The Molki Bride: The Fight For Existence-An Indian Mafia Romance

Chapter 1: Vijaya

The fire had turned into ember by now. The air was heavy and thick with the smoke from the pyre, slowly mingling with the mist of the river, becoming one with the nature. Finally, she was at peace. She was being welcomed by every atom of the nature she loved so much, a daughter of the forest, who had lovingly nurtured every shrub, every plant in her tiny courtyard. The durability of the soil, the trees and the animals around her had filled her with the strength to toil on for all those years, every second of the day, knowing fully well how futile her efforts were, but never ceasing to hope.

Maybe it was not all in vain. Maybe she had been right to hope. For, have I not for received the all too important survival instincts from her, for a girl like me? Have I not inherited the uncanny ability to read people, to predict their moves? She has taught me well. Too well.

She also taught me not to make the fatal mistake of falling in love. Just like she did. Which made her leave her world. And her world punished her, cruelly.

That is how the world is. If you don't conform to it, it will punish you. If you dare to defy it, it will make your life unbearable, wishing you were dead every second of your existence. Yet, she had found the strength, her indomitable spirit had refused to give up. And that very spirit had made her give her life to give me a chance at mine. And I intended to make sure that that was not in vain. That I was worthy of it. And I would do anything to make that happen.

I took one last look at her. The pyre no longer burned. Everyone was gone by now. Twilight washed over the river bank, turning everything grey. Even the sky was mourning her death.

"Goodbye Maa. I am getting out of our prison cell. I am getting out."

Quickly scanning my surrounding, I came out of my hiding place from behind the bushes surrounding the burning ghat. Deb was waiting with my luggage, really just a cloth bag with a little money and a couple of clothes that were not all tattered and dirty. I jumped on his bicycle and we sped down the dirt road. Not once did I look back at the tiny village I was leaving forever.

At the tiny railway station, waiting for the train, we kept looking around in quick furtive glances. My face was covered with my dupatta, hiding most of my features, but one could never be too sure. And these people were vultures. Vulture who tore at you with the slightest slip.

The train came to a stop. I didn't have a reservation; people like us couldn't afford one. So I threw myself in fighting my way to a tiny seat in the General class. The crowd was punishing, pushing and pulling, uncaring and cruel in its hurry to move forward and secure its place.

Suddenly, everyone fell back from me. I leapt and grabbed the door handle of the dirty compartment. But my arm was torn away forcefully and I fell back on a hard hairy chest. I was engulfed inside sweaty arms, pushing down on my breasts making me cry out in pain. The smell of alcohol and gutka assailed my senses. Another pair of rough arms grabbed at me. My heart stopped throbbing. I have failed. My last vision before the chloroform pushed me into the darkness was Deb being beaten into a pulp.

Next time I woke up; I was face down on the dirty floor of a moving vehicle. I was not alone. There were other hapless shadowy figures on the floor all around, just like me. My head hurt, so much so that I must have cried out, which earned me a hit across a cheek. And then blissfully, once again pushed me into the arms of chloroform induced blackness.

I woke up a few of more times, arms and feet bound. Every time, it was inside a moving vehicle. I got hit on my head, a kick to my stomach, punches on my back and ass grabs. I was too dazed, weak and too smart to even try to fight back. I took every one of the blows without protest. That earned me a stale roti and enough water to just wet my throat which only increased the raging thirst. The last couple of times, it wasn't chloroform, but the needle, which was more effective in making me drift into the dreamless slumbers.

I don't know after how long and hadn't cared to count, found myself blinking my eyes, in the cruel afternoon sun. Right away I knew I was on solid ground. I willed my limbs to move and succeeded in gingerly pulling myself up to a sitting position.

I took an inventory of the various parts of my body. Apart from a few bruises and tender spots I was mostly okay. My hands and feet were not tied anymore. I looked around myself. It was a mud hut with a thatched roof. There was a slit for a window from which I could see the sun, trees and fields as far as the eyes could go. The rickety door was closed.

I was parched and my stomach was crying out with stale bile and raging for food. I had never really gone without the latter; my mother had ensured I never had to experience the all-consuming nature of hunger. Till now.

The room was completely bare. It took me a few tries to stand. Drunkenly, I made my way to the door and pushed. It opened.

I found myself in a courtyard. There was a well at one corner and stacks of hay at another. A couple of goats were tied along with a big chicken coup. There were also four women at the well. All four pairs of eyes turned on me. Then one of them gestured towards a kid sitting with the goats and the rest resumed their work, totally uncaring of my presence. She spoke in a different language than my own, of which I had rudimentary knowledge. It took me a few seconds but I understood what she said.

"The molki is awake. Go fetch the master."

Even with the hot sun beating down on my unprotected head, I shivered. I have been sold to be a molki paro. Well done, father.