Forgive me.

“Mumma?” a small voice piped from behind my newspaper. I brought down my hands, and looked at my tiny little 7 year old from over my glasses. She was fiddling with her hair, and making that face. That face she makes when she was going to ask me something, and not let go till she had done her thesis. I smiled at her, and my smile immediately replicated on her beautiful face. Her brown eyes were sparkling with curiosity. I put down my newspaper, took a sip of coffee, and raised my eyebrows. “Can I ask you something?” I sighed, “Yes, my love, what is it?” She was still fiddling with her hair. The sunlight from the window highlighted the nutty brown gloss of her hair. Her curls were untamable.  As was she. “Come here”, I signaled to my lap. She jumped off her sofa, and came trotting to me. I pulled her onto my lap, and asked her again. “What did you want to know?” She looked at me, looked me in the eye, and asked, “What is rape?”

I blinked. She blinked right back at me. Her eyes wouldn’t move from my face. And I couldn’t help but look at her. I think I heard an entire minute tick by. I could hear the pulse near my ears. My heart was beating incessantly. I took a deep breath, “Where did you hear this word, Honey?” She pointed at the table. I was confused. She understood. How a 7 year old can read my face, is still beyond me. She put her hands on my face, and turned my head for me. Then I followed her petite index finger to look at what exactly it was that she was pointing to: The newspaper. “I have seen it in there a lot of times. I didn’t understand what it means. So I thought I’ll just ask. ” I kissed her on the head, and held her for a minute. I had decided to never hide things from her, right from the first time that I had held her in my arms. She knew there was no Santa Claus. She knew how babies were born. She also knew why a chapati fluffs up. I closed my eyes, and tried stringing words together to form a sentence.

                The sound of the rain drops beating on the window sill; Loud music; A lightning strikes; The roar of the clouds. Laughter. Uninhibited, hearty laughter. Glasses clinking. More laughter. A room full of merry people.

“Mumma?”

“Yes.” I snapped back to reality. “Do you remember what I told you about sex?”

“Ya!” Of course she did. “When 2 people really like each other, and they get close to one another…”

“Well, yes.” I interrupted. “Well, sometimes it happens, that one person does not want to be a part of the act of sex. And the other person forces that person to have sex, without their consent. That is called rape.”

“That doesn’t sound nice.” She frowned, and pulled her knees to her chin. “Why would they do that? I mean, you said sex makes both the people happy. If one person doesn’t want to do it, then why would the other person force them to do it?”

                Door closing. Lots of goodbyes. Some thanks. Laughter. Engines starting in the driveway. The screeching of wheels on the concrete. Sounds of stumbling across the hallway.

“Some people are selfish, honey. They don’t think of others. They just want whatever it is that they want, and they don’t care about hurting others to get it.” I didn’t know if I was making sense.  “Rape is a horrible thing to do.”

“Do these people who do rape…” “Rapists.” “Okay. Do these rapists get punished, Mumma?” There was no sparkle in her eye anymore.

“Sometimes, they do. Sometimes they get away with it.”

 “They shouldn’t.”

“What?”

“Get away with it. They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.”

“Yes. They shouldn’t. It is one of the most horrendous- I mean, terrible- crimes.”

“I know what horrendous means.” Of course she does. “Mumma?”

I could hear my heart beat. Could she? I knew her next question. She had asked when I had explained about sex. She had asked when I had explained about pregnancy.

“Have you ever been raped?”

Of course she’d ask. But I didn’t know if I could answer. 

                

“No!” “Stop being such a bitch!” The string broke. The carpet muffled the sound of pearls pattering on floor. His hand muffled the sounds from her mouth. The ripping of the satin. The stench of whiskey on his breath. White, hot, searing pain. That tight grip on her wrist. Nails digging into the hot, sweaty skin. Shivers. Anger. Loathing. Helplessness. Disgust. Anger. Fury. Tears. Hot, angry tears flushing down her face.

“Yes.” I gulped. I could feel my face heat up. My eyes were burning. So I blinked. She did too.

“Did he get punished?”

“Sort of.”

“Who punished him?”

“Your Daddy.”

“Oh. Is that why Daddy left? To punish that man?”

“I am leaving; do not try to stop me. Not right now.” “Baby, I am sorry. I am really sorry. I can’t live without you. Please, don’t leave me.” “I can’t stay here. I can’t stay with you. Not after what happened. I can’t. How could you?” “It will never happen again. It wasn’t me. I am sorry.” “I need some time to think. Let go of my arm.” The purple-black bruises on her arm reminded them both of what had happened. “But, I love you baby!” “I love you too. You know that. But I am not strong enough to forget this.” “Will you come back?” “I don’t know.” “I won’t be able to live without you. I am sorry, darling!” “I know you are. I am too.”

“Yes. That was the only way he knew he could punish that man.”

“Do they get forgiven, Mumma, those people?” She looked tired. Or was her face reflecting mine, again?

                

The sound of the phone hitting the ground- she hadn't realized when it slid out of her hand. Even today she woke up in a heavy sweat- to that sound. It had been 8 years, now. The green nylon rope they used as their cloth-line, the stool he used to sit on while he played the guitar. In their own bedroom. She made sure nothing in her new house resembled the old one. But that image never left her head. The police explained that they were sure it was a suicide. They had even found a note.

              

  ‘Forgive me.’

“Yes, they do, love. Sometimes, they do.”