Voiced Whispers Part 1

VOICED WHISPERS.

BY NAITIK JAIN.

To every person that's fighting the same fight. It's not over till you think it's over.

INTRODUCTION.

A walk in the lanes and by lanes of Kolkata will reveal stories that one can hear in no other place, and see through no other sight. Every single person has their own story to tell.

This book is about one such story that was wound in a web so large, that getting out of it seemed impossible at times.

A young college going boy meets a girl on a journey back home. His inquisitiveness gets the better of him, and soon this mundane looking girl gets a lot more interesting. The more he explores into this girl, the more he is drawn towards his past. Flashbacks from the past keep disturbing his mind, as he embarks on a journey that will change his life forever.

Travel through the lanes of Kolkata, and more, as this young boy discovers a lot more about the city he thought he knew inside out. Discover the deep secrets that the city has to hide, as the journey goes on, both inside his mind and out of it. Will he finally find what he is looking for? Or will he get absorbed into the snares of his own city? Read on to find out!

PROLOGUE.

It was just another day in a normal life that I had. The work was routine, the same a.n.a.lysis of different data that came my way. It was nearly seven when I left the office, after spending half the day there. The work was getting to me. I had become a member of the typical young Indian workforce working day and night for a high salary, hoping to retire early and live off the savings.

I picked my laptop bag up from the desk and walked out of the office. I walked to my car and slid into the seat, exhausted. It was the last day of the working week, and I was really looking forward to the weekend. I needed a break from all the work.

I started the car and drove home smoothly. I was fortunate enough to not run into traffic on my way, and I reached home sooner than usual.

My wife wasn't home yet. She was to return today, and her flight was arriving at 6:30 p.m. I had sent the driver with other car to pick her up, since I couldn't go to the airport myself.

I hadn't slept well in three days straight. I had spent the night in the office working, as the job's deadline was today. It had to be done by someone, and that someone ended up being me. For some reason, I didn't feel sleepy when I came back home. I walked to the back of the house and eased myself into the chair, as I let comfort take over me.

I stared out into the garden as I thought about the last twelve years.

Twelve years of living a routine life, graduating from a nice college, then doing an MBA, and then a job at a multinational company had somehow become the dream I was dreaming. This was not what I had set out to do, but somehow had ended up doing. I wanted to take up something different, something that I had a pa.s.sion for, something that would drive me every single day, and this just wasn't it.

It didn't really mean that I had to leave my job for that, though. I could do it on the side, maybe take up some work in my free time, however little that may be. I stared out into the dark garden. I could hear the insects making a noise out in the garden, as the darkness covered me.

The thought of not having done anything much seemed to come to me repeatedly. But then, it wasn't necessary to make life an adventure every day. It had been twelve years since it happened, but I had my fair share of an adventure, and it wasn't going to be forgotten ever in my life. A smile pasted itself on my lips as I thought about all of it, sitting by the garden, going back twelve years in time.

CHAPTER 1.

The train stopped at Panskura junction, as she walked in with her parents, occupying the seat opposite me. Both of us were sharing the window, sitting on opposite sides of it, staring outside into the darkness, occasionally looking at each other.

She wasn't exactly the textbook definition of what you would call beautiful. She had long, dark, oiled hair, neatly tied into a long bundle. Her eyes were wide, searching for something that seemed to be hidden in those tracks, invisible, yet out there nonetheless. She didn't smile much in the little time that I met her for, yet when her father bought her that handkerchief from the vendor, her face lit up with a kind of joy I hadn't experienced in months. Here I was, with earphones plugged in, a tab in one hand and an i-Phone in another, yet frowning, bickering and complaining, and here she was, happy and content with whatever little she got. The contrast was shocking, but what was more disturbing was that I was the one at a loss; I was the unhappy of the two, and all I could do was observe.

