The Story of Nirbhaya, Rape and the Indian Culture (Part – I)

Once upon a time, in a time not so long ago, there was a colossal empire ranging from snowy mountains to tropical oceans, upon which there lay a curse. It said that every third daughter born into the empire would be sexually assaulted, but no one would care. Sure enough, women were raped and abused for centuries, and matters just seemed to keep on getting worse. But, no one in the empire did anything because, well it was their curse, what were they supposed to do? Things got so bleak that mothers started killing their baby girls as soon as they were born either smothering them with pillows, or letting them starve to death; because such a death was preferable to the life that awaited them. With every decade, the crimes grew bolder, and the victims, younger. And, every time the victim’s families would cry for justice, the empire would turn a deaf ear towards them, reiterating how going against their culture was a definite way to get raped.

Well, I stand here, today, before all of you, to testify that rape doesn’t happen despite Indian culture; it happens due to it. Maybe our culture isn’t the only reason, but it’s the main thrusting force, as I will show in my next post.

Anyhow, nothing seemed to change. From the apathy of the government, the people despaired, and criminals drew hope. From the corrupt, inefficient police force, the political class took what they wanted. And, when they could afford it, the public learned to try and buy its justice. But, justice is a shy bedfellow, and she doesn’t sleep with filth.

She took birth within this empire, Justice did. In the form of a little girl whose parents sold off everything to educate her. So that they could save up money for higher education, they ate meals of Rotis and salt. They sent her off to the mountains to study, because she would be “safe” there. And, she grew up determined to help other poor girls and boys like herself, studying hard to make her parents proud. And, they were. They were so proud that they let her live a normal life, unlike many other families in this empire who breed their daughters with the sole purpose of “catching” a good husband for them. Unfortunately, the curse of the third girl fell on her. And, as she was returning home with her friend one night, three hours before even 16 year old Cinderella’s curfew, four ugly ogres decided to stop her and assault her.

Now, the rule of the empire was that the curse had been earned, and had to be “respected”. For some fucked up, perverted reason, IMHO. If you were born a girl, and a male from the empire wanted to have sexual intercourse with you, if you valued your life, you would let him rape you. But, if you were raped, the empire deemed you dead anyway. And, your relatives would lament the fact that since your seal was broken, they would have so much more trouble getting a “good husband” for you. Courts and lawyers demanded raped women to prove that they had tried to fight off their attackers. “Where are your injuries?” “Why didn’t you fight back?” Politicians demanded to know why the raped woman had dared to set her unmarried foot outside the house. And, if there was a boy involved, well, according to the Empire, she might as well have been wearing a sign on her forehead that said “Open”.

Does it disgust you? Yes, it disgusts me too. Yet, the funny thing is, the vast majority of the Empire actually believed that if women behaved in a certain way, they deserved to have a random bloke shoving themselves into their bodies. This bizarre notion seems completely insane when seen objectively, but the Indian culture actually encourages and promotes the mentality of a rapist, as I will clearly show in my next post.

For now, I want to tell you what happened to that girl, born of justice. “Where are your injuries?”, they would ask. Well, she chose her dignity over her life, a personal choice, and one that I am so sorry to believe our society forced her into making. “Where are your injuries?”, asks our *legal* system.

Plastered on every front page  of every newspaper across the world, your honor.

So brutal that she could not speak, Mr. Counsel. So horrific that to just say that she was sodomized with an iron rod, and her entrails literally ripped out is an injustice to what our country’s culture put her through, your lordship.

Don’t stop with the four accused (one of whom played a nice relaxing game of tennis before hanging himself to death). Find that politician who dared to ask all those victims of rape why they were out so late. Find all those policemen who turned away sobbing girls from their stations, saying that an FIR would only damage their reputation. Find the cops who beat up a minor rape victim. Find the cops who handed Rs. 2000 to the father of a five year old girl who was sexually assaulted by two men, who once again proved their insecurities by seeing the need to penetrate the child’s body with multiple objects. Another three year old suffered brain damage during a rape. Three sisters aged 5, 9 and 11 were raped and murdered in Maharashtra last month.

Is this not our culture? It is! These men that you call brutes, you have fed them their parathas and milk. You have shown them how the women of your house are treated. How the women of your empire are treated. Don’t throw away all responsibility now. These are your children. Your children who raped, tortured and brutally murdered a young girl who was only trying to help this worthless empire of filth.

