The Bleeding Rosebud

       Scared and alone, I sat in a corner of Victoria Terminus, contemplating my next move. Three days had passed since I last ate or spoke to anyone. The winter of 1984 was merciless, and the cold pierced through my skirt. Despite the freezing weather, I felt a peculiar sense of freedom within myself.

Just as I entertained the idea of getting up to find some food, I noticed the lady who serves water daily approaching me with a bag of food. Shock and terror gripped me. I wondered if she knew about my situation. What if my father had filed a complaint against me?

As she came closer, she spoke to me, breaking the silence that had enveloped me for the past three days:

"Hello, dear! Are you okay? Who are you? Where are you from? You seem disturbed. Would you like to share your problem? I've been noticing you for the last three days, and you haven't moved an inch."

          My father served as an army officer, leading us to relocate frequently based on the demands of his duty. By the time I turned 15, we had already experienced life in five different places.

My mother, on the other hand, hailed from a financially disadvantaged background. She had limited literacy, being a humble homemaker. Her demeanor reflected humility, and she harbored a deep fear of my strict father.

Within our family of five siblings, I was the only sister. Despite our infrequent interactions, we maintained connection through monthly letters, as we were a scattered family. There were moments when I wished I had never had a father.

My affinity for roses may be linked to my name, 'Phulmati,' which translates to 'beautiful like a flower.' Interestingly, there is a goddess with the same name, and her temple is situated in the northern part of India.

At the age of 10, we relocated to Assam, a region known for its tranquility and rich cultural heritage in the northeastern part of India. Surrounded by valleys and mountains, Assam is globally renowned for its tea.

      Roses are purportedly available in all colors except black. Similar to the elusive 'black rose,' our family relationships presented an illusion to the outside world, with my father orchestrating these illusions. The inception of this facade dates back to when I was just 6 years old. For reasons unknown, my father concluded that I brought ill luck to him and his career. Despite my mother's attempts to shield me, her efforts were in vain. From a very tender age, my father harbored a strong disdain for me, subjecting me to physical abuse over trivial matters.

It only dawned on me in adulthood that when one harbors hatred towards another, they can resort to extreme measures to manifest that hatred. The reasons behind my father's intense animosity remained a mystery, buried with him in his grave.

     I was 12 when he touched me inappropriately. My mother had gone away for a few hours and I was alone at home. My father had been drinking all afternoon. He was angry about something that his superior had told him. It was a gloomy cold winter evening. The sky was filled with clouds and there was a cold breeze. I was playing by myself on the swing and I suddenly felt that my father was trying to grope me. I tried running away from him. I thought he was a little drunk but I realized that he was sober enough to chase me. 

I ran a few steps and fell on the ground. My father held me and dragged me to the main hall of our bungalow. That was the time, I felt really weak. He choked me with a cloth, so I couldn’t scream. He was holding me tight, so I couldn’t run away. I fell on the ground and I was crying. I couldn’t understand what was happening to me. It was the very first time, I realized what pain actually felt like. I could smell the stench of alcohol from his mouth. He beat me up and asked me to stay still. I repeatedly told him sorry and also that I would be a good girl. He told me that I would make it worse for myself, if I moved too much. It felt as if several thorns collectively pricked through my skin in one part of my body.

I lied down there feeling like a dead-body until he was done. He asked me to leave the room and go away. He asked me not to show myself until he wishes to see me. I ran away from that room crying out loud and went into a different room to check on myself. I locked the door and undressed myself completely. I could see blood streaming through my legs. I had no clue what to do. I threw myself down on the bed and sobbed bitterly. 

As I told my story, I saw the water lady crying. It was as if I had gone back into the past. I forgot that I was sitting in the corner of a railway station and narrating my story to a stranger. I could still feel the pain he had given me. I could still smell the stench of alcohol in my thoughts. I could still feel that prick.  

“When you go to a garden do you look at thorns or flowers? Spend more time with roses and jasmine.”

          My mother came home that night and she started looking for me. I was still lying down on the bed and I had no energy to move. I guess it was more of a mental trauma than the physical one. The fact that it was my father who did it, was burning my soul from inside. As I was lying down, a thought of killing myself struck me a several times. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of me dying every day from this moment onward. My mother came to the door and started knocking it.

