I close my eyes. And I remember. Some flashes of the past. Of the years gone by.
*********************************************************
I believe in God. I always did. Something I was told to believe in since childhood. I was told He would always be there to guide me. My best friend. He would give me all the happiness in life which I ever wanted. And thus, I grew up with that belief. And my belief was stronger everyday.
I was born on Diwali day. While others celebrated the festival of lights, my parents celebrated my arrival. My mother, especially. My father wanted to have a son. But over the years, he came to terms with life and it's all sorts of gifts. And I was one such gift for him. They named me Disha. They believed that I came in their life and gave them a direction. Baba died when I was 10 years old. Amma recalls that was the last time she saw me smile. The spark in my eyes that could light up the room, disappeared with the demise of Baba. Unfortunately, I have faint memories of those beautiful 10 years of my life with my Baba. Amma says Baba always considered me his lucky charm. I had 3 siblings. All three sisters. Baba's failed attempts to have a son, who would make his family name proud and carry on the legacy. But all in vain.
I was given the responsibility to be mature at the age of 10. I worked odd jobs with Amma to earn our livelihood so that my sisters could be alive. That was my sacrifice for the family. Unknowingly. But I remember Amma telling me to never lose faith in God. He would always guide me to where I want to be. She told me that these initial tough years would guarantee a life of comforts in the years to come. I believed her. I Believed Him. I had faith.
I was 16 when Amma traded me off for some money. I don't remember much of that fateful day, but there was a man in his late 30s, who came home and gave high hopes to Amma. His lips were all red because of the paan, he ate every 10 minutes. I remember Amma crying and saying again and again that she could not do this to me. That I am still a child. That "brothel" is not the place for me. The word stuck with me, as it was very new to me and unheard of. I didn't understand it then. That night, Amma told me that she has to let me go. That she is trying to secure a life for other 3 girls. That she was sorry. That I shouldn't ask her too many questions now. But just have my faith stronger in God.
I have faint memories of the next morning. I sat in a bullock cart with the same man, whom I saw for the first time the day before. I saw Amma crying profusely. I felt the tears were even more than what she shed on Baba's death. I didn't understand then as she had assured me that it was for everyone's well being. That was my sacrifice for my family. Unknowingly. She gave me a painting of Ganesha. The only one at home and told me He was my protector from now on. I was confused, if God came with me then who would take care of them. But Amma had 3 other daughters.
Shabina Begum welcomed me with open arms. She was a woman of short stature with long dark tresses and kohl eyes. She called me an angel. She trained me in different dance styles and face expressions. There were other girls of my age over here and we all danced and sang together. I loved everything about that place except the nights. Because at night we had to dance in front of drunk old men, who called us all sorts of things. Maybe that's why Amma cried because she knew where I was going. I missed her. I know she did too because I had God. He no longer was at my home. Amma gave it to me for my well being.
Time flew by. Days became months and months turned into years and I blossomed into womanhood. I didn't even realize when I turned 26 but not a single day passed without remembering Amma. I yearned to meet her but Shabina Begum told me I couldn't see her because I was traded off. But she sent money to Amma every month without fail. She told me she did. I believed her.
Then, came fateful Diwali night, the same year. After the dance, Shabina Begum told me there was a man, who was willing to marry me. I didn't want to, somehow I had come to liking this place with Sabina Begum around. I believed this to be my home away from home. But Shabina Begum mentioned that I was "fortunate" that there was a respectable man who asked for my hand in this "brothel" business. The term I understood so well now. She had the same tears Amma had while I left home. Shabina Begum assured that if I say yes, then I would be able to send more money home to Amma. That was my sacrifice for my family.
My husband was in his mid forties and married me for free sex every night. I don't remember a day when he didn't come home drunk and didn't beat me. I don't remember a day when I didn't give in to his screaming. I don't remember a day when I didn't cry like Amma did, sitting alone in the dark. I remembered Amma telling me that God was my protector and I waited for Him to show up. But every night, nothing changed.
Ten long years passed and I couldn't give him a child. So my husband married again and I was left to wander around at home like a maid. But God was there. I know it because my husband sent the promised money to Amma every month. Infact, he gave it to me and I sent it myself with a hope that someday I could tell Amma what I had become. Would she cry the way she did then? Would she hug me tight? That was my sacrifice for my family.
It was the day of Diwali, when I ran away from home. From my husband. From the town where I lost everything and all I got in return was tears. Ramu kaka, who used to send the money to Amma, helped me buy a bus ticket to my home town. To Amma. To go back to where I belonged. To see Amma after so many years. To see those tears again but this time it would be shed in happiness.
Today, I reached home. Finally. Amma saw me but didn't recognise. After all, it was 20 long years. She bid good bye to a girl and I returned today, a woman. She led a healthy and peaceful life, I could tell. My sacrifice didn't go futile. Her eyes were moist when she realized it was me. Her Disha. But she didn't hug me. All she mustered up to say was I shouldn't have come back. My sisters were married and well settled in respectable homes. My sudden appearance would shatter their lives. Amma didn't talk much about me to the other 3 sisters, I could tell. I didn't exist here. Amma didn't ask me about my well being. I didn't belong here. All she said "You shouldn't have come back. You shouldn't have come back. Couldn't you stay in the dark and sacrifice yourself completely for the family?" Now I saw the same tears in her eyes. Tears of letting me go. Tears of not having me back ever. I didn't understand then. I understood now.
I turned back and walked. I stared at the mirror, which Amma had decorated at the entrance door. I saw a reflection there. Not clear anymore of who she was. Looked like a stranger to me. And I closed the door.
**********************************************************************
I open my eyes, as I stand here in front of Shabina Begum's doorsteps. One deep breath. This is where it all began. After all, this is the place where Amma traded me off. My home away from home. For the first time in years, I don't have any tears. No remorse. Maybe God didn't want me there. Maybe I didn't belong there in that world anymore. Maybe He gave me the hints before but I never understood them. Maybe this is my final sacrifice for my family. For their well being. Finally, God did protect me from my miseries. I smile. I walk in and accept the new reality of my life. My identity for as long as I live now.
