Before the rape that night, the madwoman was already pregnant. That meant she had been raped multiple times.
By Debasree Chakraborti | Kolkata
Just a while ago, the last Bardhaman-Katwa local departed. After the last train leaves, the station premises become completely deserted. The only passengers of the last train are usually a few daily commuters who work on the Kolkata or Durgapur line and return home on this final train. But today, even they were nowhere to be seen. It was missing the 8:10 train that caused all this mess.
Sabeena stumbled as she got off at Bhatar station. The lights in the houses on either side of the station were dim and flickering. Bhola too had closed his tea stall and gone home before the last train left. The clay stove at his shop still held the warmth — the white smoke rising made it clear that the water had only just been poured out. Taking in the smell of Bhola’s freshly extinguished stove, Sabi stepped down from the station.
Tonight, her father wouldn’t spare her. Getting admitted to Raj College for Botany against his wishes — it would have been better if she had just studied Bengali at Gushkara College.
Beside the station, the Shani temple glowed with a faint blue light. The temple’s spire looked like a venomous snake raising its hood and releasing its poisonous breath — Sabeena felt as if it were aimed right at her. From Ramapada Babu’s house next to the Shani temple, the scent of night jasmine drifted into her nose — a cool, sweet fragrance that brought a touch of peace to her mind. She could have studied her Honors under Ramapada Babu. If she had done that, she wouldn’t have had to come back so late from Bardhaman studying Botany for no reason.
As soon as she crossed the railway gate, a piercing scream hit her ears. What was that scream?
Sabi’s whole body went numb with fear. When a person is truly afraid, they come up with all sorts of justifications in their mind to calm themselves down — Sabi did the same. She told herself the mad woman from the market must be screaming because some dogs were chasing her.
One by one, the shops inside the market were shutting their shutters for the night. The sound of the shutters echoed back and forth across the silent street.
As soon as she reached the edge of the pond near the banyan tree, Sabeena felt as if something like a huge white curtain was moving under the tree. What could it be — maybe a ghost? She remembered her grandmother’s warnings that the lane by the pond was not safe at night.
She had barely taken a few steps when the scream rang out again, this time even clearer. Sabeena’s chest tightened. Who could be screaming like that?
Lost in anxious thoughts, she didn’t even realize when she had reached the banyan tree. Just then, a familiar voice reached her ears — “I knew my head’s been messed up for a long time, but now I see my eyes are gone too!”
Sabeena realized the “ghost” she’d imagined was actually her father. He’d been waiting there because she was late.
“Abbu, I missed the train, that’s why I’m late…”
“Quiet. Let’s go home. I have something to settle with you tonight.”
Sabeena had no trouble understanding what “settle” meant — she knew what punishment her father had prepared for her tonight.
Near Tamal’s house, the hasnahena bush was in bloom. On an autumn night, the chilly breeze mixed with the scent of hasnahena makes the mind drift away. Sabi felt like a wandering bird, ready to fly to some faraway land.
In front, her father led the way with a torch, and behind him, like a criminal, walked Sabeena. The torch’s beam danced along the path, and the sharp tap-tap of his stick echoed in her ears — with each sound she felt as if her back was splitting open under its blows. Some deep old pain awoke inside her.
Past the hasnahena bush, endless paddy fields stretched out on both sides of the road. The dark sky reflected on the fields, and where the moonlight fell, it looked like a golden river flowing through the crops. Wisps of distant mist curled above the fields, making it look like some faraway village was on fire. The scent of hasnahena still lingered in her nose.
Suddenly, a ripple moved through the paddy field — as if a tsunami was rolling across the sea. And then, that scream rose up again, sharper, more alive than before.
Abbu had stopped walking — Sabeena didn’t even notice until she bumped into him and came to a halt too.
“Abbu, what happened?
“Quiet, let me figure this out.”
Sabeena and her father focused their attention on the paddy field.
Just then, the source of the screams, along with a sight that tore through Sabeena’s dreamy illusions and threw her harshly onto the ground of reality, suddenly emerged onto the road.
A madwoman stood there, completely naked, her matted hair tangled wildly, holding a broken tree branch in her hand. In the darkness it was hard to make out, but under the moonlight it was clear enough — this was that same madwoman.
Screaming at the top of her lungs, she pointed the stick toward the paddy field, her eyes wide open as if showing something terrifying. Sabeena’s father asked her, “What happened to you? Why are you screaming?” But instead of answering, the madwoman kept screaming, waving the stick at the field again, trying to show them something.
Raising his stick, Sabeena’s father shouted into the darkness, “Who’s there? If you’re a man, come out right now!” Deep in the paddy field, someone seemed to crouch down and vanish.
