This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 47
; the forty-seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton
The sky bled red as the sun rose over the horizon. The first ray of sun light fell on my face. The mango trees swayed to and fro to the tune of the soft, wet wind. Birds were relatively quiet at this time of day and almost all people were still sleeping. The cool night breeze touched our bodies now and then. There was a dead silence around. I was there, flying along with my little sister, but not in peace. Things were so different yesterday evening. We were playing in rice fields happily without knowing the truth that it would be our last sunset. Our dreams were crushed first, and then even us.
Was it our mistake to play in the field at half past five in the evening? Or was it our mistake to be born in the lower class of the society? Or was it our mistake to allow that gang of bastards to abduct and rape us? Or was it God’s mistake? Whom to ask, God? I doubt if God still exists?
Who the hell gave them the right to touch our body? Who the hell gave men the power to overpower women? Who the hell said that we are independent? Are we really? And many more to list…
I do not have an answer for all this; but of this, I am sure: men who rape are not humans, not even animals’, as they would not hunt that way; they’re something which words cannot describe. They shattered our dreams. Had we known this we would not had played their last evening. But God scripted our fate the other way; the way that should not happened to someone even in the wildest of our dreams.
It all seemed like a perfect plan. They abducted us to an unknown place, locked us in a room till they got drunk, then they took turns to rape my sister and myself. Once, twice, thrice, as many times as you could count in your fingers…painful it was; more than what we could convey in words. We ran out of breath, we thought that they were done, and would let us alive out of the hellhole, but again, God scripted our fate the other way; they strangled us to death. First it created pressure inside our windpipe, then the blood cells burst, finally our soul left our body and we’re what we’re not wanted to be. Death did not give us peace. Even after that they raped us for an hour and finally, they took us to the same farmland, from where we were abducted last evening, and hanged us in rope in the same mango tree, where we used to play.
*நிசப்தம்* The silence must be heard; it has uncountable unsaid words that convey the feeling of unheard voices and dreams. My dream of becoming a Politician to work for the welfare of women and her dream of becoming a doctor were shattered into pieces. Our parents hope of living a better life when we grow up came to an end. Not just ours, but many unheard voices, unfulfilled dreams, and broken hearts. There could be many answers for silence, but the best of them provided by the people in our country is that they have a reason to write/speak/like/share/tweet/pin and then forget it in a weeks’ time.
Listen to the silence…
Of the dead souls,
Of the RAPE survivors,
Of your heart,
And teach your sons to respect every individual equally.
Let’s create a better India for future generations!
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics
who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts
can be checked here
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. Participation Count: 30