The Touch

The wafting pathos reigned, and ruled a 13 year old both physically and mentally.

The door bell rang. I sighed and got out of the kitchen leaving the gas on low burner, and walked past the big living room towards the door and opened it rather carefully. Mrs. Roy graced the entrance with her presence; a thin line on her forehead caused by her frowned face. She stood there with one hand holding onto her handbag tight, while the other hand rested on her taut hip. 

“What took you so long?” she asked. Her voice had a rough edge, enough to scare the living daylights out of a person like me. I grew petrified. I was always afraid of her, and her strong physique scared me even more. I couldn’t look her in the eye and the very idea was frightening. 

“I was frying onions, maalkin”, I finally managed to reply out of my growing apprehension with my gaze fixed onto the white tiled floor. She pretended not to hear me and sauntered into the living room. I tried looking at her from behind but looked away as soon as she stopped abruptly to look back at me and said, “Get me my supper to my bedroom. I am too tired to come down.” I nodded and left for kitchen. 

The onions wore a brown shade and it rang me a bell of my own plight. Even before I could realize, a drop of tear trickled down my cheeks and rested on my chin. I wiped it off with the back of my hand as my palms were sweaty, and got back to working on the onions. I stirred the onions rather hesitatingly, probably because I didn’t want to stir it or probably because the bad memories were hovering over my head. I must have stood there for long because the burnt whiff of the onions got me back to my senses making me realize that I had to put in some chopped vegetables- potato, capsicum and tomato. I was cooking mixed vegetable fry and I had no idea how to cook it with perfection. As I got busy frying them in the pan, I felt someone standing behind me. I took a deep breath and didn’t turn around to look because I knew who it was. I pretended not to notice but I felt a lump in my throat. I felt as if I was going to pass out. My head churned and my hands were shaking. I felt sick to my stomach and wanted to rush into the bathroom and throw up. The next thing I realized, a hand was crawling up my back slowly and the fingers were making a circular pattern on my upper back. I wanted to scream my lungs out at that moment. I wanted to run away to a faraway land. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me. I wanted to stop it. But I was rendered helpless. I couldn’t stop it. It was happening. I didn’t scream my lungs out nor did the earth open up to take me in. 

“Do you realize how soft your skin is? How I love to touch it!” Mr. Roy whispered into my ears, his breath dashed against the nape of my neck and I felt disgusted at that. He ran his fingers further up to my neck and one of his fingers had tucked into the straps of my sports bra and fondled it for some time. I stood still, almost forgot to breathe. He slid his hand inside my frock and squeezed my bosom. That was it. I couldn’t succumb to his sleazy acts and stopped him right there and tried getting away but he caught hold of my tiny wrist with his big hand and said, “Why do you even try to run, kid? Don’t you know, the more you run away from me, the more I love to torture you? You don’t want that, do you?” I could sense the transition in his voice from a harsh tone to a dramatically cold one. I started crying and wriggled but he held me tight. I fought back with all my strength and elbowed him on his stomach to which he groaned but his grip on me grew far too tight. I was of no match to him physically. Sahib was a strong and burly man in contrast to my lean and fragile body. 

  
I was already tired of the day’s work and I had almost zero strength left in me to fight him back but I stood resolute. I was about to kick him when he hurled me down onto the kitchen floor and got on top of me. I hit my head but he could care less about it. I wanted to spit on his face and call him weird names, but instead my mouth let out a scream when he clawed my arms. He mauled me like tiger mauls his prey and botched me until I gave up wrestling against his gargantuan body, and forced himself upon me. My cries seemed distant and there was apparently nobody who could hear me. He got off of me before giving out a sardonic laugh and left the sight. 

I lied down there crying and cursing him and wished him death. I wanted to make myself believe that it was all but a nightmare. But the reality was too strong to even let me concoct a story to console my mind. I slowly got up and decided to leave it all behind. I could stand it no longer. I couldn’t let Mr. Roy touch me anymore. I couldn’t think of anything else and rushed out of the kitchen and towards the door. Mrs. Roy was watching television in full volume and that helped mask the cracking sound of the door. I didn’t pause for even a second and started to run. It was raining outside and the moment I reached the big green entrance gate that fenced the courtyard, I stopped for a second. I looked back, shook my head and flung open the gate. 

I started to run as fast as my legs could take me. My tiny feet were already at a loss of energy and I was hyperventilating. I had not the faintest inkling of the road I was taking to and there was no place I knew of where I could go and put my head into. I kept running and could feel my erratic breath. I had no idea for how long I ran because I became aware of the drained-out oomph in me and fell on the empty street under the rainy sky with a dull thud. I cried as loud as I could. I had let myself cry that night for as long as I could. I wanted to let it all out. I thought crying would solve it. I thought if I cried, it would take away all the pain and all sadness along with the overflowing tears. I noticed the scars on my arms, traced them with my fingertips and the pain that it triggered was excruciating. I cried again but this time looking up towards the night sky. I had always loved rain. But that moment, I hated rain. I felt it poured down thousands of sad emotions upon me. I wanted to run further to a place where no one could find me. I wanted to run away from sahib and his dirty touch. But something had stopped me from proceeding further, like an unseen force holding me back. I found myself retracing my steps to the road. After a while, the big green gate stood still in front of me. The raindrops were trickling down its iron body and fell onto the soft green grass. I noticed that the white fern nearby stooped low under the heavy drops of rain, bowing before them. I gulped down my saliva and went inside. I opened the door and saw maalkin sitting on the couch with sahib beside her. Both of them looked up at me and I sensed trouble. 

Maalkin stood up and approached me, her eyes fixated on me. She was filled with an unfathomable rage. I was drenched head to toe, my hair looked crazy and my dress was shabby. That was one moment where I wished my mother was there with me, shielding me in her protective arms. I desperately needed some warmth and comfort. I wished I could conjure her up. But I knew none of these were going to happen. Mrs. Roy asked me with a voice of suppressed rage where was I and what was I doing outside sans her permission. I couldn’t find my voice to answer her. I didn’t know if she would even consider buying the words of a 13 year old. I wondered if she would even go against her husband even if I spoke out the truth. I bowed in silence and Mr. Roy had a smirk of victory on his face.

Reviews

[Soraya]

Hi Ayesha, the story you're telling is so true, the description of the kitchen scene didn't move me, because I felt this is how rape is always described, but the ending is true, so true, I know it's unfair, and I wish that we lived in a world where little girls can be heard, maybe stories will reach them and will make them one day speak up for themselves because adults like Maalkin will keep silent to protect their little stupid life, you made me see it, feel its unfairness and realness, thank you.

[ayesha cullen]

I am glad you could almost feel the story. Thank you for reading it, Soraya.