that I will send the girls after they are cleaned up.”

The man left and Madam Ji walked into the room. She looked 55, was quite tall for a woman and was extremely fat. The five meters of the sari was not enough to drape her body. She had wheatish coloured skin and paan stained teeth. She glared at us.
“There is only one thing you’ll need to know, which is, you will have to do whatever you’re are told. Obey. And no one will get hurt.”
The other two girls nodded in obedience. I didn’t respond. I just stared at Madam Ji’s feet. “Oye, you didn’t hear what I said?” There was a pause and she waited for me to reply. She sized me up and down, thinking as she looked at every inch of my body.
“You are very beautiful. You will fetch us some good business. How old are you?”
“16” I replied and turned my gaze back to her feet. They were the worse feet I had ever seen. Blackened toes, dry skin and a heel that was covered with cracks.
“Bhaskar Sahib always likes to be first to test the new maal, especially the beautiful ones. He will use you before he puts you on the market. We must get you ready.”

She dressed me up in a pink and blue sari. I have to admit, it was better than any sari I ever owned. “You must look your best for Bhaskar Sahib.” She called out to someone. “Murli, take her quickly.” The man who kept sizing me down from the moment I got to the slum was now escorting me to Bhaskar Sahib’s house. In the rickshaw, the man constantly kept trying to touch me in the same way the other men had. I couldn’t scream so I had to endure everything. The driver thought it was best not to interfere because he knew that it would mean he would lose his license. Murli stroked himself as he played with my breasts. I stifled my tears and prayed we reached soon. And we did. The next thing I remembered, I was shown to a room and was made to wait.

Bhaskar Sahib walked in. He was a tall muscular man, was dark skinned and had a thick black moustache. He wore a white collard shirt with grey pants and was talking into a mobile phone. He seemed very happy with what he saw. Coming close and felt my parts. Touching my breasts he said. “Firm. You are perfect.” He undressed me, led me to the bed and lay on top of me. Tears began rolling down my eyes as he, like the other men before him, raped me. After he was done he phoned Madam Ji. “She is very lovely. I have already got a very good offer for her from a Sheikh in Dubai. He has offered Rs. 3 Lakhs for the girl.”

I didn’t hear the rest of their conversation. I wiped away my tears as I began wearing the sari. Back in the room, I cried myself to sleep. I did not eat, drink or talk to anyone for the next few days. Someone came to take a picture of me, but I didn’t really know why. Later I realised that it was for my passport and then visa to Dubai. Sheikh Abdul Karim had especially come to pick me up. I remember being led through big wooden gates that had to be pushed open by four men. I was in awe as I walked down a long path, surrounded by the prettiest white flowers I had even seen. High beige walls formed a barrier from the rest of the world, making me feel smaller than I already did. Stained glass seemed to loom high above my head and filled every inch of door space this enormous palace had. But what took me by surprise was the room I had been given. It was ten times the size of my father's house. A four-poster bed, complete with the finest silk sheets adorned the chamber. I had a separate bathing area, with a bath tub that could easily be mistaken for a swimming pool. I felt like royalty in his house, but it didn’t take long for me to realise that I was nothing more than a whore, forced to live in that one place.

He brought the best of clothes for me to wear, gave me the best food and perfumes. But nothing could shake the resentment I had for the man. He had so many of us to choose from but he kept coming to me. He enjoyed making me scream every time he had sex with me because he got some sick sadistic pleasure from seeing me in pain. I was trapped in a strange country and confined to just one quadrangle of his house. It was a beautiful house but a prison to me.

One morning, the Sheikh had some urgent work in the city so he left hurriedly. I was standing in the balcony of my chambers when I saw him walking across the quadrangle. He was just an ordinary gardener on that plot but he was the only one that dared to raise his eyes to look at me. It was forbidden for the help to even look at, let alone talk to any of us. The Sheikh’s mistresses had no voice: we couldn’t express ourselves. We were not allowed to talk to anybody in the house, except among ourselves and to the Sheikh himself, but only to ask him what would suit his desires that day. I kept to myself. I didn’t really talk to any of the other mistresses. I felt so ashamed of what I was forced to become. The only girl I spoke to, Nafisa, tried her best to get me to share my experience with the other girls. But that day I couldn’t help myself. I had to look at him. There was something about the way he moved, did his work, that made me wonder what it would be like if he came to my chambers. That day was the first time I felt like a normal young girl in a long time.

Days passed by, weeks, months and every morning I would stand in my balcony and wait for him and every morning he would raise his eyes, look up at me and then carry on with his work. It had become part of our routine. I was in love and I didn’t even know his name. On one morning, another of the Sheikh’s mistresses came into my chambers. “I know what you look at every morning.” I was a little startled. “What are you talking about Nafisa?” But she just smiled. “Don’t get caught. The Sheikh won’t look kindly upon such disobedience.” Before she left, she looked at me and said, “His name is Ahmed.”

