Her screams pierced through the silence. The silence, with which the passers-by saw her. The silence, with which they saw him throw the acid on her and flee.
On a sunny May morning. In the bustling streets of the town. So many were around her, yet not a single one to protest, to help. They won't see evil, they won't hear evil, and they won't say evil.....
The ultimate devotees of Gandhi's Three Monkeys! No, they'll just stand and see for some time, and then move on towards their own destinations. Silent spectators of the scene.
It had been 18 months to the incident, and she had undergone almost a dozen surgeries. She still avoided the look the mirror returned. She never cried.... because it burned her semi-raw skin.
The case was never filed. Who will take the risk against such a powerful person? Not one of their town's lawyers at least.
Yes, silence had always been an integral part of her life. So much so, that she could interpret the mood of the silence much better than the meaning of words.
What she had received the most from life, had always been silence...