HOUNOUR---AND THE FLIGHT

The girl is not bound anymore.

She sat in the courtyard, just near the entrance, as was commanded .

She is not angry any more. Lost all of it..as suddenly as it came.

No, not afraid..Fear is the last word she associates with her plight now.

Not even scared…she knows whats going to happen to her now.

Just resigned and a wish  to end it all. She wants  it to be over.

The tears dried long back.

Once she fought, not now, not now. The will left.

They even allowed her to wash today. And the dress she wore is black.

The woman gave this.

She looked at the man coming down the stairs.

The grey colour safari. Listlessly she wondered..How she always associated the safari with him.

Any person she saw on the streets of Delhi wearing safari, reminded her of him.

Inspite of the weapon in  his hand,

He looks more like a prestigious businessman or a stock broker. Not the doctor, neither the killer.

***********************

The woman came out from the kitchen .

Wiping her hand to her pallu, a bundle of clothes to be washed in her hand, she hurried out into the courtyard and stood near the foot of the stairs.

No, she is not worried.  Just willing herself to be strong.

The mind is clear..as was never before.

Determination made her blood rush through and a deep flush appeared on her face.

Pity my life..she thought. Though not a “Paro”, she been treated worse than a cattle

She looked up.  Saw the man coming down the stairs.

Grey colour safari…How she hated this colour and the safari too.

She wondered how the man still wore it..been wearing it for the past 20 years.

She loathed the dress and the man for it. Any  time she seen anyone wearing the Safari even on TV, her one instinct was to turn her face away.

But today,

She looked at him with tears in her eyes.

He stopped near her, impatiently.

*****************

The man stood on the topmost step and looked at the small gathering.

Though used to surgical implements, the weapon felt heavy in his hands.

He was bathed in sweat, from the root of his hair to the inside of his vest, its sticky.

A flicker of an emotion crossed his face when he glanced at the doomed girl.

But no, he chided himself. NO time for silly emotions.

He had to uphold the culture, the traditions of his sect.

The caste trusted him enough, to accord this much prestige.

And, he decided, he will live up to their expectations.

He willed the blinding anger, the red hot fury to course through him again, to give him strength to do what he was entrusted.

He was coming down slowly when he saw the woman, teary eyed, staring at him.

He was furious with her.

How dare she, he thought

To be amidst this male gathering.

But then, reasonable man was he, he reasoned,

how could she not.

*********************

What..he asked her.

Spit it out woman.  I don’t have time for silly words.

I have a job to do.

Yes..she replied. You have to do it.

 I agree.

But, can I hug her once? Just once?

He pondered for a minute. Looked at the other two men.

They nodded. He could see it in the glow of the tubelight.

The woman went to the girl. Lifted her by hand.

Hugged her tight.

They could see her mouth forming the traditional blessings. She chanted them low.

Something passed between them.

The girl looked up, startled.

Towards the man, she brought  the girl.

Please bless her, she said. You are the father.

With your blessings, all her sins will be washed away and her soul will be in peace.

Grant me this one wish.

The woman and the girl went near the man.

The girl bent to touch the feet of her would be killer.

The man moved his hand to bless her, something tugged at his heart.

NO, not like this. The woman said to the man. For one last time, bless her like a father does,

Saying this, she took the machete  from his hand. I will hold this for you.

He acquiesced.

He raised his hand.

The  bent girl suddenly stood up.

At that instant,

KACHHAK……

The woman brought down the weapon  on the man’s hand.

The girl turned  towards the other men in lightning speed and  threw the chilli powder at their faces.

The woman took the girl’s hand.

Run.

Machete in hand, bundle in another, they both ran out. Bolted the entrance door from outside.

Nearest bush, they wore the naqab  from the bundle, threw the machete. Tied the bundle to the back.

And then walked along the road.

The tall woman bent low. The bundle made her a hunchback.

Its only a two-minute walk from the house at Dev colony, Rohtak to the Diwali celebrations at PGIM.

They heard shouts from behind.

Seen men running past them.

One stood and looked at them suspiciously.

He dared not lift the burqa. The Hindu-Muslim clashes will be too much for the small town of Rohtak.

The woman quavered, Bhaiyya…Mela kitti door hai?

Satisfied, the man pointed at the venue.

Celebrations means crowds, that means vehicles.

The two went, hired an auto and  the bus stand it was.

Where they would go,  was well thought of by the woman.

Delhi.

Two change of vehicles, sitting separately   & 5 hours later they reached Delhi.

But they were almost caught once. But then, the woman thought of everything.

They  made friends with the passengers, made them their own and the veil was on.

Railway station at Delhi was a busy place anytime.  But the woman didn’t want to take any risks.

Veil and hunchback still on, they took the earliest train to the place she decided they would go.

The veil wont go, till they reach their destination.

After all, one could not take enough precautions. She reasoned.

And there too, they will be suitably disguised.

The jewellery, cash and clothes in the bundle would ensure them the safest passage to anonymity. 

But then, none can be too careful.

They ar e every where.

How far can they run, and how much?

A million-dollar question.

No, I am not going to tell you where they have gone.

I fear the khaps and their panchayat.

So…salutes and best wishes to the woman and the girl.