Her: A Song of Shadows (Part I)

He never had even imagined that this day would come. Kneeling before a person who, he thought, should bow to him.  ‘Harmless little girls roaming the streets, shouldn’t they fear me?’ thought the man. He couldn’t bear this disgrace, this embarrassment.  Everyone used to be scared of him, especially the women of the town; dare they come out of their houses when he was outside?

The morning had begun pretty well. He had come out on his daily rounds of the marketplace. He looked at a woman, who was buying bread in the local market not knowing that the man was behind her. Anger filled inside of him. He grabbed her by her smooth black hair and then kicked her till she apologized screaming. The sight was brutal; everyone watched it silently, not daring to move a muscle. Men of the town were used to this kind of stuff done by him. Some even worshipped him, while others were to keep mum. That was the fear everyone had for Karkarath.

Karkarath was the archetypical bully. His muscles were bigger than anyone in the town and he had the ability to uproot a small tree with his bare hands. He wanted everyone to fear him, – the men, the king, the priests – everyone. Especially the women. Many people wanted this man to fight in the war and make this small town a part of the kingdom’s glory, but all he wanted to do was exert his power on the weak and eventually become the king – or so he dreamed in his blunt, brutish brain.

A teenage girl used to roam around the market, selling fruits and flowers. Her father used to work in the army as a soldier. She idolized him and wanted to carry on the legacy of soldiering in the family. Of course, during the time our story is taking place, women weren’t allowed to be a part of the army, but the girl didn’t care. She was a good girl, but she didn’t follow all the rules. She had her own rules about some things. And her father knew her spirit, and helped her.

For years, she trained at night with her father, learning the basics of physical combat. In the morning, she used to rise with the sun and begin the day with a routine of asanas, followed by a run around the village, and then a couple of hours at the broken temple of Parvati. The old temple was outside the village, partly covered by the jungle. It was hundreds of years old, rumoured to have been built by the Queen of King Chandragupta. No one came here now. She spent two hours every morning here, far from any eyes, practicing dance, and building up stamina and strength. Due to this, she had gradually developed an incredible control over her body and great power in her legs. Even at home, she willingly took up the heavy tasks from her mother. She used to fetch water from the river Ranja herself, secretly carrying them by arms alone, without the support of her waist. And she carried up the bundles of firewood from the marketplace every Friday. She knew that people will never approve of her working out like the young men of the town. So she disguised her workouts as daily chores.

Not many people knew this, but his father liked to read, too. He was the son of a priest, and he had learnt Sanskrit and Pali as a child. He often told stories to his daughter at night. When she turned eleven, her father told her, ‘Don’t be satisfied with where you are now. You are good, but there are many who are better. Always try to be even better, even faster, even stronger.’ – From that day, she had added three more hours to her training; – she swam in the river for an hour every day, pushing herself against the current; and she danced for two more hours in the afternoon.

She used to roam around the town whenever she was free, since she had an outgoing nature. As usual, she was not much liked by the commoners. She was not the ideal model of a woman as described by the people, since she didn’t spend her time among the women listening to holy books, or helping priests at the temple. She wasn’t malleable or unquestioningly obedient, and worst of all – she still wasn’t married.

But this didn’t bother her. She was familiar with the heartlessness of the men of the town but didn’t give much importance to it. She thought people were just trifles. She knew men said a lot of things, but at the end of the day simply obeyed whoever was the strongest. Wasn’t this what happened with that big bully Karkarath? Everyone spoke of him with fear. She had never encountered him, but she had heard his name. But she didn’t believe all of it. Surely no man can be that arrogant and rude? Surely no man had the guts to make the priests fear him! That’s what she thought, and went on with her days as usual, but this day she saw it herself.

It was a sunny day, and the girl had saved up enough over the month so she decided to spend some of it. She was skipping around the local market looking for something delicious to eat when she heard the screaming. She ran up where the crowd was gathering, and was horrified at the sight. A huge man was kicking a townswoman while grabbing her with her hair, roaring – “APOLOGIZE RIGHT NOW, YOU COW!!!” The woman was crying profusely, begging at the top her voice out of pain, till the man got bored and threw her away like a rag. There were at least thirty people who had gathered to see the butchery. No one said a word.

She was furious. She did not need to ask anyone, she knew who the man was. It was Karkarath. Her face was red with shame and anger. But she kept quiet. Something held her back. Like the other people, she stood and watched as the man spat, and walked away.

She returned home, her face red. Why didn’t she say something? Had she been a coward? Had she run away? She began muttering under her breath. “What are you doing here my child? I was just about to go to the market to get something to eat, you want something?” said her old grandmother. “No granny, I just ate.” She went to her room and lay down on her bed.

She closed her eyes, but the bloody face of the woman in the marketplace came back to her again and again. She could hear her screams. Begging for mercy. And she could hear the thuds of the kicks that crashed into her weak body. She felt disgusted with herself.

She had been getting strong and learning to fight for all these years, and for what? To run away? Shame on her, shame on her work-outs, shame on her –

“Chhaya?” Her mother had come into the room.

She did not open her eyes. She felt like she didn’t ever want to show her face to anyone again. And she did not want anyone to see her. But her mother had come down and kneeled by the bed.

“What’s the matter, Chhaya?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it?”

“I hate myself.”

Her mother was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, “Have you done something wrong?” Now it was her turn to be silent.

“Did someone do something to you?”

“Not to me.”

“Then?”

She kept quiet for a moment, and then burst out, “I could have stopped it! I could have! But I didn’t!”

Her mother was quiet again. Then suddenly she felt her hand on her forehead.

“Do you know why your father became a soldier, my girl?”

She opened her eyes. She did not know this story. She looked at her mother. There was a strange look in her eyes.

“It was before we were married. I was only thirteen. Your father was eighteen. We lived by the river then. We were neighbours.

One day the army of a local warlord was passing through the village. They had stopped near the river ghat to take water and wash. Your grandfather was a priest. He was doing his puja in the river then. He tried to stop the soldiers, and asked them to use another spot downstream.

They killed him right there. He was no threat, he was just a harmless old man. But they killed him anyway. Your father was with me when he heard the news. When we reached the riverbank, the soldiers had left, and the old man was lying in his own blood, long dead.

You know, girl, any other man would have cried and proclaimed his hate for soldiers right then and there. But your father didn’t. That day, right over there he told me that he wanted to go and join the army. He said that the job of the soldier is to protect, not to harm. So to stop the soldiers who are just murderers, he wanted to become a soldier himself. He wanted to be the force that blocks the violence from reaching the innocent people. And I promised to marry him that very day.”

She was quiet. Her mother had paused, but she knew she had more to say.

“If you hate yourself for not doing something you should have done, always remember, that you are still alive. And as long as you are alive, you have time.”

Chhaya could hear the beating of her own heart. She closed her eyes, and muttered, ‘Thank you, mom.’ This time she was not seeing the image of the sobbing woman. She was seeing a different image. She was hearing cries of pain again, but this time, it was a different person. She kept thinking and faintly smiled.