Manju
Her name was Manju. His name was Manju.
She lay in the general ward of the Bowring hospital, on a wrought iron bed and a mattress a little thicker than a well made paratha. He ran from place to place, looking for a relative who had not yet heard.
Her mind and body were on one frequency. Thousands of receptor cells acted in conjunction, flooding her nerves, making sure that her brain blocked out every signal but pain. Occasionally, she sensed that many different people came to visit her but her brain urged away the awareness almost as soon as it dawned. Pain was a jealous companion.
His mind was split on two different axes. He was afraid, of course. Anyone would be, if the police was pursuing them so doggedly. Curse the television channels! It was they who were publicising the case relentlessly. But he was also a little proud. He had proved that he was a man. The whore had asked for it, hadn’t she?
She used to study at the University, the first girl in her family to do an M.A. Her parents were persuading her to get married. He used to work at his cousin’s bike repair shop. His parents had tried to get him to pass his twelfth, but he didn’t see the point in it.
One day, she had come to his shop to get her moped repaired. Her father, a class D government employee had bought her the second-hand bike when she passed her graduation, though her mother had protested that the girl was receiving too much freedom. He believed that he had fallen in love with her on their very first meeting. Hadn’t she thanked him so nicely when he had replaced the punctured tube? He had followed her that day, watching as she entered the University gates.
She had asked him to go away when he stood outside the gate the next day. Gently. She wasn’t scared. She believed that a good word could handle most people. He left but he was thrilled. She must like him, she must. She would come around when she knew how much he loved her. Didn’t they share a name? That could not be a coincidence.
She began to fear, as he followed her, the next day, and the next day and then, everyday. He began to feel more confident. It was just a question of time.
When her exams got over, she told her parents that she was willing to meet the boys that they had been pestering her to see. He told his parents that they must go and ask her parents for her hand.
She liked one of the boys. He had a government job and his family didn’t mind her going out to work. She was ecstatic. She was sure that she would go on to be a lecturer. He slapped his mother when she got back from the meeting and told him that her parents had no intention of getting her married to a school dropout. He was outraged. How could she deceive him?
She began shopping for her wedding clothes. He got his lab attendant friend to buy him a bottle of sulphuric acid.
She had no thought for him as she lay in the hospital. Once, she felt anger flooding through her body, but soon, pain forced it out. In some time, there would be anger and helplessness and even disgust when she looked at her charred face, but not now. He thought of her endlessly, for the first few days, as he skulked at his mama’s house, but when the FIR was filed and they flashed his picture on the news, he was driven out. Driven from house to house, he soon discovered that he could not keep her tight. Soon, all his thoughts were on himself as he was hunted like an animal and he feared for his life if he was taken into police custody. In a week, she seemed like a dream, a nebulous vision that he had a long time ago and could no longer quite clearly remember.
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that was chilling . But sadly, it may not be fictitious at all . Lots of men don’t deal with rejection gracefully.
You’ve captured it clearly. Again Beyond Manju & Manju, I see the faces of the student in Hyderabad and that woman in Iran! Again on this issue I’d always wondered if this is a case of cinema inspired bravado or if the screen only captured images on a problem that already existed.
happened the same in hyderabad , a few weeks back .. swapnika ….fighting with death….men ..ah… men …..are they only men and not human ?
Minka, Vidya, Cyan_sky - welcome to the blog and thank you for your comments. I wrote this story, in fact, based on the increasingly common stories of acid attacks across cities in India.
Vidya - I don’t know if it is totally inspired by cinema, but much of our cinema does make harassment seem acceptable and even ‘cool’.
Ugh! Tell me about it. The hero harassing the girl and she falling in love because of the harassment or inspite of it, all of this makes impressionable children believe they too must behave the same way.
Laksh - yes, I wonder our actors don’t feel ashamed of themselves for doing such roles. Smoking on screen is seen as something that influences children, but the harassment and degradation of women somehow just isn’t.