The little hand that remained strong...

Kavya was a muti-talking goddess. Well all women are, aren't they? She handled the dal tadka on the gas, managed to take the hot roti to her daughter and fill the utensil to boil water - all at the same time. A bead of sweat followed the path of many others on her creased forehead. And just like before, she wiped it away irritably with her pallu.

She glanced at the tiny clock on their broken shelf. "10:30", it clearly showed and she let another sigh escape from her parched lips. "Where is he?" rang in her worried mind all the time, though she very well knew the answer. Suddenly she heard a loud crash and the distinct sound of a glass breaking.

Knowing what was going to happen, she quickly went in to take her princess to her bedroom and strictly instructed her to stay there, and bolted the door. She did not want her angel to witness the ugly truth of life’s endeavors.

And then she heard a voice beaming, “You did not give me enough money at the wedding. I should have walked out then and there. I should have left you there itself…” And a lot of shouting in that same angry, frustrated and agitated mood followed. A silent tear emerged at the tip of her dove shaped eye. It was happening again – another brutal vicious night. She ran out, asked him to get in and tried to grab his hand. He snatched away his hand and spat on the ground. His voice roared, “How dare you touch me?” She didn’t have to look around to know that their family state was no less than mere comedy to the despicable neighbors. Tomorrow morning, this would be the talk of the town and the center idea around which the local gossip would revolve. “Come in, just come in”, she repeated and repeated as she put whatever force she had into grabbing his forearm and pulling him into the safety of their four walls against his wishes. Just as she was about to emerge the winner in the battle against his persistent bombardings and flaring of arms and legs, she heard one of their next door devil say, “Tonight nobody will be getting any peace – not them, not us. From where and all people come to spoil our sleep.” As she blinked back tears of rage, she pulled her so called “better half in and barged the door shut, knowing that tomorrow she would only have more marks to count on her body.

The door shut and what went on behind the door was a night of terror that would give shivers to anybody who witnessed it. He broke away from her grip and slapped her. As she staggered to get up, he grabbed her hair, pulled her up and demanded how she dare act like she has authority in public. Failing to derive an answer out of her, he replied to his own question with a menacing voice that sent a chill down her spine, “I WILL SHOW YOU WHO IS THE BOSS.”

That was the longest night of her life though she had endured many such nights before. Cruelty was redefined in the inhumane ways he tortured her. Sheer madness was evident in the cigarette marks that stained almost every part of her body. The moon bent away in shame and the sun came up dutifully to take its place. A new dawn…

She woke up on the floor in half torn clothes. The first thing she did instinctively was to check on her daughter, who was asleep in her room just as innocent as innocence could be. As Kavya turned around, she heard a single word in a baby voice – “AMMA.” She rushed to her daughter’s side and enquired what happened. Her little darling sat up and quietly touched her mother’s cheek and in that nectar sweet voice asked, “Are you hurt Amma?”

Emotions welled up in Kavya but she refused to give into them and said, “How can I be hurt when you are there?” with a smile – a small curve that she managed for the apple of her eyes. She kisses her and tucks her back into bed to sleep and goes into the bathroom. She checks the marks on her back and her entire body. There were no tears this time. She was drained of it. She filled the bucket with ice cold water, let down her glossy black hair from its messy bun, closed her eyes and poured the entire bucket over her. The water was as cold as she was and when she opened her eyes, you could sense calmness in them.

She got dressed, went to the kitchen and started cooking. AGAIN. It was another bright new day but she knew deep down it would be the same dark night, just like how the past years had been. And she was prepared...

20 years from that dreadful night…

A flock of journalists crowded around the eminent personality that had changed the city overnight. One media reporter whispered to another, “Ms. Smriti is here!” Everybody crowded around to hear the latest news from her mouth. And there she stood- tall and elegant, commanding in a beautiful way, her eyes shining with determination and her chin held high. “Our next mission is to place at least two groups of policemen around Inner Circle to stop all the eve teasing in that area. This will ensure that all the female students of both the Universities nearby will feel safe to venture in and out of their colleges without hesitation.” Her voice rang clear not with false promises, but with a daring note. After answering all the related questions, she adjourned the meeting and headed back to her office.

As she walked in, people stood up to salute her. There was something about her that was so captivating. Be it the way she walked with confidence in her every stride or the way she flashed a smile of the most pure form to the ones who deserved it. She goes over to her table and sits down in her throne. A card on her desk read

“Ms. Smriti S.K., Superintendent of Police”

She removes her cap and places it on the table which is adorned with two honor medals for meticulous service in women empowerment.

With impartial eyes, she turns towards her left. The same sight awaited her, the same sight that never changed since the past 5 years. A man lay there, with disdained eyes and a pot belly. Her lips curled in disgust and she looked away hurt at the mere view of the man who ruined her picture of a family. She felt no empathy for him. He did not deserve it and she knew that.

Suddenly her sharp ears picked up one line from an old constable bickering to a passerby, “God alone knows how she can do that to her own father.” She got up and one could feel her power in her aura. She strode over to the man, grabbed him by his collar and looked right into his eyes and said, “Because you will never understand that he did not know the meaning of a father or a husband.”

That evening, she paid her daily visit to the cemetery. She went on her knees and placed her mother’s favorite flower - a rose – on her grave and whispered, “I wish you were stronger Amma but I will be strong for both of us.” Smriti walked away with tears and the engraving on the gravestone read,

“MRS. KAVYA S.K.

A PROUD MOTHER.”