Short Story 2
Justice
In heaven, she and I, held each other's hands and cried. Then we looked at each other and cried again. We saw a marriage happening on earth, we cried again. She tried to hug and kiss me, we couldn't, she cried again. We cried not for our lost chance for a life together, there was never really a chance rather than me being murdered by her angry relatives for my unintended identity and her living as my widow. We don't cry for this injustice, we cry for another which we never saw coming.
She gripped my hands even firmly, and narrated the events of the night we were brutally raped, her sexually and me mentally. I was her only therapist and this narration was her only therapy. The story of the night I left her alone in her apartment. The night I planned to go to my home and wished to inform my parents about our secret, silent relationship that we maintained even after the whole issue at her house and my intention to marry her ignoring the possibilities of my murder. I regret leaving her alone. For that we had to suffer. Rape replaced sex, brutality replaced love, screams replaced smiles, cries replaced happiness, death replaced life, those bastards occupied the space she reserved for me on her bed. We died in a way we had never even thought of.
Now it was my turn. I tried to seek solace by sleeping on her lap but in vain, for I could never forget my rape. I started telling her my story too. “I returned, I saw you lying naked on bed covered in blood. The lips, that used to kissed me, torn, the eye lids, that blinked at me asking me to be calm during suffering, swollen, the breasts, that intended to feed my children, borne bite marks, the stomach, that I used to tickle, red with boot prints, I couldn't look further. I saw them, all three of them, the billionaire's two sons, a police officer, getting dressed, who suddenly became alert after seeing me. My blood boiled, I wished them all dead, I was none among them to consider murder prior to saving my loved one. Lacking any other option, I started fighting them so that when I get a window of opportunity I could grab her and take her to the hospital after locking them up in the apartment atleast until we reach a hospital. Lack of options forced me to execute this flawed plan. I was no hero from a movie, to beat the pulp out of them with bare hands, and so I failed. They hit me, tied me up, with all my strength I crawled to you to tell you that I will return for you somehow, with my strong belief that you can still listen to me. The police officer took me to the police station and accused me of your rape. None among my family came looking for me, probably because they thought I was on my way back home. The news channels scrolled only the news of a rapist being caught by the police quickly and not my name, atleast they were kind enough to think of a life I may have considering the possibility of me not being the real culprit. Since they saw no news with my name in it, and thinking that I am failing to answer the calls because I might have slept in the train, they never got a chance to save me. They came to know about my arrest only when on the next day, when the news channels reported my death during an encounter, when the social media celebrated my death, and when the mob started valourizing the police officer who killed me and my lover with their fireworks and crackers. The mob continued to celebrate deaths of accused rapists after the first encounter, of which the trial still goes on. Now, being in heaven, having an opportunity to see present, past and future, I know that most of the later encounters saved the real culprits by putting an end to the case and killing some innocent civilians.”
Crackers exploded like a nuclear bomb in her heart. Her lover, her hero, a rapist? They spat on my body, she felt it like piercing nails all over her body. They collected my semen traces from her body and accused me of offering her to other 3 men who escaped after the rape. With no defendant, they proved me to be one among the rapists. My family, silenced by the arrows of morality forged by the immoral mob and my friends, who knew about the relationship, silenced by the fear of the mob's wrath, stood by and watched. Her family who considered me to be uncultured because of my caste believed that I murdered her to seek revenge for their denial of me, which was presented to the court as the motive behind her murder. The mob who shut their ears to her scream started a war against me through social media.
As usual she cried right after I narrated the story. But this time I asked her for the reason for crying. She tried to hug me desperately but failed again and said that she cries for not having me around when she finally closed her eyes and breathed the final breath. It was then I realised that I was already too late, as I was late for the train after being lazy with her on our last moments together. To cheer her up, I said my cliche joke, which we laughed at in heaven, that, "take my advice, when a police officer asks you to run, don't run unless you have a death wish." Melancholic scenes became comic for us since we started looking down at the events happening on earth. While laughing she finally got a chance to touch me again she hugged once again and kissed me.
Before the story ends, you should know that, the "I" till now was not me. It was him, my long dead friend. I wrote from his perspective since I know very well that he would have wanted to narrate this story if he could. Unfortunately he can't. The justice denied on earth can never be claimed somewhere else, for there is no other place to reclaim it. People fearing the last judgement became fearless after knowing that there isn't a last judgement. Ones who adhered to morality not out of fear but out of humanity were silenced. And thus, that couple never got justice they deserved anywhere, for the one which could give was blinded by the part of reality the were provided with and was busy on the internet judging and celebrating. Your doubts about me being the rapist considering the fact that I know the identity of the rapists is really appreciable, for that is really a critical approach of provided information, which is required nowadays, if you really doubted it. To the ones who didn’t even suspect me, I feel sorry. I am sorry to disappoint the ones who doubted me. I was the one who dropped him back to her apartment after he missed the train and witnessed the whole incident when I went to return his wallet which he dropped when he got out of the car. When I had some guts to go the police station I got the news of his death. I too would have been similarly narrating such a story written by another of my friend from heaven if I went to the police station to save him.
