I never really thought about marriage. I didn’t have the time for it. I didn’t have the time to grow up. When I was still playing with dolls and the only thing on my mind was the stick ice cream I got to eat every other Sunday, my parents got me married off, at the age of 11. The ceremony was a blur of people. I don’t remember much except for fear. Fear of my husband. He was a big man with a thick moustache. It was his eyes that scared me though. It was also fear of a new place. I knew I was leaving my home behind forever.
My first few years were spent in learning. Learning to work 20 hours a day at home; learning to keep my mouth shut; learning to make my husband happy. But he was never happy. Neither was my mother-in-law. They were impatient because I had not bled yet. My mother-in-law blamed my parents, saying they had lied to her. She cursed me for everything bad that happened in the house. I was bad luck, infertile, barren.
I did eventually develop though. Finally at the age of 15, I bled. I couldn’t understand what was going on, the pain, the discomfort. I was relieved though, because my mother-in-law seemed happy. My husband seemed happy too. But the real pain came five days later when my bleeding stopped. A ceremony was held. Until now, I had slept with my mother-in-law. But now I was led into my husband’s room, the doors shut to keep others out. I was alone with him.
It was pain, like I had never experienced before. I cried and cried for him to stop, but he only seemed to get angrier. He slapped me hard, bit me all over and pushed into me harder. Eventually, I learnt to keep my mouth shut here too. I let him do it, knowing that it would all end in 10 minutes and he would leave me alone.
He didn’t leave me alone even when I was pregnant. It got worse after that though. I had given birth to a girl child. My husband’s family cursed me and beat me, everyday. They asked me to kill the child. I refused. More beatings followed. I wasn’t given food for days. The baby cried and cried. I ended up giving what little gruel I got to the baby. One day, I just snapped. I couldn’t take any more beatings. I had to survive, for the sake of my child. I escaped with my baby when everybody was sleep and ran away from the village.
I moved to a big city and got a job as a maid. I was uneducated and had few other skills apart from cleaning and cooking. I didn’t have much money, but for the first time I was happy. My baby girl was growing up, walking a bit now, talking too. She made me laugh and cry with joy. I thought I could just kill somebody if I was ever forced into letting her go.
I was determined to give her the education I never got. I learnt a little bit of English and Math from one of the ladies whose house I worked at. I started other odd jobs too, a shift job at a clothing store, a little bit of tailoring for the ladies whose houses I worked at, in exchange for some extra income.
When my little one was three years, my husband came. He had been searching for the past three years and he had found me. And he was angrier than I had ever seen him before. But I wasn’t going to let go this time. I refused to come home. I bore his beatings, but didn’t allow him to come close to my baby.
But physically I was no match for him. He rushed out of the house and came running back in with a large stone. He hit me hard on the head and I fell down, unconscious. When I revived, my baby girl was gone. He had taken her. I dared not go to the village alone. I knew I would never come out alive from there.
One of ladies whom I worked for arranged for my divorce, but I did not get my baby back. My husband sometimes calls me to taunt me, makes me hear my daughter’s voice over phone. Each time I hear her voice, I end up crying. I keep worrying about how he’s treating her. But each time, I also become stronger again. I can’t go alone back to the village, but I will go with the law.
The law is slow in this matter though. The custody trial is pending. I shall keep waiting. I now live full time with that kind lady who helped me out. I am also trying to finish my studies with her help. I am able to speak broken English and I’m also learning how to use a computer. It’s been two years since I last saw my daughter, except for one glimpse at the court. But I know I will see her again.
As told to Team iDiva.
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