“Here comes my beautiful doll,” said aloud my uncle who was standing on the veranda, and hugged me with his two big arms placed around my chest, for quite a longer period than I can tolerate. I had just returned from the school and was tired. Not liking his behavior, I tried to escape from his grip successfully and ran into the house.
I used to like being with my uncle ‘Raghu’ until I turned twelve, and had started differentiating between an innocent, fatherly caressing from a shameless awkward one by my uncle. Once I complained to my mother about his frequent abusive gesture, but she straight away rejected my allegation, saying, “Don’t take it seriously ‘Deena,’ since your father died, he loves you more than ever, I think you have misjudged him.” Then I knew that mother was more concerned about the bills and school fees uncle was paying regularly every month, and less worried about my feeling of being embarrassed. I was sure that uncle Raghu’s intention was not good. So I tried my best to avoid being with him, especially when we are alone. My uncle, though knowing that I was aware of his immoral intent, had shrewdly continued his shameful act considering the fact that two of us will never create a fuss being completely dependent on him, financially and socially.
My father died of tuberculosis when I was ten. He was a certified drunkard, obviously not earning well. Often he beat my mother being drunk and out of money. In my childhood memory, one scene was permanently imprinted, ‘my father beating my mother who was crying sobbingly.’ Since my childhood, I had been very amazed about this ‘Crying’ phenomena. I had seen almost every woman in my neighborhood in this ‘crying mode’ at one or another time. Even my class teacher ‘Sarla Madam’ did sob once in front of students when she had a problem in her married life. To my surprise, I never ever saw a man crying in any such situations like women do. So I firmly believed that crying is solely a women’s business. After my father’s death uncle ‘Raghu’ took care of us as my mother was illiterate and didn’t know anything other than housekeeping. Uncle had a small house where we lived, having a franchise of cable TV under which few boys were working as maintenance workers. They would often come to our home to meet him when he is not in the field. ‘Ranjit,’ a good natured, dark complexion boy was one of them who acquainted well with me and my mother. Soon he became my friend with whom I shared my problems, especially about uncle’s behavior.
Uncle brought a new office in a nearby commercial block in the year I passed my twelfth. On one summer night, half-drunk he tried to rape me while I was sleeping on the rooftop. Anyhow, I escaped from him and started sleeping inside after that, no matter how hot the weather is. On top of this, I was shocked to know that ‘Raghu’ convinced my mother that I would work with him at the new office and there was no need for my further education. I instantly understood his plan to possess me with this trick. I also knew that my mother will never believe or support me.
I was in a deep depression when I told this critical situation of my life to ‘Ranjit,’ my only friend on whom I could trust. We were alone at my home. While listening to my story, promising help, solacing and embracing me ‘Ranjit’ aroused my sensuality. In my confusing status when I was fighting between the sorrow and ecstasy, he crossed all the barriers. I came back to the reality only to find out that my best friend had flown away robbing my virginity, leaving me alone to face the fate. Words spread all around the colony, giving me a bad reputation. ‘Who will marry her’ was the question asked by everyone.
A few days later, by the effort of a mutually known person ‘Ranjit’ came to meet me. At the instant he saw me he started crying vigorously, begging forgiveness for the unjust he had done to me, and offering himself to marry me. He pleaded mercy multiple times sobbingly. His eyes were spilling tears profusely through his cheeks and neck. I had never seen anyone crying so tragically in my life, not even a woman. For an instant, I thought that he might have made a prank of some kind to marry me. But I gave him a chance only for the reason that ‘he can cry.’
That day I came to know that ‘crying’ doesn’t fall only to the women’s domain, man can also cry if he owns a heart like a female. Today, happily married with Ranjit, I strongly believe that only those who knew to cry can value the tears of others.
*A true story as told to the author.
