Freedom at Midnight
- P.Krishnamoorthy
More than sixty years ago, on the shared night between the fourteenth and fifteenth of August, 1947, independent India's first Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru delivered his speech to announce the birth of the Indian nation -
"At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom".
The struggle for freedom was over and the independent India was born on that night after more than a century of British rule. All over the country, people rejoiced the occasion. With selfless and dedicated leaders like Gandhi and Nehru, people looked forward for hopeful horizons built on optimism and aspiration for a better independent country of their own.
That night was not only an eventful night to the Indian nation; it was more eventful and significant in my personal life. On that very night, I ran out to freedom from a brothel's den in Bombay's red light area to which I was sold.
Today while the global forums and platforms deliberate extensively on gender issues, and raise slogans in the backdrop of heavily painted banners to proclaim the rights of women, their equality and upliftment in society, no Government or private or philanthropic organisation had so far come forward effectively to rescue and rehabilitate those already trapped in numerous brothel houses throughout the country. Whatever the activists' dogmas advocating acceptance of such women as normal ones in the main stream society, there had not been any positive response from the society to their various calls on this issue. The inhibitions still hang on and the stigma on such women remain uncleared for their life time. The majority of women involved in this deragatory profession had been kept against their will, for, they were either abducted or kidnapped from villages, small towns and tourist centres, and sold to the den owners. The refugees form part of the potential for the procurers of the flesh trade. The price tags on them vary depending on their age, physique and complexion. The young ones have been often preferred for obvious reasons and higher price money. This 'flesh trade' in the independent India, had been carried on with the full blessings of the men in power and their patronage protected the den owners against fear of punishment.
I was born in a small village near Kanyakumari, formerly known as Cape Comerin, the southern tip of India, where the Bay of Bengal, Arabian sea and the Indian ocean converge. My parents were agricultural labourers. Our small village was always strong with moral codes and hierarchical relationships with which the village community was closely woven. Besides its agricultural lands, our village was rich in clay soil, the main ingredient for production of earthenware and pot-making which became the mainstay for our survival. Basic discipline, honesty and ethics were the binding forces of our life fabric.
My bright eyes since birth, infused my parents to name me as "Jyothi", (the flame or brightness). At the appropriate age, mother nature was prompt in her shaping me into a beautiful girl with parallel physiological internal and external changes. I was myself amazed at the adversity's kindness to allow nature to extend to me the youthful teen-age exuberance. I was full of beauty as a blooming rose. And then on, my preferences in life became different. I often reviewed myself on these transformations, in particular to the infatuations often dominated me.
Seeing the visible changes in me and watching my responsive reactions to adolascent preferences, my parents became serious in arranging to get me married. I could hardly believe that it happened so sudden. During a visit to a contiguous village, my father was impressed with a handsome young man, Raju, who was, at that time, visiting his parents on a holiday. He was working in Bombay as a security guard. The wedding was over within a week and on that very night we took the train to Bombay as he was not able to extend his stay.
My maiden travel in a train was quite an experience. I was fascinated with the various types of people, speaking in different lingos and the sight of different villages, towns and cities through which the train passed, was exhilarating. Raju's narration of his job, life and neighbourhood in Bombay and the places of tourism, interested me to look forward for a happy metropolitan living.
After three days of tiresome travel, we finally reached Bombay. After we came out of the V.T station, Raju wanted me to wait in a corner and he would, in the meantime, get a taxi to go to his place in Chembur. The surging crowd in and out of the station was an indicator as to how fast life could be in a big city unlike my village. As I was waiting for some time, two men came from the side of the entrance.
"Are you Jyothi?" One of them in dark complexion asked me, while the other assessing my whole figure. He continued,
"Your husband, Mr. Raju is waiting in our taxi outside. He wanted us to bring you there with your baggage".
Initial hesitation stopped me from going with them. However, their conversation in my native language, instilled trust and their mentioning Raju's name reinforced my confidence to go with them. At that time, I hardly knew I had a tryst with destiny for a different life. When I reached the taxi, they just pushed me into it. I could not find Raju either inside or anywhere nearby. By the time I shouted for help, the doors were slammed with its raised glass windows, and one of them forced my face to sniff at something and I was fainted.
