alifya basrai

Drama Tragedy Inspirational


4.4  

alifya basrai

Drama Tragedy Inspirational


Price Of Silence .... Paid

Price Of Silence .... Paid

2 mins 201 2 mins 201

The four walls of the room and darkness were now her companions for the last fifteen years. The invisible scars she had, were too deep and gravely inflicted on her. Her agony made her diffident towards her own feelings and thoughts.


She had no desire to have a relative foisted on her. Neither she had the courage to stop the humiliation back then, nor could she refuse to give a confession that would fabricate her own character from the people who are called as “relatives”. A confession of not being victimized, that only she could hear.


Time and again she had to compromise her dignity and self-respect. Time and again she had to succumb to him and his desires. His lust was masked by a pretense of seniority. Her family knew, however, couldn’t voice or report the perpetrator. It was a tradition where men could shame any woman of the family behind closed doors. She wasn’t just raped for her flesh, she was raped for her silence, for her ineffectualness and helplessness.


A shameful act for which she was abused and slut-shamed by her neighbors time and again. 


She was the part of a tradition that was unheard of, a culture that forbade her from stepping out in daylight. Or was it her inability to be heard. For fifteen long years, her silence had wreaked her life, not because she decided to remain meek, but because she was born deaf and dumb.


Was it worth it? She would question herself each time the doors were shut behind her. She would question herself when she had to cover her face up each time, she went through that torment. Yet she questioned herself again.... how much more??


Once again the door was shut that evening, once again she knew the time had come. But this time she just didn’t have to compromise, she had decided to free herself forever in the darkness of the night. A machete under her bed gave her the courage that night. She did what she had to. With blood splattered on her face and dupatta, she walked to her freedom out of her house with a bag of clothes. 


Her silence was paid off for good finally. She was free from the chains of despair, she was free from the chains of misery and agony inflicted upon her, she was free from the silence of her inabilities. Finally, she was free from traditions and cultures she despised the most because she was a part of #FreeIndia.


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