Nafisa left my room and went back to her own quarters. But I did as I always had: waited for a glimpse of Ahmed. Late one night, I decided to take a walk in the garden. I was lost in my thoughts and hadn’t noticed Ahmed sitting on the wall, watching me while he smoked a cigarette. I noticed something move out the corner of my eye and when I realised it was him, I felt a torrent of emotions. It was hard to decipher what I felt at that moment.
“I have watched you for so long; it’s hard to believe you’re right here.”
He smiled, something I longed for since the first time I’d seen him. “I have been watching you too. I have wanted to speak to you for a while but I know I cannot even look at you. The Sheikh will have my head for talking to you like this.”
“I know. There’s something we can do though. We can talk to each other if we meet at this time every night. I would really like that.”
There came that smile again. “I’ll see you tomorrow Sameera, good night.”

That night was the first time I understood what happiness felt like. I felt alive, like I was a person and not a mere object anymore. I couldn’t help the smile that crept on my face every time I went back to that moment. For months after that, we had our secret meetings, although it was at different parts of the quadrangle each time so nobody would catch us. We made sure we were careful. One night, Ahmed seemed distant.
“What’s wrong?”
Ahmed looked at me, eyes filled with worry. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes”
“Are you happy?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, would you rather be somewhere else?”
“Like where?”
“Anywhere but here!”
“Where would I go Ahmed? I have no money and the Sheikh is a powerful man. He has people everywhere. You know I’m his favourite and he will come looking for me if I run.”
“But you’re not happy. You sound like you want to leave. Your voice gives you away.”
“I am. Ever since I’ve met you, I know what it’s like to be happy.”
“But is that enough?”
“I don’t know what you mean. Why are you so worried today? Everything is fine. Don’t think so much, just enjoy this little time we have together. Who knows what might happen tomorrow.”
“I have some money saved. We could run away together.”
“But if we get caught, he will kill you. I cannot let that happen.”
“Nothing will go wrong. I know a way to get you out of here. The guards are always asleep and we will be able to escape. We’ll meet tomorrow at this time. Don’t carry too much with you, just what you need. I promise everything will be ok soon.” Saying those words he kissed me goodnight.

I went to my room, gathered a few of my belongings and put them in a tiny bag under my bed. It was 2 a.m. and I thought a little sleep before Ahmed arrived would do me some good. I was woken up with a burst at around 5 a.m followed by the angry stomping of Sheikh Abdul Karim. The next thing I saw, Ahmed was being kicked into my room, his shirt torn, his nose bleeding. Sheikh Ahmed looked around my room. I looked a little tensed. ‘Nothing’s out of place is it?’ I held my blanket closer to my body as I sat huddled on my bed. The Sheikh looked like he was almost convinced that I didn’t know Ahmed but then he spotted something under my bed. He reached under and found my packed bag. “What is this Sameera?” I just bowed my head and looked away.
“So it’s true then? You were planning on leaving with him?” He glared at me but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “Guards! Take him away. I’ll deal with you later.”

I got dressed and waited in my room. I was frantically pacing back and forth; tears were streaming down my face.
‘Every time I think everything’s going to be ok, my world is shattered. Happiness doesn’t seem to be a part of my life. It doesn’t exist for me. And even if it does, it’s all taken away so quickly, like I have no right to it. But what harm had Ahmed ever done to anyone? All he did was show me love and made me feel human. If there is a god, be kind to me. Keep him safe.’
One of the guards stormed into my room. “Sheikh Abdul Karim has asked for you in the dungeons. Follow me.”

I was being led into the basement, a part of the palace I had never seen before, and a place I hoped nobody else would have to see. The way was narrow and winding. The air was earthy and damp. As the passageway ended and opened into a large room, surrounded by small cells with iron bars for doors, a feeling or anger, sadness, fear and dread crept over me. I knew then that Ahmed wasn’t going to be safe, that I wasn’t going to be safe. I knew that the Sheikh was ruthless and would make me pay for my disobedience. “Bring her here,” he shouted to his guard and I was being pushed to the direction of his voice. As I was being led to Sheikh Abdul, I noticed Ahmed bound and gagged, lying unconscious in one of the cells. I couldn’t help but flinch at the sight of him, hurt and helpless for loving me.

“You are now going to watch him die.” Saying that, he summoned one of his guards to unlock the door. They dragged his body out and lay him in front of me. As I looked at the blood smeared over his shirt, I wondered where it was coming from. He seemed to be bleeding from his head, nose, mouth, almost every part of his body. I couldn’t bear to see him that way. I watched as they dragged him to the courtyard. I heard his shouts when they beat him with sticks, threw stones, whipped him and then finally hung him. My life drained as I watched the man I loved die. Immediately after I was sent to my room and was forced to stay there. I couldn’t leave. I wasn’t allowed to talk to any of the other mistresses. I couldn’t eat or sit with them; I was confined to my chamber.

For months after I was the outcast. All the other girls were warned and told not to speak to me. But that was something I was prepared to deal with. Even the Sheikh stopped coming to my room. I missed being able to speak with Nafisa but most of all I missed Ahmed. I longed to feel that love again. I couldn’t take it anymore. But even with my misery, I didn’t feel like I had made a mistake by loving Ahmed. He was the only solace I found in this beautiful prison.

As I write this letter my life seems to be flashing in front of me. I can see my father, his tears; I can see the men who raped me over and over; I see Ahmed, the only one who showed me that being normal wasn’t just a dream. ‘I’m coming Ahmed.’