After few hours when I opened my eyes, I realized I was in a small ruined room partially dark with two windows draped in dirty curtains. The whole room was painted in pink which itself was disgusting to me. Around me there were three girls of elderly age than me, two from south and one from east - Rani, Ramba and Sunita, trying to look at me with curiosity, more to know of my background. Through their sarcastic smiles, they expressed their welcome message to me. They started explaining to me of my assignments from that very night.
The chief of the den, Roopa, a lady in the mid fiftees entered the room to enquire how I have been reacting to the new environment and profession. Her wrinkled face in a uncouth flabby figure was nauseating to me. I could say they were the residual reminiscence of her past seasoned whore life. “Rani! Did you explain to her of what she had to do here?" I started crying on my fate for getting trapped into that place. I explained to them as to how I was pushed into the taxi as soon as I arrived with my husband. All the three girls just laughed and said " Raju only sold you to this den. We know him well as he had been our regular customer. In your deal, he was also paid well than on his earlier sales".
Those words were incorrigible to my ears as I could not even imagine such a thing to happen. I felt like ending my life when I heard this, for, back in our village, there was never any such 'human selling' involved even though we were working like slaves. It took sometime for me to decide on the future course of action. I realized, my brooding and crying over the situation would not take me anywhere in the direction of escape. I gathered strength within myself and determined to fight my tryst with destiny.
As the night curtain fell over the horizon, the routine scene in the den was set for the performers, to exhibit themselves at the doors in full costume make-up, obviously to hide their original complexion, with support from uniquely designed outfits to appear attractive. As the law of the land prohibited soliciting customers in the 'flesh trade', the performers had to just present themselves as showpieces to welcome the clients into their fold. Roopa,the owner of the den threatened me to be ready for that night. I refused to be initiated on the first day, as I was feeling nausea with the food and filthy environment.
"I paid big money to buy you, not for keeping you idle here. You know what you have to do for us. You should be ready in few minutes as the other three, and stand at the door. Today is an auspicious day to start with, and more fortune to follow through you. Understand?" Roopa yelled at me.
When I refused to be initiated to the 'performance', she slapped me strongly and I fainted instantly. With my sick face and the throw outs I had, she was disappointed and left for the other girls to handle me. Due to hindu-muslim conflicts throughout the city, there was a curfew on that night and the usual business could not be carried on. While the first day went off in my favour, the other three girls found me more dependable and confident. They were anxious to exchange notes with me on their lives..Whle Rani and Ramba were brought in three years before from a south Indian city, the third one joined the den willingly as she was thrown out of her home by her parents on similar activities.
"Jyothi! We do not have any option but to stay here and continue our life for some more years. Out of our meager savings here, we were able to support our kith and kin back home" said Ramba and Rani with tears in their eyes. I was surprised at their compromise for an indecent whore life towards a noble cause. In spite of their awareness of a permanent stigma stamped on them for the rest of their lives, they were still willing to go on.
The day two, was little different than the first day, as I was gaining some inner strength and more hope to get away from that place. May be a hunch or sort of such a feeling in me. I started hating men since I knew that Raju sold me for money; and to 'perform' the assignments with them was totally unacceptable in my mind. I preferred to face any extent of threats or torture from Roopa and her men, and even to die in that encounter, than becoming a whore to satisfy the lust of men .'Raju's sale' ignited fire in me to destroy every man who had a flavor for the flesh act.
It was the last few days for the British rule to end, news came that the colonial India had to be divided into two nations - India and Pakistan for a peaceful accord. Still there had been skirmishes between the hindu militants and the muslim minority. The gruesome killings on both sides continued in various parts of Bombay to which the red light area was no exception. Thanks to the religious rioting, there were no 'takers' for the 'performance' on two nights which spared me from encounters with Roopa.
