Will justice ever come their way too?

It was rather unusual for my granny to get panicky. That winter morning in the late ’50s in a remote village of Hoshiarpur was different. She literally pushed me away from her and got out of bed to quickly drape a shawl around her before darting out of the room where the two of us slept snuggling against each other. Scared, I followed her and tiptoed towards the muffled voices coming out of the little room made of mud in the farthest corner of the courtyard.

The room belonged to Kishna, an frail old man who stayed there with his two daughters. They were poor and my benevolent grandfather, a war veteran who had a heart of gold, had got the room built for them. The girls helped granny in running the house and Kishna sat on the floor coughing and puffing on his hookah. I loved watching Kishna smoking but was careful about not going near him as I was told that he suffered from tuberculosis.

Besides grandma, there were three more women from the neighbourhood present in the small room. All talked in hushed tones and were trying to hold and console the elder sister who was sitting on the floor trembling and sobbing uncontrollably. Everything seemed to be normal before the sun rose and all I, as a seven year old could gather was that the girl had been hurt badly by a boy of the village when she had gone to the fields. Before I left for Delhi to resume my studies on finishing the vacation, the father and daughters had left the village for some unknown destination, never to return.

Cut to the early ’60s in Tezpur in Assam, where dad was posted. The Punjabi community showed rare solidarity and played a constructive role in settling the amount to be paid to the domestic help of a retired professor who hailed from Punjab. The woman when unwell would send her teenaged daughter to clean and cook for the elderly, respectable professor who lived alone. Professor sahib had taken advantage of the child’s innocence and vulnerability. The mother was now threatening to get a case filed by her minor daughter against the inappropriate behaviour of the professor who could afford to pay for his sins.

And in the late ’70s, while serving in a remote area of Arunachal Pradesh, a student of Class 6 got unwell in school. The nearest hospital was 5km away and it was tough to carry the ailing girl tied to a cot on the shoulders of two strong boy students. The doctor along with the shocking diagnosis gave a strict warning to send the girl away to her parents and not allow her to continue staying with an uncle who was her grandfather’s age for studying.

Decades have passed, yet the memories come back to haunt me and I wonder how many like them suffer silently even today. Will justice ever come to those who have dared to bare their heart out and say me too?

DECADES HAVE PASSED, YET THE MEMORIES COME BACK TO HAUNT ME AND I WONDER HOW MANY WOMEN ARE SUFFERING SILENTLY EVEN TODAY