Painting by Andrew Ostrovsky
The following story was also published in The Story Cabinet.
https://readstory.page.link/MXCqoTkboC3CUnpT6
Darkness
By Shevlin Sebastian
Lata Bhonsle was striding down a deserted street in Bandra, Mumbai. She could hear her heels making a ‘click clack’ sound. Wearing black sunshades, she was heading towards a taxi stand. It was a humid day. She could feel a hint of perspiration on her forehead.
She glanced at her watch. It was 9.45 a.m. She was late for work.
She did not notice a white Maruti van which glided up. The side door slid open. The next thing she realised, through the corner of her eyes, were three men who jumped at her. One man clamped a palm over her mouth, while the other men grabbed her shoulders and legs. Her first reaction was to hold on to her Hidesign leather bag even as her sunshades fell to the ground. They pushed her inside the van. She could sense her frock ride up. Two men were burly, while the third was a slim man. They all wore cloth masks, with slits.
“Band karo,” said a burly man.
The slim man shut the door with a bang. Lata saw them look around through the windows to see if anybody had seen them. She felt a stab of pain as the man pressed harder on her mouth. She heard the driver shift gears. It seemed as if somebody cracked a knuckle. The van jerked forward. The slim man pulled out the cork of a small glass bottle. He sprinkled chloroform onto a piece of cotton. A sweet odour spread in slow motion inside the van. Then the man placed the cotton under Lata’s nose. Lata tried to stop breathing. But in less than five seconds, she gave up.
Soon, she closed her eyes and drifted off.
Forty-five minutes later, the van reached the compound of an abandoned cotton textile mill in Lower Parel. They parked in front of a large and empty shed. Grass was growing against the walls of the shed. The paint had peeled off to reveal the red bricks underneath. A rat skittled away into the undergrowth. They carried Lata inside and placed her on a dirty mattress…
When Lata awakened, two hours had passed. She looked up and saw the iron girders below the sloping roof. There was brown rust on them. She looked down at her body and saw her thin maroon panty. The men had pushed it to one side before entering her. She saw the frock lying on the ground. She sat up. The veins at the side of her forehead throbbed. She rubbed her forehead in a circular motion with her fingers for a few moments.
Dimly, she had been aware that men had climbed on top of her. She had heard grunts and moans. Lata touched the edges of her vagina with her finger and felt a soft and recurring pain. Her body gave off an odour of perspiration mixed with her Versace Bright Crystal perfume. It made her want to retch, but she controlled herself.
They had not taken off her heels, making it hard for her to stand up. So, unhooked her heels before standing up. Then she put on her dress. She looked around and saw her handbag lying against a mound of raised mud. She picked up the bag and smacked her handkerchief against it to remove the dust.
She pulled open the zipper. Incredibly, the rapists had taken nothing. Her leather purse was there. Her debit and credit cards were intact, along with a plastic comb, house keys, a lipstick holder, a packet of tissue paper, and a mobile phone. Inside a white envelope, there was Rs 8000 in Rs 500 notes.
Lata pulled out a face mirror. The lipstick had run out of her lips, towards her nose, creating a red mark that looked like a scar. It looked like the men had tried to kiss her. Lata cleaned it off with a tissue paper. She used another tissue paper to wipe her face.
Lata stepped forward. On one side she could see old wooden looms, all dusty and silent. On some there were large cobwebs. They seemed to have remained undisturbed for a long time.
It was difficult to walk on the grassy uneven ground on her heels. But she gritted her teeth and moved forward, hobbling now and then. Lata walked for ten minutes.
She exhaled when she saw the rusted gate in the distance.
Her breathing slowed down as she made her way to the main road. She flagged a cab and asked the driver to take her to Bandra.
It was an ordinary day. Sunlight reflected off the windows of buildings. There was the blaring of horns. People rushed past each other on the sidewalk. But for Lata, there was nothing ordinary about this day.
The rapists had puzzled her because they had stolen nothing. So, were the men only interested in the rape and nothing else? What type of men were they? Those who usually indulged in these activities were career criminals. They would have definitely emptied her handbag. She kept tapping her lower lip with her fingertip. A hundred thoughts raced through her mind.
Was this a planned rape, or did the men pick her up in a random selection? Sexy woman + deserted road = grab her? Lata thought the latter explanation seemed more likely. She did not have any enemies. Nobody who knew her would harbour so much anger that they would arrange for men to rape her. Lata knew she did not have a personality that ruffled people.
She messaged the office, saying she would be late.
Lata reached her fourth-floor flat at Bandra.