I wanted to start a conversation, but being the typical Indian guy, I couldn't. I just observed her movements, her actions, sometimes lowering the volume of the music to listen to her conversations. There was happiness in her face, yet a longing for something. There was love in her father's eyes, yet a sadness that he was trying to hide. Something was wrong with this girl - this little girl, who was probably a few years younger to me. I wanted to know what it was, but then again, I wasn't courageous enough to ask.

The train moved ahead, but my mind stayed right there, fixed on this one girl, who had managed to confuse me in a matter of minutes. What could possibly have gone so wrong, that this girl, who seemingly could be happy at every little thing, who appeared to be her parents' s.h.i.+ning star, was so sad? What was this grief that her parents' had?

My stop was to come soon, and her father informed me about this, just as I had asked him to. Despite being a regular traveller, I would often forget when my stop would come, so I always used to ask a co-pa.s.senger to inform me when my stop would be nearby. That was when our conversation started. She asked me where I was coming from, and I coolly replied Kharagpur, where I was studying in an IIT. She didn't really seem to care too much about it. I asked her where she was from, and where was she going? She told me that she was from Panskura, and was going to Kolkata, to live with her husband.

It took me a couple of minutes to understand what she was saying. I stared at her father, who suddenly seemed to be very interested in the floor of the train. I could see a few tears in her mother's eyes. The girl smiled at me. She told me that she came from a very poor family, and her father needed to clear debts. He could not have supported his daughter's upbringing. In exchange for the sum, he was forced to marry her to a much older man. He had no choice in this matter- it was a decision between saving all lives from starvation and torture. I just sat and stared at the girl, who was still smiling at me, blinking her tears back.

Till now, I had only read about child marriages in newspapers. Sure, I'd condemn them, look down upon them, and sometimes say a word or two against them. But to see it in front of me, to see a beautiful life being torn apart because of it, it was something else altogether. Today, we talk about women's rights, debate about whether feminists are really required now or not. We talk about increasing rights for these women, but we forget that these women are not a statistic figure. We talk about them in percentages, we say that so many women are now x% safer on the streets, but what about the women behind these closed doors? What about the girl who would now work all her life serving a man she doesn't even know? Something is wrong with the way we see things, and it better start changing now, because if it doesn't, it's just going to go further downhill. Women need rights, but their fundamental right is the right to being an independent individual. Its time they get that back.

My stop had now come, and I got down, leaving the train and her to their fates, standing on the noisy platform, quietly.

CHAPTER 2.

The train started beside me, with her safely tucked in the window seat, looking out at me intently. I was everything she wished she could be, or so I thought. How different would it have been if she would've been a guy instead? Would it have mattered at all? Perhaps yes.

One has to be careful these days, for one doesn't know whom one can run into. This person, although distant, was more close to me than probably any of my friends now, for we had something in common.

The images, blurred by the gentle hand of time, had started to form again. The same little girl being dragged by her father across the hallway, crying and whining at being tugged away against her will. The other man was pulling her along with a satanic determination in his eyes.

"Father! No! Please!"

There was no reply from him.

"I love you father. I'll be a good girl! I promise!"

The same grim expression covered his face. He pulled her along.

"Father! Father!...."

The voice of the girl went away with her as the man pulled her along. I stood there, dumbfounded as she was taken away, unable to do anything, a powerless child.

I was jolted back to reality by my phone howling in my ears. Dad had been calling. It was customary for my parents to pick me up from the station; they wanted to minimize the time after which they'd see me, and they were ready to take the hour long journey back home for that. I took the call, and told dad that I had reached the station, and will be there at the car in five minutes. The car was parked in its usual spot- the No Parking zone by the side of the road. I'd tell dad off every time for this, but today I didn't. I had something else altogether in mind.

"Dad..."

"I know, I know. No Parking means that the car shouldn't be parked there. But paying Rs. 200 for fifteen minutes of parking is pointless! They really force us common people to break the rules," he replied, as he switched the air conditioning of the car on.

