I have decided to write a series of short stories on this topic. I wanted to write so much on this topic but I found that every time I started to blog about it or even planned a post I felt that onrush of frustration, rage and sorrow that I had felt when I read that Nirbhaya died. I was unable to write at all.
After a lot of thought I decided that instead of writing a post which is "real" I could write a story which would be "fiction" thus allowing me the distance I need in order to be able to write without giving up in despair.
These stories are not meant to be literary masterpieces but simply meant to illustrate a point or allow me to vent my frustration at the current system in which a girl is India is blamed for being a girl.
I have some other initiatives in mind as well, which I will tell you about as they take shape. Right now, I am planning and organizing.
For now, here's the first story in the series. You are welcome to share your thoughts.
The Real Story
“Actually, reporter babu,” said the Inspector, “your news is little bit true. There are really many cases of rape reported in this area.”
Journalist Jyotiramaya nodded, encouraging the other to talk, which he did.
“But they are not real rapes.” said the inspector.
“They are not?” the journalist asked in his usual alert manner.
“No, no, not even half of them. Most of these cases are reported by prostitutes.”
“Prostitutes?” the reporter was genuinely puzzled now.
“It’s not so strange as you think, sir. These prostitutes carry on their illegal trade, and when a customer does not pay them, they cry ‘Rape!’ to involve the police and harass the poor guy.”
The inspector took a seat behind his desk, inviting the journalist to sit in front of him with a gesture.
Jyotirmaya sat down and asked “How many of these cases are registered by these prostitutes?”
Inspector said with contempt “Arre all of them, yaar! I know these girls. Bloody whores! They think they can fool the police!”
Hawaldar Jagtap Singh approached the inspector’s desk “Jai hind, saab ji!”
Inspector nodded “Haan jai hind. Jagtap, this is journalist Jyoti babu. He is writing an article on rape situation in India. Send someone to bring 2 coca-cola. And bring today’s cases.”
Jagtap left and came back with bottles and a file.
He placed the bottles on the table and handed the file to Kiran Prakash, “Saab ji, main case is only one, a girl has come to report a rape.”
The Inspector looked at Jyotirmaya, “Your lucky day! You will see with your own eyes how I do ‘justice’ to these cases in 2 minutes.”
Jyotirmaya only nodded, with his pen poised over his notepad.
The inspector faced the Hawaldar again, “What is the case?”
“You know our MLA saab’s elder son Bunty...this girl is saying he kidnapped her from her college and raped her in his father’s house.”
The inspector turned to give his comments to the journalist again, “Bunty is a bit naughty, but I don’t believe this girl at all.”
The journalist, against his habit, commented with astonishment, “But you haven’t even heard her story yet!”
Inspector Kiran Prakash took a sip of his Coke and gave a derisive grin, “Oh, Sir ji, I don’t need to hear her story. I know the real story. Just one of those whores I was telling you about.”
Jagtap contributed readily, “Reporter babu, our saab ji is fully right. I knew it as soon as I saw her. She is beautiful but characterless!” Then he turned to his superior, “Sir ji, I have put her in the lockup with the other prostitutes. Imagine her nerve! Accusing the MLA’s son, hain ji?”
The inspector looked at the journalist as if to convince him, “You will see yourself, sir ji. Jagtap, le ke aa saali ko. Bring her in!”
Jagtap left and re-entered a minute later, herding in front of him a girl that had clearly gone through a violent and traumatic experience. Her face and clothes were all dirty and damaged but her eyes held a grim determination.
Inspector Kiran Prakash’s chair collapsed on the floor as he got out of it explosively, his eyes wide as he looked at the girl.
The single word came out of his hoarse throat in a mixture of horror and disbelief. ”Rashmi!!”
The girl looked up at his voice and tears ran down her cheeks in streaks, “Bhaiya!” (Brother!)
