Written by: Shayanika Suresh
We were home alone – my mother and I. My father had died a couple of years ago and we had lost most of our relatives in the continuous shelling and bombing in this twenty-five year old war. Others had flown abroad in search of safer lives. Now it was just us – scared to step outside our home and afraid to walk on our land. So we sat inside on the cold floor, looking at each other, not knowing what to say or do. Everyday was the same. But, today…there was a loud knock on the door. A chill went down my back and I could see my mother’s eyes widen as she held her breath and signalled me to stay quiet. Yet another knock…this time, much louder. My mother got up, walked quietly to the door and lingered there. Perhaps she was thinking if she really should open the door. Soon after she heard a third knock, she turned around and motioned me to hide somewhere. After ensuring that I was hidden, she opened the door.
It was just as she had feared. The person at the door was no neighbour or relative but a military soldier. He had his uniform on but had taken his top off to put on a more casual one. He sneered at her and then looked behind at his friends who were swinging on the gates like restless monkeys. They looked at him and then my mother, and said, “Go ahead, you said you could! Let’s see what you can do!” and then burst out laughing. My mom’s heart was beating faster and faster as she imagined all that which could happen to us. She remembered stories she had heard from others in the village. He was saying something, but she could barely hear him. She was scared…not for herself but for me – a young girl in a land of war.
He pushed her lightly to the side as he stepped into the house with his dirty boots. She hurried into the house and asked him what he was here for. He looked at her and held her gaze, making her shudder, before asking, “Where’s your daughter?” As convincing as she could be, my mother said, “I have no children. They all died in the last bombing. I’m just an old orphaned woman”. He smiled, making my mom wonder why a boy as handsome as he would want to wash his hands with the blood of innocent souls. His voice cut through my mother’s thoughts…“I know all about you…your husband died two years ago and you have one daughter. Now enough small talk, tell her to come out!” As he spat out the last words, he grabbed onto my mother’s throat and pulled her hair with his other hand. My mother screamed. As I remained hidden behind the kitchen door, I closed my mouth with both my hands and cried silently. I could hear him slapping my mother, and kicking her with his boots. She fell to her knees and held on to his legs as she begged him to leave. He dragged her with him as he searched each and every room. I could hear the thumping of his boots get closer and closer and then stop just outside the kitchen. He pulled my mother to her feet and then holding her by the neck, he hit her head repeatedly on the wall. I was sobbing now but I kept my mouth closed. My mother’s screams were the last words she uttered before she died. All I could hear now were his boots as he came into the kitchen and looked behind the door. I cried and yelled. I pushed and kicked. But there was nothing I could do. I was an orphan. I was sixteen and I was raped.
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