Without waiting any longer, the madwoman ran off down the road. In the moonlight, it was clear — the road was smeared with blood, her feet were bleeding terribly. Her screams echoed through the village lanes, but the people of the sleepy village quietly shut their windows and latched their doors tighter — choosing the safety of silence over involvement.
“Come on, not another moment here. Those animals are still hiding nearby,” said her father.
That night, Sabeena did not get beaten by her father. But she didn’t hear a single word he said either. Both father and daughter fell strangely silent, as if something had stolen their voices.
For the past eight days, Sabeena had not stepped outside the house. For eight days, she hadn’t been able to close her eyes and sleep. Every moment, she felt that maybe she could have ended up just like that madwoman that night. Her throat felt parched and dry.
“Rabeya, Rabeya!”
“Yes, Apu?”
“Can you bring me some water?”
When Sabeena finished drinking the water, she asked Rabeya, “Hey, did anyone find out what happened to that madwoman? Do you know anything?”
“Haven’t you read the newspaper today, Apu?”
“No, why? Tell me what happened, Rabu.”
“Yesterday evening, a priest from Kanpur village was returning home after performing a ritual at the temple. Near the cremation ground by the roadside, he heard faint moaning sounds. He got suspicious and went to check — there he found a woman, completely naked, abandoned after being brutally assaulted. She was unconscious. He called the nearby villagers and took her to Bhatar hospital.”
“Rabu… Rabu…”
“Apu, Amma is calling me. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Sabeena felt that at this time her father wouldn’t be home — he’d be at the shop. Sabeena stepped out of her room and went into her father’s room. There, she saw the newspaper lying on the table. She tucked it under her scarf, shut the door from the inside, and started reading.
Anandabazar Patrika, Front Page Report — 28/10/2011
“Mentally disabled rape victim dies after giving birth”
What Rabeya had told her matched the report almost word for word. It said that as soon as the woman was brought to Bhatar Hospital, some locals recognized her — the madwoman. After being taken to the hospital, doctors operated and managed to deliver the baby, but could not save the mother. The cause of death: deep wounds in the genital area and excessive bleeding.
Sabeena’s hands and feet turned cold. So before the rape that night, the madwoman was already pregnant. That meant she had been raped multiple times. Even while carrying a child, those monsters had raped her again. Sabeena felt a stabbing pain in her own lower belly.
One year after that incident, Sabeena got admitted to Gushkara College to study Bengali. That one incident cost her an entire year. Now she goes to Ramapada Babu’s place in Bhatar market to study Bengali. Her father comes at night to escort her back home himself.
One evening, when she was entering the childless Ramapada Sir’s house, she heard a baby’s cry. It must be a baby from one of the neighboring houses, she thought. Tulika was Rabeya’s childhood friend. Because Sabeena lost a year, she now had to study with her younger sister’s friend — a deep embarrassment for her.
After class, Sabeena had to wait for her father. Tulika would wait with her too, so they could go back together. They would chat about this and that. Sabeena could sense that Tulika behaved more like a friend with her now — the old respect seemed to have disappeared somewhere.
When they sat chatting, Sir would leave the baby girl with them. He would say, “Play with the sisters, little one.”
“She’s so pretty, isn’t she? And she smiles at every little thing, right Tulika?”
“Yes, Didi, you’re right.”
“Hey, will you become mad like your mother too?”
“What are you saying, Tulika? Is Sir’s wife mad?”
“Keep your voice down, Didi! Why would Kakima be mad?”
“Then what did you mean — like your mother, mad…?”
“What are you saying, Tulika? Sir’s wife is mad?”
“Lower your voice, Didi. Why would Kakima be mad?”
“Then what did you mean by ‘mad like her mother…’?”
“You know that madwoman from the market who was raped and died last year, right?”
Sabeena’s hands and feet went cold. She pulled a water bottle from her bag, took a sip, and said, “Yes, I know.”
Tulika gave a sly smile and said, “That’s her daughter.”
Then, lowering her voice, she added, “What you’d call a child born from rape. Sir adopted her.”
Suddenly, the little girl let out a loud cry. Sabeena flinched and looked at her.
In that moment, she felt as if a storm was raging again in the middle of the paddy field — as if the scream was coming from there. She covered her ears.
Her father rang the bicycle bell outside and called out, “Sabi, let’s go home. It’s getting late.”
Read: Hunger – A Short Story from Kolkata
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Debasree Chakraborti is a renowned novel writer of Bengali language. Based in Kolkata, West Bengal, India, she has done Master’s in Modern History from the Kolkata University, and authored some thirty books, mostly the novels, with historical perspective and themes. Her novel is ‘Maharaja Dahir’ that covers the history of Sindh from 662, the year of first attack on Sindh by the Arab armies till date, was published last year and translated by Nasir Aijaz into Sindhi language.
