A Poignant Cry of a Wronged Soul

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She told them that she started bleeding due to him. They told her she shouldn’t have been there at that time of the night. She was a young woman. From a good family. She should have known better. She had a life ahead of her. She should have been careful.

She told them that she had missed the last bus. They asked her why and how. She said she wept under his wretched piercing look. She stuttered and quivered under his stale breath mixed with alcohol. They asked her if she knew him and how did he come there.

She told them she found herself helpless, alone. She said she turned weak in her stomach. They asked her what else did she expect. She told them her heart fell out of her chest, then and there. None of them held it. Her life was getting out of her, she said. They only listened.

She said, she felt closer to dying than living. They said that she was a young girl from a good family. What was she doing there when she had a life ahead of her? Why did she wait till she was bleeding? What did she do about it, they asked.

She then told them it was not only she who bled, but he too bled. They sat up and listened.

She had found her escape. His blood turned out to be a clutch of straw for a drowning woman. She said there was no other option. She showed them the weapon she had used.

They had found him in a red pool, bludgeoned, skull cracked open. They asked her that if she could do that, how was she weak? They said she was responsible for his blood, as he was for hers.

She said yes, she was. But only because he was. They didn’t ask anything else.

The question then was this. Whose blood was more precious? They kept arguing.

She had given up. She was ready for anything. But then the judges agreed with her. The judges gave their verdict. Bloody justice. She never felt more alive.

By Ranjit Kulkarni

From: India

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