She undressed and turned on the shower. She remained under it for a while, wanting the pinpricks of water to clean her soul as well. Tears gathered in her eyelids and then rolled down her face, mixing with the water. Finally, she took a soap and lathered her body.
It took her an hour before Lata sat down on the edge of her bed clad in a pink bathing robe. She wondered what to do.
She called her company CEO, Rekha Mehdirata.
Rekha, with striking doe-shaped eyes, had risen through sheer drive, talent, and ambition.
Lata, who was senior vice president of marketing, told Rekha about what had happened in a low voice.
At the conclusion of the narrative, Rekha said, “I don’t know what to say, Lata. Mumbai has always been a safe place for women, even late at night. And to think this happened in broad daylight.”
Lata remained silent. Yes, these were the thoughts she had, too. Mumbai has always been safe for women.
Finally, Rekha said, “Lata, what do you want to do?”
Lata stared at her bare feet placed on the brown-tiled floor. The maroon nail polish on her narrow toes made her feet look sexy.
She processed the pros and cons of any sort of action. Finally, she said, “I should file a FIR against unknown persons. There are CCTV cameras in Bandra, although I am not sure there were any on the road on which they captured me. The police could find the van’s registration number on other cameras.”
Lata could hear Rekha’s breathing through the phone. It seemed to be a stutter. A rush of breath followed by a complete halt.
“It’s a risky business,” said Rekha. “These people can be dangerous. But if we don’t fight back, they will attack other women with impunity.”
“I am scared,” said Lata. “But I don’t want them to get away with this assault.”
“Take leave for a few days,” she said. “File the FIR. You might have to go to the hospital so that the doctors can examine you and give a certificate of penetration. If they can locate semen, that would help your case.”
Lata nodded, even though Rekha could not see it.
Both of them were discussing this matter-of-factly. But Lata knew somewhere deep inside her she was in a state of shock, as well as denial. Did all this happen to her? Was it a dream? And why did it happen? What did they do exactly?
She lay down for a nap.
Two hours later, when she woke up, her brain felt foggy. The sleep had made it worse. Whom should she turn to for emotional support? How to tell people about this? If she told one woman friend, the news would spread. Soon, all her friends would give her sympathetic looks.
If she filed an FIR, it might come out in the media. The police would leak it because reporters are always looking for juicy news. And what would happen anyway? The police will do a desultory investigation and use delaying tactics.
Lata would have to hire a lawyer and launch a crusade to get the police to react. While she would do this, she would have to contend with the pressures of her career. And will the bosses and the owners like this negative publicity? On top of all that, she would have to battle it all alone emotionally.
She was in a cul-de-sac.
It would devastate her parents in Bhopal. Her grey-haired mother, Sumati, will immediately say, “Beti, get married. Don’t live alone. Have children. They will bring meaning to your life. Family is more important than a career. At the end of your life, when your career is long over, only the family will be there for you.”
‘What sort of family,’ thought the 36-year-old.
Lata had seen so many marriages implode because of infidelity. Which child today is going to look after their parents in their old age?
The joint family had collapsed. India was going the Western way of individualism. Everybody was thinking of themselves only.
She could hear growling sounds from her stomach. She looked at the wall clock. It was 4.30 p.m.
Lata had eaten nothing since her breakfast.
She took out her mobile phone from her bag and ordered American chop suey on Zomato.
Later, as she ate with a fork on a low side table, she watched a Netflix movie. But she could hardly follow the story. Her mind remained blank.
As night fell outside, she switched on YouTube on her mobile phone. Lata listened to the Tibetan Buddhist chant, ‘Om Mani Padme Hum’. She listened to this every day. It brought her tranquillity, to hear the word ‘Om’. She had read somewhere that ‘Om’ was the most powerful word in the universe.
A horrible event had taken place.
She would have to deal with it.
She felt she needed to sleep over it before she decided. Let her unconscious mind think about the best actions to take.
So, she went to sleep, but not before adjusting the air conditioner to mild.
The next morning, when she awoke, she could feel her mind had become clear, like it always was. And which had enabled her to be so successful.
Lata came to some conclusions, as she made an omelette on the kitchen range.
She would consult a top psychologist. Lata was hoping to work her way through the damage to her psyche.
She would not file an FIR. It was too much of a headache. If the news became public, these criminals might kill her.
She would be very careful when she moved about. It would always be in a
cab or auto-rickshaw. No walking anywhere, unless she was in a group.
And she would request Rekha to keep this a secret.
Lata was not in a relationship. She had not been for a few years. So, she knew her career would provide the distraction that she needed.
‘These are the decisions for today,’ she thought.
She slid the omelette onto a plate using a wooden ladle. Then she put pieces of bread inside the toaster and pressed the lever downwards...
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