In heaven, she and I, held each other's hands and cried. Then we looked at each other and cried again. We saw a marriage happening on earth, we cried again. She tried to hug and kiss me, we couldn't, she cried again. We cried not for our lost chance for a life together, there was never really a chance rather than me being murdered by her angry relatives for my unintended identity and her living as my widow. We don't cry for this injustice, we cry for another which we never saw coming.
She gripped my hands even firmly, and narrated the events of the night we were brutally raped, her sexually and me mentally. I was her only therapist and this narration was her only therapy. The story of the night I left her alone in her apartment. The night I planned to go to my home and wished to inform my parents about our secret, silent relationship that we maintained even after the whole issue at her house and my intention to marry her ignoring the possibilities of my murder. I regret leaving her alone. For that we had to suffer. Rape replaced sex, brutality replaced love, screams replaced smiles, cries replaced happiness, death replaced life, those bastards occupied the space she reserved for me on her bed. We died in a way we had never even thought of.
Now it was my turn. I tried to seek solace by sleeping on her lap but in vain, for I could never forget my rape. I started telling her my story too. “I returned, I saw you lying naked on bed covered in blood. The lips, that used to kissed me, torn, the eye lids, that blinked at me asking me to be calm during suffering, swollen, the breasts, that intended to feed my children, borne bite marks, the stomach, that I used to tickle, red with boot prints, I couldn't look further. I saw them, all three of them, the billionaire's two sons, a police officer, getting dressed, who suddenly became alert after seeing me. My blood boiled, I wished them all dead, I was none among them to consider murder prior to saving my loved one. Lacking any other option, I started fighting them so that when I get a window of opportunity I could grab her and take her to the hospital after locking them up in the apartment atleast until we reach a hospital. Lack of options forced me to execute this flawed plan. I was no hero from a movie, to beat the pulp out of them with bare hands, and so I failed. They hit me, tied me up, with all my strength I crawled to you to tell you that I will return for you somehow, with my strong belief that you can still listen to me. The police officer took me to the police station and accused me of your rape. None among my family came looking for me, probably because they thought I was on my way back home. The news channels scrolled only the news of a rapist being caught by the police quickly and not my name, atleast they were kind enough to think of a life I may have considering the possibility of me not being the real culprit. Since they saw no news with my name in it, and thinking that I am failing to answer the calls because I might have slept in the train, they never got a chance to save me. They came to know about my arrest only when on the next day, when the news channels reported my death during an encounter, when the social media celebrated my death, and when the mob started valourizing the police officer who killed me and my lover with their fireworks and crackers. The mob continued to celebrate deaths of accused rapists after the first encounter, of which the trial still goes on. Now, being in heaven, having an opportunity to see present, past and future, I know that most of the later encounters saved the real culprits by putting an end to the case and killing some innocent civilians.”
Crackers exploded like a nuclear bomb in her heart. Her lover, her hero, a rapist? They spat on my body, she felt it like piercing nails all over her body. They collected my semen traces from her body and accused me of offering her to other 3 men who escaped after the rape. With no defendant, they proved me to be one among the rapists. My family, silenced by the arrows of morality forged by the immoral mob and my friends, who knew about the relationship, silenced by the fear of the mob's wrath, stood by and watched. Her family who considered me to be uncultured because of my caste believed that I murdered her to seek revenge for their denial of me, which was presented to the court as the motive behind her murder. The mob who shut their ears to her scream started a war against me through social media.
As usual she cried right after I narrated the story. But this time I asked her for the reason for crying. She tried to hug me desperately but failed again and said that she cries for not having me around when she finally closed her eyes and breathed the final breath. It was then I realised that I was already too late, as I was late for the train after being lazy with her on our last moments together. To cheer her up, I said my cliche joke, which we laughed at in heaven, that, "take my advice, when a police officer asks you to run, don't run unless you have a death wish." Melancholic scenes became comic for us since we started looking down at the events happening on earth. While laughing she finally got a chance to touch me again she hugged once again and kissed me.
Before the story ends, you should know that, the "I" till now was not me. It was him, my long dead friend. I wrote from his perspective since I know very well that he would have wanted to narrate this story if he could. Unfortunately he can't. The justice denied on earth can never be claimed somewhere else, for there is no other place to reclaim it. People fearing the last judgement became fearless after knowing that there isn't a last judgement. Ones who adhered to morality not out of fear but out of humanity were silenced. And thus, that couple never got justice they deserved anywhere, for the one which could give was blinded by the part of reality the were provided with and was busy on the internet judging and celebrating. Your doubts about me being the rapist considering the fact that I know the identity of the rapists is really appreciable, for that is really a critical approach of provided information, which is required nowadays, if you really doubted it. To the ones who didn’t even suspect me, I feel sorry. I am sorry to disappoint the ones who doubted me. I was the one who dropped him back to her apartment after he missed the train and witnessed the whole incident when I went to return his wallet which he dropped when he got out of the car. When I had some guts to go the police station I got the news of his death. I too would have been similarly narrating such a story written by another of my friend from heaven if I went to the police station to save him.
👌👌
ReplyDeleteSuperb 👌
ReplyDelete👌🏻
ReplyDelete