‘Phul, are you in there? Come out! I am getting worried!’

 I grasped all the energy I could and got up from the bed. I covered myself in the bed-sheet and went towards the door. There were dried bloodstains on the bed-sheet. I unlatched the door and fell on my mothers’ feet. She saw me and started crying. She asked me several times ‘What happened? Who did this? Tell me!’.

 I looked at her and said ‘Papa!’.

 That was it! My mother ran towards my father’s room and started screaming.

‘Get out you bastard! Get out! What have you done to my little girl?’

 My father opened the door and started hitting my mother. He told her that he would kill her if she told anyone about this. I could see that my mother felt helpless. She couldn’t do anything to stop him.

 That night felt like the longest night of my life. It was as if my actual life came to an end. From that day on wards, I lived in a fear that my father would repeat his ruthless act again and he actually did it.

 My father made sure that I was isolated. I was not allowed to talk to anyone. I was not allowed to step outside of the house. He stopped me from going to school or make friends.

 He would look for times when he would find me alone and continue with his evil act.

My misery went on for three years in Assam. As I mentioned earlier that by the age of 15 we had already moved to 5 different places, when I was almost 16 my father got a new posting in Hyderabad.

Hyderabad was really close to my heart. I lived here as a child and most of my father’s relatives lived in this city. We no longer had to live in army campus, because we had rented a place of our own as it was closer to our relatives. I had a sigh of relief after we moved here thinking that my father would stop his evil behavior as he will now have his siblings around him. I was wrong. He never stopped torturing me. There were nights I would lie down and weep thinking about how I would kill myself. I had three uncles and two aunts. Two of my uncles were married and they had children.

As we no longer lived in army campus, we had no workers. The household work was divided between me and my mother. I would take care of cooking and my mother took care of everything else.

My mother somehow convinced my father to get me enrolled into a school to show that everything was normal. I had to promise my father that I wouldn’t tell anyone about anything that he does.

I started going to school and it was good. My school time was a getaway from the trauma my father would put me through at nights. He hit my mother if she spoke to him about stopping his brutality. She was helpless and could not have done anything. She was scared that he would kill me.

As the days passed, I started getting closer to my aunts and uncles. I would go to their place to play with my cousins.

On Sunday evenings, we all went together to watch movies in an open ground on a white curtain.

It was the same for the next two years until one evening, after we came back home from the market, my father tried to misbehave with me in a drunk state. He hadn’t realized that my aunt was standing at the door. She saw everything and tried to stop him. She took me to her place that evening and I told her everything that happened. She was shocked and promised me to help. Next day, when I went back home, I saw that my father was waiting for me with a belt in his hand. He beat me up that day and tried to choke me. My mother tried to stop him, but she couldn’t. I ran away to my aunt’s home and my father chased me there. My uncles and aunts were discussing about some household chores. He told everyone that I was the one who tried to get him indulged into everything that he had been doing. He told them that I would sneak into his room and in his private space.

My uncles believed him blindly out of love and told him that he should have killed me when I tried doing something like that for the first time. One of my aunts told me that I should have started a brothel of my own if I couldn’t handle my urges. That broke my heart. I cried and ran away towards a railway track closer to my home thinking that I would end everything once and for all. One of my neighbors saw me and got me back home. That was the evening when I decided that I would do anything and run away as soon as I turn eighteen.

We lived in Lalaguda, which is a suburb of Secunderabad. Our house was built in a colony next to railway quarters. The railways quarters had a very green campus with about 3 parks in the vicinity. I used to walk from inside the campus on my way to school and I was familiar with the route inside the campus.

My uncles lived about 100 meters away from my home. They lived in a two-story building. They had about five rooms, two on the ground floor with a big hall and three rooms on the first floor. They had a beautiful terrace with the view of railways tracks.

On March 12th, 1984 I finally turned 18. I had been waiting for this day for a very long time. I started thinking about how I should escape. I planned everything I would do on that day. I packed my clothes in a bed-sheet, so that no one would know what I was up to. I though I would run away at night once my parents were asleep. Our house had a gate built in the front yard and it made a lot of noise, so I decided to climb and jump from the wall beside it and run towards the railway quarters. The campus had a back-gate which led towards the railway station close by.