She looked away from the mirror, repulsed by her own disfigured reflection. To her surprise, she wasn’t crying this time. This was the ninth time he had beaten her; she had been counting. His face was calm while he slapped her twice and held her tightly by the neck. She succumbed to his force and fell unconscious. Her head had hit the marble floor with a mild thud; her stitches from the previous hitting opening up. She had seen him leave the room in a frustrated gait; maybe he had gone to get her some water, she hoped. “I’m sorry”, she muttered as he left the room.
She could not remember how they had ended up like this. How two people could be so damaged to become used to this daily ritual of beating, bleeding and healing. The first time he slapped her, she felt wrath fire up inside of her. She would threaten him to leave and live with her parents. He would reply with a smirk. Maybe he knew her parents better than her. “I did not expect this from you Kiran. Have you forsaken everything that I taught you? Is this your new way of defaming us in the family?” her mother had said while her father refused to even look at her until she patched up with her spouse. Maybe I am overreacting, she had thought. She had no choice but to return to her husband’s place. She had seldom visited her parents’ house since.
Kiran did not want to be under the spotlight, she did not want the world to know of her household troubles and pity her. She hoped everything would be better soon.
Her eyes had changed colour; could that happen? They weren’t the former vibrant honey colour anymore but a different shade of dull brown.
She had hoped everything would change once they had a child. Well, everything would have been better had she given birth to a son. To her utter dismay, in addition to her in laws’ constant stares, mutters and taunts; she was now categorized as worthless.
The situation grew worse. Tahir, her husband, wouldn’t as much as look at her. She would do everything in her power to make him like her or even acknowledge her. She thought of herself as futile. Tahir must have had a lot of work to do at his office, his frustration was justified. She blamed herself. She should try and be a better wife. Her mother in law suggested of marrying Tahir to another woman in hope for a grandson.
“What is my fault Tahir?” she had managed to ask him one day. I do everything in my power to please you.
“I don’t have time for this”, he said while casually going through the newspaper headings.
“I know we can sort this out.” Kiran was on the verge of crying.
“Stop talking now. Don’t make this worse!” Tahir clenched his fists and gave her a ghastly look.
She shuddered but did not leave the room. That was the only conversation they had had all day or maybe all week, she wasn’t sure.
Kiran had never thought of herself as becoming one of those women who wouldn’t speak up against injustice. But then again, she had never expected that she would be the one at the receiving end. She felt ashamed somehow of being a part of this. She felt ashamed of telling her story to someone. Kiran had even forbidden Sara, her daughter, to utter a word regarding her parents’ fights. She could see herself in her daughter, not her present self, her adolescent face reflected in Sara’s. “Don’t tell anyone” Kiran’s mother used to tell her while bandaging her bruises. Like Kiran, Sara had learned to stay quiet.
She had thought of reporting her husband to the police; but what would become of her child? Would getting her husband behind the bars make her happy? Would her parents accept her after this?
She prayed to Allah that such ideas not cross her mind. Still, every inch of her prayed for a better tomorrow.
As a teenager, she had fantasized about marriage; a handsome groom, a perfect ceremony, tons of presents and a beautiful wedding gown. She had gotten all that. Maybe she was just being ungrateful. Maybe happiness was meant to be short lived; maybe she had already lived her happiness. She had never gotten to the after marriage part. She had hoped her fantasies would continue. No one had stopped her from dreaming then. No one had stopped her from voicing her opinion. Now, she just dreamt about it. But now, it was time for her to bear with the circumstances, to compromise beyond her abilities; she had to be a good wife no matter what.
She wasn’t supposed to have an opinion. She was supposed to stay quiet, calm and composed. That is what the society, her parents, her in-laws and her parents expected of her and that is what she was going to do.
By: Warda Batool
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