"It's not that. I met someone in the train today."

"Who was it? Did you meet a professor? Or was it a senior from your Robotic Society?"

"No dad. It was a person I hadn't met before. This girl (dad sighed), no, not that kind dad! Honestly! Listen to me first at least! This girl I met was married at the age of sixteen. She was going with her father to her husband. He had to marry her to him because he owed him money."

"So?"

"So I didn't like it. I didn't like to see laws being violated right in front of me. The girl wanted to study; she wanted to be like me. The gleam in her eyes when I said that I am a college student said it all. It wasn't a good experience Dad. I really didn't like this."

"There are thousands, maybe millions like her. You read about them in the newspapers, you see them in the news channels, then why has this sudden jolt of compa.s.sion and love sparked in you? Grow up son, you will never see her again, so it's best that you forget about her. These are things you should let the government take care of. Your job is to study hard and do well in your exams, focus on them. Your mid semester exams are approaching. Remember your performance last time? We do not want such dismal performances coming from you again. Just because you're in college now doesn't mean you can say and do anything you want to."

"But Dad!"

"What but Dad?! You're supposed to be an excellent student out there, among the best! You have to work hard! Get this nonsense out of your head now! Focus on your future, that's more important. Get good grades, study hard, and get out of this mess of a country. I don't want you to be stuck here for the rest of your life."

Dad was right. That was my dream. It was my plan of action. Get out of this country as soon as possible. There's nothing left in India. Whatever we pay as tax for our benefit fills the accounts of our politicians, and if something is left over for development, states like West Bengal stick to their age old tradition of stalling development and destroy that little hope. There was nothing left for India. I was the typical Indian export. All India could ever grow in was the brainpower, and that it distributed to other countries, who tapped the potential, and used it for their own growth and development.

But somewhere, deep inside, wasn't this our fault? Weren't we supposed to stay back and develop our country too? After all, we are the future of the country, its growth prospect. If we don't work towards its development, then who will? It's time we start thinking about change, and change had to begin today; change had to begin with that sixteen year old girl.

I didn't know what her name was, or her father's name, for that matter. But I had seen three faces I would not forget in a hurry. I had seen the desperation, the hunger, the gloom of a family about to be broken apart. It was time I went somewhere I should have been, and did something I should have done. I was no more a powerless child. I had to act today, had to do something about this. I could not let injustice happen right in front of me.

It was a decision that didn't require a lot of thinking. It was a decision I should have taken a long time back, but I couldn't. This girl would not go through the same fate, and I would see that it was done. This would be a payback for the little girl, the result she deserved, but could never get.

I would be giving the child her life back. Her marriage had to be broken. Her life had to be joined again, permanently.

CHAPTER 3.

Home has this strange ability to make you forget all your worries and problems. We don't realize how comfortable we are at home till we have to step out into the real world, and once we do, we miss that comfort, the knowledge of a support always being there. So, when you do return, albeit for a short period of time, it makes you feel so relaxed, that you forget everything else that you had in mind, and start thinking about the pleasures of home. I was in a similar situation. Mom made food and the comfort of my own bed made me forget every worry that I had, including the firm decision that I had taken the night before. Sleep had washed my worries away.

The two days at home were peaceful and relaxed. I didn't do anything much, thinking that I'd take care of the piled up work once I go back to college, and two days of no work wasn't really that big a deal. So, I spent my time sleeping, eating and watching the television, till Sunday night arrived. I had to go back now. The train was at 10pm.

The station was filled with its usual buzz. The one strange thing about Howrah Station is that it's never asleep. It's always a hub of incessant activity, with ear splitting announcements, people sleeping on the floor, some others running around on realizing that their train was on the other end of the station all along. I was to go to the last platform. The train always came there. My parents insisted on dropping me off till the train, but I wanted to go alone. It becomes hard to see them fade, as you go back to the marathon that is your college life. The bright, crowded and noisy station faded behind me, as the train slowly moved into the dark night.

