Prisons

Sister Gabriella began a prayer. She hated praying. She wasn’t a believer. Which was ironic considering she was a clergywoman and ‘believing’ seemed to be part of the joining criteria, no ? She liked to think people did what they did for a variety of reasons and no one else had to understand those reasons. All the same, since this conversation is being held, she joined the monastery to escape her husband. Ex husband, she corrected herself with a bitter smile.

It was a month after her 18th birthday when she was forced into a marriage . He was many years older and the only value he brought into the arrangement was a solution to her family’s crippling debt. A predicament they would not have faced, if her father had not been so helplessly entangled in his own vices. She had hoped at first that his love for his family was greater than his weakness for the bottle. Later she concluded that hope was a fool's errand. 

So a slave to the bottle, papa remained. He toiled sporadically, only to squander his earnings on his insatiable thirst. Eventually, his meagre earnings stopped sufficing the fixes he needed. So, he shamelessly approached the loan sharks at the Rats Nest, on his knees. Like a dog asking for scraps, the gossip aunties at the market gossiped. 

“I’ll pay you back in a month,” he promised. Mr. Nandasena snickered and allowed him the money knowing damn well he wouldn’t. 

Mr. Nandasena, was not like the other loan sharks. He didn't bother with background checks or repayability evaluations. . and he didn’t care to burn down your house if you defaulted. Such crude villainy was beneath him. He would never destroy what another man had built, he would tell everyone.  It was ill-becoming. Instead, should you pass the agreed upon dates for repayment, you and your family were graciously allowed to pay it off by working in his fields, for a time he decided was sufficient to compensate for what you borrowed, plus interest and adjusted for inflation. 

An accountant would say that this plan ensured his harvests would always be profitable. A little investment for a lifetime of free labour that ought to cost a lot more, typically. Genius. A clergyperson would say that on principle, if there were layers to how messed up a sin can be, Nandasena’s infamous slavery trap was an onion.

Caught between the devil of debt and a husband drowning in a sea of booze, Gabriella’s mother resorted to selling her dignity to men in the darker corners of the town. Unfortunately, what the older woman was able to offer was a rather niche market, the broader market being more attracted to the younger, more vivacious young ladies of the same trade. She earned but not enough to buy back their freedom come the end of the month and the end of the month drew closer and closer.  Gabriella knew she needed to do something.

Papa was far too gone to care. Mama was trying her hardest. 

So one fourthday, afternoon, she made friends with a certain gentleman at the tavern. She learned that he was a wealthy real estate developer who essentially owned half the town. On the same day he learned that she was not like other lasses. The next day, she straddled his groin and made him fall in love with her.  A week later he was asking her to marry her. She consented on the condition that he spend a fraction of his wealth on her as dowry. 45 and for the first time loved by a woman, he happily agreed. 

So, a day before the month drew to a close, Gabriella bought her family’s freedom. 

Gabriella hated her husband. And she knew it was not his fault. Migara was kind to her even when she was cold. He showered her with gifts, respected her in every way he knew how. He was even nice to her parents. But she hated him because she didn’t love him. She hated him because he was a daily reminder of the life that was stolen from her. She never got to travel the Continent, to fall in love, or to pursue her own ambitions, to live her dreams. So, a month into their marriage, as he made love to her, she told him a story.

“ My love,” she said with forced endearment, gently clasping his fleshy face.

In between their  clumsy thrusts he moaned, “Darling”

She winced, feeling a surge of discomfort. "Wait, stop, stop," she interrupted, her tone demanding attention.

Reluctantly, he rolled over and lay beside her, panting, gazing at his wife with adoration and devotion. The sight only tightened the knot in Gabriella's stomach, causing bile to rise in her throat.

“What is it?” he asked amiably. 

She sighed. Here goes, she inwardly pepped herself.

“ The goddess came to me in a vision last night,” she concocted, begging the emerging guilt to stay put for now, and consume her whole later instead, “she has asked me to serve her in her temple” She assumed a pained expression.

Whenever Migara was anxious or troubled, he would begin to sweat profusely. And so he sweated.  He understood what this meant. Tears began to pour from his eyes.

“Darling, Gabriella..that means..” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“I have to leave you, baby. I wish it wasn’t like this but I must do as the goddess says. You know how it is.”

Migara was very religious. And gullible. He lay on her lap and cried all night as she stroked his balding head. The clergy could not marry, and if they were, could not remain tethered to their marriage. That was the law.

In the morning they parted ways. It was kinder than a divorce, she convinced herself. Better for him to believe that life forced them apart than to know that at 45, he was never loved by a woman. 

Eventually, she would escape the monastery too, she promised herself. She would get on a boat and sail away and never return to this accursed town again. 

But for now, she prayed, as was expected of her as a nun in training.