she sat in the corner

She sat huddled in the corner. Tears were streaming silently down her face. She couldn’t dare make a noise. It was calling for danger. She couldn’t move too. Nothing. It would wake him and she couldn’t afford that. No, that was out of the question.

*

It was 7 in the morning. The sound of running water woke her up. He was in the shower. The water was running light so he had just gone in. she had at least 10 minutes. She tried to get up quickly but the bolt of pain sent her into near paralysis. She bit her lip to stop from screaming out. She moved again, slowly this time, gathering her sari around her as she got up. The crumpled sari refused to be ordered into pleats so she just left it. Buttoning up her blouse she fingered the tear in the side, she would have to sew that up, it was one of her best ones. Slipping her feet into the soft moccasins she walked towards the door. She turned the knob as lightly as possible yet it creaked loud enough to wake up the whole neighbourhood. She closed the door behind her. Safe for today.

*

She walked into the kitchen, a little surer of herself. She set her sari properly. A woman must always be dressed properly. When awake, when asleep; when alive, when dead. She lit the stove and put water to boil. She turned around and took the milk packets in. She covered her head, mentally berating herself for not having done it earlier. A woman must always cover her head.

The water flow got heavier; the shower was in full flow; that left her just 5 minutes. She quickly added tea leaves and some milk to the boiling water. The bread too was almost done. She got a plate and cleaned it. She walked over to the fridge and took out last night’s curry. She put it on the stove to heat too. The shower stopped. Just two more minutes now. She quickly poured the tea and put the bread on the plate. She lifted the curry off the stove but had not estimated just how hot it would be. The bowl slipped from her hands but she caught it at the last minute with both hands and placed it on the plate. She looked at her hands. Red hot. Like someone had lashed them. Repeatedly.

She heard the door creak. He was coming. She quickly slipped into the adjoining room and put the food on the table. She pulled her veil lower. None of her face showed now. He walked in, the footsteps echoing on the floor. She looked at the approaching boots. They were strong, sturdy boots well worn with use. The approaching figure blocked out the light completely. He towered over her. People called him a brute; well over six feet. She didn’t think so. He protected her. He came forward and she stepped aside. He sat down in the only chair. A second chair was a useless expense. She didn’t eat with him and never at the table in any case. He gulfed down the bread wolfishly. He picked up the cup and put it to his lips. But he didn’t swallow. He put the cup down with a clatter and slowly got up.

Oh no...... she forgot to add sugar.

*

The creaking door opened and closed with a bang. He stalked to the front door buckling his bet. He walked out slamming the door behind him. She still lay in bed.

After some time she got up and went into the shower. Removing her blouse she looked at it. It was gone beyond repair. She set the tattered blouse aside and removed her petticoat. Sitting down she looked at her thighs and started to wash them. The bathroom floor turned red. Her thighs had welts as if someone had grabbed her roughly. The imprints of giant fingers were still visible. She took a little oil and massaged her thighs. The bruises would stay for days. They weren’t thankfully bleeding. The blood had another explanation to it.

It wasn’t his fault. She should have known.

He had told her so many times. He loved her but if she made a mistake then she would pay for it. He had got her here two years ago. She had been married to him, a friend of her father’s. She lived in the village. When the big man came from the city, she naturally was intrigued. He was handsome too. He had his own shop. A tea shop. He was a big man. She had not known about the marriage. The next day when her mother came and told her she was scared. But she couldn’t say anything. It wasn’t her place to do so. She was to be married and that was that. She had come to this house. She didn’t know what to do, what to say. She didn’t know what would please him. She had heard from her friends that the first night something happened. She hadn’t known. Her mother too didn’t say anything. She had found out eventually.

He didn’t say much to her. He didn’t find faults. He just wanted everything to be perfect. He normally left her alone to. Conversation was out of the question. No man would willing speak to his wife. Not unless he wanted something. And he didn’t need to do so even then. If he wanted food, he sat at the table. If he wanted her to press his feet, he’d kick off his boots in her general direction. When he came to her at night, he would unzip his pants. She then knew that all she had to do was lie still. Not make a noise as he grunted above her. Not move a muscle and he moved on top of her, squeezing her breasts and tugging at her petticoat. Not scream as he plunged into her, repeatedly; in and out until he was satisfied. Not heave a sigh of relief as he finally rolled off of her, turning and going to sleep.

She knew not to make him angry, only then would he get rough. She’d have as swollen face or bruised hands. That too would soon go away. If she didn’t make any more mistakes in the time being.

The sudden lack of water made her look up. The water was over. When would she learn?

*