Freedom

Rima sat looking out of her window. It was raining and the tiny droplets of water were running down her window glass leaving traces as they flowed down. Just like the tears left traces on her cheek, she thought bitterly. She cried alone, every night. But today, it seemed like the skies had decided to keep her company. Her tears flowing abundantly, matched the pace of the rain drops, the only difference being that her tears were silent, while the raindrops were performing a sullen soulful opera. Seven years, she thought to herself. Seven years this was a routine ritual of her day. She dreaded the evenings. She used to start glancing at the clock, nervously, every 2 minutes, once the hour hand crossed the 7 o'clock mark. Her ordeal would begin anytime after 7:00 and would continue for a couple of hours, before everything went quiet and she could sit in this corner by the window, shedding silent tears.

It was an ordeal she suffered all by herself and no one who knew her would ever know of her lonely suffering. Just as Rima was lost in her thoughts, gently caressing her wounds, a loud bolt of lightning struck somewhere, followed by loud thunder. Rima shuddered, but in that moment of blinding light, something within her snapped too. It was as if the steadily crying skies had given her a signal, to shine like lightning and to roar like the thunder. Rima quickly got up, wiping her tears with the back of her palms, her demeanor changing as if she were a different person. The timid expressions on her face changed rapidly, from fear to anger to hatred and finally to a staunch determination. She got up in rage, ran to the closet where the long broom was stored. She picked it up and rushed to the other room. She started hitting a figure lying on the bed. The figure whimpered and jumped out, not comprehending what was happening. 

"I have had enough, ' Rima shouted. 'You have taken 7 years of my life from me, made me feel like a doormat. Nothing I do is good enough for you. If I keep quiet, you hit me. If I talk, you hit me. If I dress up nicely, you hit me. If I stay in my nightdress, you hit me. If I cook your favorite meal, you hit me, if I don't, you still hit me. And then you make me feel like the culprit. You have taken away my self respect. You have taken away my confidence. I am not wrong. I have no flaws. You are the pervert. You are sick in your head. You have an obsession. Until you don't hit me, you can't sleep. You need help. But you have cut all help I had. I have no friends left anymore, and to hide your imperfections, I have turned my own family away. But today, it all ends.' Saying so, Rima began hitting her husband once again.

She hit with all her might, not giving him a single chance to grab the broom or to stop her. Eventually, she was tired. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her husband, who lay in a heap on the floor, blood oozing out from his forehead and cheek. However, Rima did not feel anything, looking at his state. For seven years, she had been that heap, but not once had he shown any pity. She remembered all the times that she had been injured, bleeding and in pain, she remembered the innumerable times, her bones had broken, her ligaments had torn. She remembered both the times, she had lost her babies in her womb, because his obsession was too ruthless. She looked at him with contempt, as he whimpered, injured and scared and with a look of determination, she got up and walked to the phone, her shoulders straight, her head held high. She dialed 100, the Police helpline number and in a clear voice said calmly, 'I am calling for help, I am a victim of domestic abuse and my husband is hitting me.' She then gave her address to the operator. She turned back to look at him, once, then turned around, packed her things and walked out of the place that she called home, but in her heart knew, was a cage. The rain had inspired her that day. Finally, Rima walked towards her freedom.