(I had removed these two stories...was asked to repost them...so here goes)
(p.s) Thank you for finding them meaningful, hard-hitting as they may be.
UNDER THE SHADE
“Sunayana,” my mother’s voice rang from the other end of the hall, “come and greet Inder Uncle.” I sighed and began to walk across, running a random check about Inder Uncle and drawing a blank. Did I know him? I had not a clue and the name meant nothing. It was probably someone I had met in passing years ago and that was about it. It was five minutes to eight.
I stopped short before him and managed to keep a neutral ex-pression. It couldn’t be him that my mother wanted me to meet! My eyes met his in a cold fury. Mother had long disappeared to attend to other guests at the party and I was left alone to face him. It was so typical of her.
He had not really changed much in appearance, except that he was older and the beard was more of salt and pepper, his turban as immaculate as ever, starched and precise in folds. He stood there with that genial smile of his. The Inder Uncle was someone I had met when I was five years old. The memories began to flood me…drowning…
“Sunayana…” I was playing in the rain with Bhav and was trying to ignore mother’s calls. We managed to do so for another five minutes after which she dragged both of us into the bath, scrubbed, bathed, dried and clothed us in fresh dry clothes. An hour later father had arrived with a young man whom he introduced as Bittu Uncle, his cousin who stayed in Delhi. Both of us were happy to find another person to play with. He was perhaps thirty-five then. 1 remember what followed ever so well. The memories are imprinted in my mind, each tiny detail so unmistakably lucid.
The family had eaten amidst jokes and narrated past incidents that made my parents laugh while Bhav and I shared our own amusement at Bittu Uncle’s expense. The fun and laughter was over and it was time to go to bed. Bittu Uncle was to share the room with us. It was all very fine and we were used to the arrangement. There was a lack of space at home and most visitors were accommodated with us. In extreme circumstances I used to move to the sofa. Bhav was asleep in a matter of a couple of minutes after the room was aglow in the light of a night lamp. I had more difficulty in falling asleep that soon. There was more to come that hot sultry night.
I lay with my eyes shut next to Bittu Uncle, unable to sleep. I felt Bittu Uncle run his hands through my hair and in the innocence of a five year old snuggled up to him. It is a terrible feeling to know today that it was all he needed. He hugged me to him and I resisted feeling uncomfortable. He kissed me on my lips and pushed my mouth open with his tongue. I was terrified. I could hardly move as he pinned me and ravaged my body, damaged me without my being aware of it; his hands groping all over my body, demanding and what happened later was something I have been unable to get over. A man, who was older than my father as I see then, sexually abused me, a five year old. I remember the threats he gave and I was too frightened by it all. I pushed the memory of it all to the recesses of my mind and never told my mother about it. I never was able to tell her anything. She never had time to listen to me and thought I made up things to seek her attention.
I grew up understanding what had happened and as I grew older I blamed myself for not seeing it. But then, how could a five year old understand the act. It was beyond comprehension for a long time and I had pushed it far back so I could put it all behind me and work my way into this world without much damage. I had succeeded…so far…
“Mamma” my daughter came running and threw her arms around me, snapping me out of my reverie. I picked her up and kissed her chocolate smeared cheeks.
“Is that your daughter?” he asked. I nodded looking at him with disdain.
"Come to Dada beta,” he held his arms outstretched. Naina looked to me for approval.
I shook my head and she stayed where she was.
“Why Mamma?” She asked with the curiosity of a four year old.
My time had come. I looked at Inder Uncle directly, hate filling my voice and my eyes and said, “Because he is not a nice man and you must stay away from him.”
“Why?” he asked, taken aback at my venom. He did not even remember. How many girls had he...? I even refused to consider beyond that. I felt leaden, sick.
“If I see you even touch my daughter, I will make sure you have never been sorrier in your life.” saying so I walked away with my daughter. For the moment I had been able to protect her. The clock chimed eight. I felt truly heavy-hearted.
“Sunayana…”
Ah! My mother.