Somehow, though hundreds of women were being brutalized across the country it was this girl, who fought back until she lost consciousness; kicking until two of the men restrained her legs, punching and scratching until one of them restrained her arms, biting three of the accused as they raped her, presumably screaming for one deaf ear in this entire empire to stop this disgusting invasion of her self; it was this girl that woke up the individuals sleeping across this great empire.

But the Indian culture doesn’t care for the individual.

And, after she had been literally torn apart by our fellow-men, they tossed her bleeding body out of their vehicle, where she lay for over an hour until one of the gawking citizens decided to call the police. The police took another hour to get there. By that time, the girl had been bleeding all over the Capital’s cold roads, in the middle of December, for over two hours. The State police took one look at her, and refused to touch her. She was naked, you see. And her intestines had been torn apart with a rusted iron rod. As her injured friend carried her into the police vehicle, they drove to a far-off hospital because God only knows what their priorities are. And, by the time she got to the hospital, her internal organs were infected, and her brain shutting down.

Did you resist?
Can you prove that you resisted?
Where are the injuries?

This Court is now adjourned.

Advertisements

The Hunt

Context – Firstpost India Minor’s rape: Let men who commit such crimes feel hunted

I usually refrain from saying this but

Kill them.

If there were to ever be such a thing as honor killings, this would have to be the context for it. Because these vile, disgusting, depraved individuals who prey on little children, and our nonchalant attitude towards them, are defining our society right now, like it or not. Defining our nation. And, I’m tired of being ashamed of being related to them. Even if only by nationality.

If we want to redeem ourselves, the next man found assaulting a minor, especially sexually, should be instantly killed by the people who discover him. [red handed] Kill him, cut off his head, and mount it on a fucking pole.

Don’t bother with beating him up, or trying to teach him a lesson before killing him, or attempting to make him feel as powerless as his victim was barely moments ago. These men are not just a result of an apathetic, overcrowded, misogynist, sexually hypocritical society; they are like animals who have tasted human flesh. You can’t redeem someone once he stoops to the level of abducting an infant to sexually use and discard. That’s the limit. That’s where empathy ends. It doesn’t matter what the circumstance. If you cannot treat it, you have to kill it, Indian society.

Enough.

 

Note: What I say above does not apply to any society other than India. I mean, maybe it does but I wouldn’t know about it. I doubt it though, because in the USA, as well as the Scandinavian countries, and many others I’m certain, there do exist facilities for the understanding and rehabilitation of individuals who might be actually sick and thus pedophile. However, in India, it’s more about ease of access. And unlikelihood of being caught-tried-punished. And that’s disgusting.

Guilt and Shame; Don’t the men have any?

Does this, she thought numbly,
does this feeling have a name?
And as they laughed their cruel laughs
she tried to think of shame.
But, the gag, it choked her,
not even letting her scream
When you’re barely old enough to walk,
sometimes it’s hard to tell life from a dream.
Though this pain belongs to a nightmare,
even if she hasn’t learned that word yet
And just as they ganged up on her
they simply leave her for dead
While ants crawl into her hair
feeding on her broken skin
The child is barely an infant
And cannot comprehend the idea of sin
Her clothes weren’t provocative
And she wasn’t out so late
Her lifestyle wasn’t “western”
She didn’t drink, smoke or date
It was an infant that they surrounded
an infant that they abused
And as punishment, if ever caught
they’ll live out years, and die, accused.
For all the guilt is saved for the girl
That’s what Women are really raised to be
Ashamed, hidden, fearful, submissive
and always, always guilty.

For the three year old gang-raped in Kerala. I’m sorry imouto..

The Price of Innocence

It is a trick
that they don’t want you to learn,
because once you know it,
and it has learned you,
you shall know that you can leave
anytime you want to.

It is a secret
that no one wants to tell
coz two can keep a secret
only if one of them is dead.
And the price of Freedom
is Eternal Vigilance.

It is a shame
that only a child would dare ask
the question that is just as controversial,
but in a nobler, quieter way.
“What is the price of Forgiveness?”

Unfortunately,
I think we led our answer
in a long and winding line
all the way up the Pied Piper’s lair
in the name of misguided sacrifices,

Now, only the bluest skies
can hear the infant’s cries
as it wails out the answer
before his heart is ripped out
as his mother watches on silently
from her own tailor-made cage
And father is sent to fight in a futile war
and the only one enraged
is the little boy spying in on the murder
even as his sister asks him if he’s okay,
but he only shakes his head
for all the grown-ups are really
too irresponsible to be trusted,
And they like to act like sheep.