It was rather difficult to sleep in this train. Being too lazy to book tickets, I had ended up in a local, which stops at every station on its way. This meant movement of people, which caused immense disturbance to my sleeping habits. I put on some music and stared out into the darkness, occasionally marred by the unusual bursts of light coming from factories or small towns, as the train slid past them. Darkness often reveals to oneself his own true form, for in the light you are afraid of being seen by others. It is when you know that no one is looking that you reveal your true ident.i.ty, even to yourself. Staring out into the darkness often gives me the illusion of being alone, as if Nature had decided to leave me to my thoughts, allowing me to believe in what I want to, to rest my head in her lap, and look at my life, with leisure.

The train stopped with a slight jerk, but I felt a rather hard impact on myself. The station was small, dimly lit, and almost empty, just like my train. There was no one getting up, but a few people did get down. However, I was no longer sleepy. In the dimly lit platform, I could see one word, written in English, Hindi, and Bengali. That word was something that reminded me of a promise I had made to myself: Panskura.

It was time for me to act on my word. I knew that if there was anywhere I could start, it was here. She had said that they lived in Panskura. But then, wouldn't they be in Kolkata now? Shouldn't I come back after a few days? After all, getting down here at this hour and then achieving nothing would be pointless indeed. It was the middle of the night, and obviously not an hour for an inquiry into the life of a family I had seen once! There was no way I could do this now. Besides, I didn't really owe them anything. I was doing this at my own will, and I was under no obligation to speed up my work. Taking an unplanned detour at this hour could prove to be dangerous for me. I didn't know the area, or the people there. I didn't have anything to do. The next train could be hours from now. What would I do till then, especially if the girl's parents would be in Kolkata. It was infeasible and pointless to get down no.

But then, she needed someone. A helpless father and an ignorant mother was all she had, and she needed support. The later I'd go, the more she'd suffer. I couldn't see her burn down to ashes again. This was not the 1950s now, and I was a part of the development of the nation. In fact, I was expected to be leading the development, given the stress on the youth today. Yet, I was backing out. Backing out from fluffing the duty that I was supposed to perform, backing out from completing a promise I had made to myself. Was that the worth of my words? Was I this reliable to myself?

Just when I had decided to move out, the train started its motion, and I conveniently blamed my inaction on the timing of the train, and, consoling and quieting down my conscience, sat down on my seat. The train went ahead, and there was an hour's journey left.

The emptiness of the train somewhat reflected the emptiness of my heart at that moment. "Why do I always cower out from my responsibilities?" I thought to myself, as I stared into the blankness of the train. I was being the typical person I always loathed- full on words, yet nowhere on the actions. I did take resolutions, make decisions, and come to work out things. Yet, when I had to act on them, there was something that was holding me back, and it was not just my fear. It was this inherent inertia that I had in myself, which society imparts into every human being as he grows up. We resist change, and believe that it will come by itself, or will be brought by someone great. We refuse to accept that we are capable of changing things by ourselves, and thus quit every single time. I, at that moment, knew that the girl needed someone to stand up for her, someone to voice her mind's opinions, yet my belief that I was not that someone stopped me from acting out at that point of time. "Some NGO would find and rescue her from this maybe, and there is so much of media coverage in Kolkata. There's no way any injustice would be done to her out there!" Even I knew that these arguments were not convincing enough. It had to be my job to do, yet I was backing out from it, being the typical Indian citizen, staring at the victim, cursing the government for inaction, calling the society a disgrace, yet, at the time of action, backing out. Not doing what had to be done, thinking that someone else would do it someday. The concept of waiting till the last moment has destroyed the work culture of our country. We never take any action till the harm knocks on our doorsteps. Today I ignored one girl being ill-treated, and tomorrow the bad treatment could be with my best friend. Yet, all I did was sit back down, and stare into the emptiness, trying to fill in the void of my inaction with false a.s.surances.