Just few hours before the night of the independence declaration, I saw a group of hindu fanatic religious group armed with all sorts of weapons marching towards our place. Their target was a muslim house next to the den. When the muslim inmates refused to come out, the crowd set ablaze their home, and in minutes spiralling flames turned the whole sky in red. The nearby buildings also caught fire and the den was also extensivelly destroyed. Everybody was running to safety and I was lucky to come out first without any major injury. From the road I could see Roopa along with the other three girls struggling to come out. But it was too late; a burning wooden beam of the building fell on them and I could see them being crushed under it.
I was running out to freedom for I was scared whether any of her muscle men would chase to get at me. I saw at a distance, a thatched hut to my rescue. On my knock at the door, an elderly man in sixties, opened the door and offered me shelter and food. His name was Savarkar. In the hut, I saw portraits of all leaders of the freedom struggle and Savarkar was proud to be associated with them. When I narrated my story to him, he was feeling sorry and comforted me. He said it was God's will to save me from that den through that fire, as no girl with life had so far escaped from there. At the stroke of midnight, I heard from the radio, the first Indian Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru's speech to the nation announcing the birth of independent India. Hence the first independence night in 1947 was a very significant eventful night - freedom to me and freedom to my motherland.
While I was happy to be saved unblemished from the den, it would be very hard on me to convince the society of my unblemished exit. I was reluctant to return to my village as I was not in favour of meeting my parents with this episode; I was also scared that they may not even believe me. Even if they do so, the village at large would look me down and treat us as outcasts. I preferred to stay alone for the rest of my life. When I explained this to Savarkar, he understood my predicament and helped me in getting to Pune, near Bombay, where a family was requiring housemaid's assitance.
Reaching seventy years of age at the time of golden jubilee of India's independence, I could recollect the horrible memories in the den and I felt sorry for the three girls about whom I never had any information later. The family in Pune treated me more like a family member with them. I was longing to visit my old village at least once before my life ends. When I expressed this to the head of the family, he was glad to provide me with some money to undertake the trip and return. I chose to be in my village on the golden gubilee day of Indian independence the day of resurrection.
When I returned to my old village, I found there was not even an iota of the past existing. The murky narrow lanes were changed to broad roads and strong buildings had replaced the huts where we lived. New faces all over the place and there was no sign of any earlier generation's existence. When I saw a wall poster displaying, the golden jubilee celebration of India's independence to be held on that evening in the school grounds, I was eager to attend this as I thought I could possibly meet some of the old village people of my earlier time.
When I reached the school grounds, the crowd was already there. I was able to get a seat in the front row. There were barricades with casurina sticks between us and the stage. On the side of the podium, near the place I was seated, there was the flag pole with the Indian national flag ready to be hoisted. The podium was decorated with colour lights and speakers were relaying patriotic songs. As we were waiting, a convoy of cars arrived with the government officials and politicians for the function.
The sun was setting in the crimson sky. After welcome address, it was announced that the chairman of the town panchayat would hoist the national flag. As the chairman got down from the podium to the flag stand, I could not believe my eyes and it was a shock to me. My memories rushed through my mind and brought scenes of pain before me of my brief period in the den.The so-called chairman was none but my old husband Raju. He must be around seventy five.I wanted to make sure that he was only Raju. Age had really withered him with bald head and wrinkled face. I was right and he was none but Raju. I checked with the woman seated next to me, about the his name. She confirmed as Raju. Blood was boiling in me as, I could not reconcile or compromise on the fact , that after fifty years of independence, people like Raju, who sold his own wife to a brothel house for money, had become a leader for the people. It was still unbearable that he was to hoist the sacred national flag which was the legacy inherited by the people of India from the dedicated stalwarts of freedom movement. But for them, there would not have any Indian national flag at all. My consicence decreed that such men had no place in society. As he was nearing the flag post which was so close to me. I gathered all my strength and removed one of the sharp casurina sticks from the barricade and pierced it in his back. He was profusely bleeding and turned his face towards me to see the murderer who was none but his old and sold wife. I heaved a sigh of relief as my conscience whispered "well done".