DARKER THAN THE SHADE
“What are you doing?” she asks her voice wary, cautious and really frightened.
“ Shhh! Hush!” he continues to run his coarse fingers over her creamy skin.
She is scared. He suddenly looks bigger, more ominous than ever. She begins to shiver, the room dark, a chill running through her five-year old body, goose bumps spreading all over.
“I want to go.” She does not like what he is doing. He looks at her, realising she is getting petrified. He slows down, playing with her, tickling, until she lets off a squeal of laughter.
“It is a fun game.” He cups the sides of her face between his palms and looks into her earnest eyes. She does not understand and it does not seem like fun at all.
He lifts her frock and she pulls it down. There is no place to run. He has her standing on the dining table.
“Give me a kiss,” he demands. She kisses him on his pimples-ridden cheek, quickly withdrawing. He asks her if he can now kiss her back. She stares at him, her fingers sweaty, clamping them tight.
“I don’t like this game.” She protests. “I want my doll back.” The bald plastic doll sits atop a shelf too high for her to reach. She is afraid she will fall. She looks around for her brother. She can hear him play outside. The doors are all locked.
“You kissed me,” he says, “I have to pay you back.” He lifts her frock and pulls down her underwear. She is too frightened to say anything.
She watches him as he runs his fingers from her ankle to her knee, his one hand lifting her other ankle and placing it apart. The fingers push against the thighs, insisting she spreads her tiny legs. She is cold. She feels colder than she has ever felt. Where is Mommy? She is wondering, praying someone will stop this. She is too scared to and does not understand what is happening.
He brings his fingers to his mouth, takes a dab of spit and finds his way back between her legs. She lets out a scream quickly stifled by his lips on hers. Tears are streaming down her eyes. Mommy? Papa? I’m hurting…burning.
He lifts her up and places her on the floor where he has laid out a towel, his fingers probing, hurting. The place between her legs hurts and she cannot do anything, she is barely able to breathe. His tongue is inside her mouth and she is choking, a rancid taste permeating her.
“Please stop. I do not want to play…” she sobs. He is too excited now to hear her. All he can feel is the bulge that is eager to be let out, eager to push in and be appeased.
He holds her down with one hand, tiny wrists turning red and then blue as the blood stops circulating the palm. She closes her eyes…maybe it is a dream. Her eyes fly open when the pressure of his fingers is released from her. She sees something pink and fleshy and is unable to comprehend why it is so big. she has seen her brother bathe. He is small. Why is everything big? Why is he playing this game? Why is he playing when she does not like the game?
He brings her hands to touch him. He groans with the feel of those tiny hands on him. It makes him harder. She is sobbing, “Please, let me go. I don’t like this game. I hurt. It is paining me. Please…”
He hugs her and tells her, the game is just begun. She will enjoy it, soon.
The next few minutes she burns, hotter than the tears that flow down her eyes, the pain is extreme and her muffled screams remain thus, his hand clamped over her mouth. He is making noises that drown hers. She is afraid of him. She has never been in so much pain or terror.
It is over.
She cowers as he stands up. Her body coils into a ball, shivering, whimpering. He pulls her up to rise. Her legs give way and she is unable to move. He lifts her up and takes her to the bathroom. He bathes her, the water cold, humming a tune, blissful. She can barely breathe or stand. She sits quietly while he dries her and changes her clothes, carries her to bed and tucks her in.
“Now sleep.” He whispers, “This is our secret. Do not tell anyone.”
She stares at him, eyes blurring.
“I will tell Mommy.” She retorts back. He laughs.
“Nobody will believe you.”
The doll sat there on the shelf, eyes unblinking. The doll that stayed with her over twenty years, unblinking, bald, without clothes on, until she finally gave it away. The hairless doll knew her secret. She was the only one who she spoke to; little insensible monologues of guilt and pain…
As for telling anyone, he was right.
He was right. Nobody believed.
Copyright Sandy
Picture Tales