He has to decide her fate: a disdainful life or a disgraceful death and he has to decide it today itself. He had been waiting for this day for a long time and today he has strengthened himself to speak about this matter to the sinner’s father, an influential person of the village. Although, he knew the futility of this action very well, even then he had chosen to listen to his heart.
It had been insufferable for both father and mother in hiding their 15 year’s old unmarried daughter’s womb. They placed no stone unturned to protect the family pride: bribed a doctor for foeticide , prepared home-made drugs suggested by a distant relative upon whom they were compelled to trust, locked her in a room, told everyone that she had gone to her aunt’s home. The harder they tried to suppress it, the faster the news spread around.
He lives in a typical North-Indian Rajputana village. Pride, ostentation and haughtiness run in the blood of everyone. None needs to exercise these qualities. None can say that illiteracy prevails here. A teen is educated enough for reading pornographic magazines and for hiding it in between his textbooks. An adult is educated enough for evading government taxation, for committing crimes like murder and abduction in the name of politics. Women are also educated here but their education is very centered and limited. They get educated just to make themselves able to get married and to learn new tips for surviving in a married life which is nothing better than a god-damn-hell, and to make themselves realize as soon as possible that they are just basic means of lust for men sovereign society.
Today, he was no more a Rajput, no more obstinate or haughty. His daughter had left no corner for him to show any pride. He tried hard but couldn’t speak anything. His face was set like stone, but the tears welled up in his eyes and ran down his rigid cheeks.
Sinner’s father put his arm around him to comfort him and crafted his every word wisely but his eyes were sly and greedy, “I know my pervert son is also equally responsible for your sufferings. No one can doubt your wisdom and judgment”
Then he wrapped twenty thousands bucks in a newspaper and handed it over to the poor father and asserted further, “You have another daughter and this is just for her marriage.” He paused for a while and added more rigidly, “You are a Rajput. We live for our Pride and die for it. Don’t worry; we will see how to turn it into a suicide case.”
There was an anguish sign of acceptance on his face, acceptance of the obvious, acceptance of the Truth, acceptance of being a poor father of an amorous daughter. But the confusion still lay in a deeper, more secret place.
