K. Ela
Prodigals’ Home
I was a dreamer. I used to dream big. If things dot go my way, I would go into my world of imagination and say to myself, “Its ok. It’s not the end of the world; there’s still a tomorrow, it will be a brighter day yet again”. I was born into a middle class Naga family and was sent to a comparatively good school. I was not as brilliant as my parents expected but I was not that bad. I often managed to get through my exams, without much difficulty. My life was no different from that of my friends. On a typical day; I’d go to school, play, learn something new, come home, do my school assignments, occasionally help out at home and spent the spare time with my friends. Every Sunday I’d gleefully get ready for church, this was something I always look forward to. I was, but just another typical Naga girl growing up in a typical Naga family. As a child, I imagined myself playing so many roles; sometimes a doctor, sometimes a politician, and sometimes a teacher, I was everywhere , every place and every person my flights of fantasy took me to, but never in my wildest dreams as this ‘fallen woman’ that I have been become.!
As I grew up I learned that dreaming is easy but to work hard to fulfill those dreams is never easy. As the years rolled on, and I had to study more books and spend more time in studies, I began to find it harder and harder to concentrate in my studies. A feeling of restlessness started to creep into my being. I wanted something, wanted to do something, but I didn’t know what it was. I started to spend more time out of home. Friends became constant companions and we started to experiment new and crazy things. My parents never knew what I was doing but always thought that everything was fine with me. But everything was not OK with me. I was fast getting detached from the family bond into another bondage that was going to make me regret throughout my life. My friends said that it was OK to have fun so long as our parents don’t get to know about what we do. And here I am today telling the world that I am that ‘fallen woman’ because I am now tired of running away from people and from myself.
My ‘first time’ became the ‘first of many’. Before I realized what I had become I was already a ‘fallen woman’ in the eyes of the society. Life is hard, and harsh. People look at me and say, ‘you must be having a great time; you don’t work but simply sell what you have – your body – to someone, for some time, for a night or few nights and earn fast and lots of money! Why worry? You eat, sleep, drink and remain merry”. I don’t know whether they really see me that way or are they actually making fun of me; it is no fun being a fallen woman. Yes, they can only see the forced smile and laughter that I have learned to put on to hide the real me. People have no time to see those tears in my eyes even when I smile, the fears in my heart even when I laugh, those pains and insecurities deep within which overwhelm me when I think of my tomorrow. Or for that matter, do I even have a tomorrow? What will my tomorrow be like? Will I die and be buried as that fallen woman? Will anyone even shed a tear for me? Will anyone even place a single flower over me? Will anyone even say a kind word for me? Will anyone even say “poor woman, let her soul rest in peace”? Or will they simply say “good riddance!”
Not long ago, I watched in silent pain as a friend (another fallen woman like me) passed away lonely and unloved after a long sickness. They said she died of a disease, a disease of the fallen woman. Rejected and outcasted by her community, chased away from home and no longer considered a daughter or a sister in the family that she was born into. She belonged nowhere, no place to call home, and no one to call family. The church register had no space for the name of a fallen woman. She was a disgrace for everyone. I suddenly felt cold and numb as I watched her body being laid to rest. I wondered how many of my few friends gathered there that day will still be around when my body is laid to rest like my lonely friend laid to rest? Thankfully she doesn’t have to run anymore. This question haunts me with no answers. Only time can tell. Will the ‘good and forgiving people’ around me still ‘forgive and forget’ the fallen woman that I am and accept me as just another frail human being; a being full of weaknesses and fears, a being longing to be forgiven and be given another chance – a chance to be a daughter, a sister, a woman, a mother.
This fallen woman available for a price has been paying a high price since that ‘first time’. I am just another item in the market but at least that item is bought and taken home. But I am no home material. From the day I was told not to come home, home became just a distant dream. A homeless woman, why should anyone care what happens to me? Why should anyone care about what people say or do to me? I am raped, cheated, beaten, laughed at, shunned, and hated. I guess I deserve it all for I am unfit to be one among the many ‘good people’ in the good society. I guess, to them, I have no feelings anymore. To them I am just a shameless and faceless woman,. If only they can see the wounds and bruises all over me and inside me. Will these wounds ever be healed? Will anyone extend a healing touch? The feelings of shame, pain, fear and regret for what I have become makes me wish for that unfeeling woman they think I have become. If only they understood me better, they would be surprised of what’s inside my wounded heart. Perhaps then they might even begin to have compassion for the person that I am and forget for a moment the fallen woman. Perhaps one day they will stop pointing accusing fingers and accept me as I am. Perhaps it might take years. And perhaps it will only remain in this dreamer’s dream. Thank God, at least in my dreams I can be where I want to be, back home, Home where I belong!
The “fallen woman” is my sister, my friend, your daughter, the girl/woman next door, our neighbor, our fellow being. She has a soul, she has a heart, and she has a face. Can we just pass her by?