I reached college an hour after midnight, dragged myself to the top floor, flung myself on the bed, and lay there, looking at the blackness, with sleep refusing to come to me. My brain was too exhausted to bring up any more logic to this discussion, and I knew that once I'd get busy with my work, I'd forget about her again, refusing to acknowledge the fact that unless I did something, she would spend the rest of her life being raped and tortured by her husband, both physically and mentally, yet there would be no one to come to her rescue, because just like me, the others would also wait for someone else to do the job. We all want the drain clean, but no one wants to get his hands dirty. That girl's sad smile had the ability to make any person feel bad for her, and I did too, but there was more that I had to do, and I had to do it soon. It was only that I chose not to do it, to live the same old ordinary life, adjusting to the system, happy as long as I was not crushed by it. I was content with earning enough and leaving this country for good, but was I really born into this country to run away from it? This was a question I was yet to answer, and the day I could answer it truly, would be when I would finally accomplish my true purpose.

CHAPTER 4.

"Please Father! Stop this!"

He didn't even slow down. His eyes showed a determination that wouldn't budge even at the plea of G.o.ds. He kept dragging her ahead, deaf to the pleas of his own daughter, the woman his religion made him wors.h.i.+p. There was no doubt about him being a religious man; he went to the temple every day, and prayed for an hour before he left for work. This was not about religion. What it was about, I didn't know then. I could just see that girl being dragged in front of my eyes, pleading hopelessly to her father.

She turned around, and looked at me. Those eyes had a hope in them as they stared straight into my blank face. I stood there, staring at her, hoping that something would come along to save her. I was powerless, just a little kid, who had no ideas of the working of things. How could I have saved her then?

She cried. For the first time since this episode had started, I saw tears in her eyes. Those tears were not of the sadness she felt at being dragged by her father, which was strange, I thought then. Back then, I couldn't figure out why she had cried after she looked at me doing nothing. It was later that I discovered the reason, as I relived those moments again.

"No. Stop. Don't take her away!" was all I had to say. But I couldn't say it. He kept pulling her along, kept dragging her down the corridor, and she kept looking at me. She wanted me, her best friend, to stand up for her.

And she was right in expecting so. I had a.s.sured her that I would be with her through every moment in her life, no matter what happened. There was no way that anyone would be able to do anything to her. Of course, I hadn't thought it through then. I probably didn't even mean it. But she took it quite literally. She was expecting me to stand up for her, to fight with her father, and save her life from wherever he was taking her. Both of us knew that if she went there, there was no coming back for her. But where was she going, and how did it all happen so suddenly? I needed answers to my questions. After all, I was just a little kid, unable to do anything by himself. I needed my parents' permission to go out and play, so how could I even think of fighting against another man? He was older, and very religious, so he must have been doing the correct thing. Besides, I was no one to interfere in the matters of another family.

But he was wrong! He couldn't have been more wrong, if there was any such thing. Every action of his showed that it was his fault, that she didn't deserve any of this. She was my best friend! I had to do something; I had to stop this madness.

She kept staring at me, tears flowing through her eyes. They were tears of disappointment, seeing her best friend, who had promised to stay by her side at every moment in life, doing nothing for her when she needed him the most. All I did was wish I could've done something for her. And I promised to stay by her side.

She was dragged away from me, her eyes fixed at me, her silence speaking more than anything anyone had ever said, and her tears telling me how wrong I had been for her. Moments after she left, everything began to shake, as if the earth had been struck by an earthquake. However, it was just me who was struck, as I slowly whirled and fell down on the ground, unconscious.

It was late in the evening when I regained consciousness, and I woke up with a burning pain in my head.

"He's running a temperature of a hundred and four degrees. This kid is on fire. We may need to admit him." Said dad, as he took the thermometer out of my mouth and checked the temperature.