She shouldn’t have gone for that jog so late in the evening. The last stretch had been unnerving. The street lights had suddenly gone out and she had quickened her pace to a run to reach the safety of her house where the light was on in the verandah. Army cantonments were safe. But then you never knew. She unlocked the door and let herself in, standing on her toes to bolt it at the top. Picking up a bottle of water from the fridge she walked to her bedroom, panting with the strain of that last sprint and locked the door from the inside.
-------------------
The jeans she had just stepped out of were lying on the floor beside the sneakers she had kicked off. She was peeling the sweat-wet T shirt off when she noticed the shoes sticking out from beneath the thick beige curtains right across the room. There was someone there. She could make out the outlines of a body from the way the fabric was swelling slightly and the light was falling on a pair of faded canvas shoes that were showing where the folds ended an inch above the ground.
She reached out for the cotton night gown lying on the bed that she had planned to wear after a bath and pulled it over her head quickly. Fear made her voice stick in her throat. Even if she shouted, the chances of anyone hearing her in the old British time bungalow that she lived in were slim. It was a family posting but her husband was away on a routine field firing 85 kilometers away. Only this morning he had called to ask if she would like to send the boys there for the night and she had readily agreed. They would all return together the next day after an evening spent roasting fish and cooking Maggi on a bonfire. Only a few hours back, she had waved them off as they grinned happily from the jeep eager to meet their dad after a week, jungle caps pulled low over the smart crew cuts given by the unit barber, backpacks stuffed with snacks and juice cartons.
She had gone for a jog and had been looking forward to a soup and sandwich dinner and a quiet evening watching her favourite soaps without the boys screaming in her ears. In the fifteen years she had been married, she had stayed alone many times in areas much lonelier than General Cariappa Colony and it never scared her.
At this moment, however, she was trembling with fear. Whether the person behind the curtain was just hiding or waiting to attack her, she did not know. The bedroom door she had just bolted was closer to him than her. She moved towards the bathroom. It was her only hope. The shoes moved suddenly, a hand darted for the light switch and the room was plunged in darkness. She groped for the bathroom door but the figure had stumbled through the dark and was there before her. She dropped to her knees and tried to crawl towards the bedside table where she had left her cell. The last call had been from her husband and if only she could call back, he might be able to send help. A hand clasped her ankle and started dragging her. She kicked but the man pulled her back even as she screamed on top of her voice. A hand closed around her mouth in a vice like grip. She struggled for a while and then gave up and tried to pretend that what was happening was happening with someone else.
---------------------
She had been slipping in and out of consciousness. The pain at her throat was hot and searing, and eased only when the nurse injected a painkiller into the tube connected to her vein. There were 16 stitches outside and six inside and the surgeon said it was a miracle she had survived the vicious attack. Her neighbours who had been returning from a late night party had heard her gasping from across the hedge and had come to check thinking an animal was lying there injured. When they found her, bloody and weak, breath escaping from the cut in her neck they had immediately rung for an ambulance. They had marvelled at her courage and will to live. Not only had she opened the latch on the front door, she had also tried to walk to the gate for help when excessive blood loss made her collapse in the driveway. The assailant had fled from an open window after cutting her neck with the shining dagger that was always displayed on their sitting room wall, believing her to be dead.
---------------------
Her husband had pulled a chair close to the bed. Her older son was by his side. They were both looking at her with the same worried eyes. She tried to smile and reached out for the little hand clutching the blanket covering her. He was nearly ten and getting to be a handsome man, just like his father. Behind them, a familiar figure was standing with her younger son in his arms. It was Rajender. His eyes were clouded with tears and he was holding her younger son, who was clutching a red Hot Wheels car. It was a toy she hadn’t seen before so she guessed it was bribe for staying at home with Bhaiya while Daddy had been spending nights at the hospital with Mamma. She beckoned to him to come to her but he buried his face in Rajender’s neck, sobbing loudly. The woman with the tubes sticking into her arms and the bandages around her neck did not look like the mother he knew. “Take the children home. Sleep in their room. I’ll come home in the morning,” her weary husband said leaning his head back on the chair. Rajender straightened to say “Ram Ram Sa’ab.”
Just then the red car slipped from her son’s clammy hand and fell on the floor. Her eyes followed the sound automatically and stopped at a pair of faded orange canvas shoes that had a rip on one side darned with a dirty yellow cobbler’s thread. The sahayak, who had been with them for almost six years had picked up the toy, wiped it on his shirt and handed it to the little one in his arm. He was walking out holding the older one’s hand in a light grasp. “Stop him,” she whispered, her breath coming out in painful gasps. "I have seen those shoes before".
-------------------
The jeans she had just stepped out of were lying on the floor beside the sneakers she had kicked off. She was peeling the sweat-wet T shirt off when she noticed the shoes sticking out from beneath the thick beige curtains right across the room. There was someone there. She could make out the outlines of a body from the way the fabric was swelling slightly and the light was falling on a pair of faded canvas shoes that were showing where the folds ended an inch above the ground.
She reached out for the cotton night gown lying on the bed that she had planned to wear after a bath and pulled it over her head quickly. Fear made her voice stick in her throat. Even if she shouted, the chances of anyone hearing her in the old British time bungalow that she lived in were slim. It was a family posting but her husband was away on a routine field firing 85 kilometers away. Only this morning he had called to ask if she would like to send the boys there for the night and she had readily agreed. They would all return together the next day after an evening spent roasting fish and cooking Maggi on a bonfire. Only a few hours back, she had waved them off as they grinned happily from the jeep eager to meet their dad after a week, jungle caps pulled low over the smart crew cuts given by the unit barber, backpacks stuffed with snacks and juice cartons.
She had gone for a jog and had been looking forward to a soup and sandwich dinner and a quiet evening watching her favourite soaps without the boys screaming in her ears. In the fifteen years she had been married, she had stayed alone many times in areas much lonelier than General Cariappa Colony and it never scared her.
At this moment, however, she was trembling with fear. Whether the person behind the curtain was just hiding or waiting to attack her, she did not know. The bedroom door she had just bolted was closer to him than her. She moved towards the bathroom. It was her only hope. The shoes moved suddenly, a hand darted for the light switch and the room was plunged in darkness. She groped for the bathroom door but the figure had stumbled through the dark and was there before her. She dropped to her knees and tried to crawl towards the bedside table where she had left her cell. The last call had been from her husband and if only she could call back, he might be able to send help. A hand clasped her ankle and started dragging her. She kicked but the man pulled her back even as she screamed on top of her voice. A hand closed around her mouth in a vice like grip. She struggled for a while and then gave up and tried to pretend that what was happening was happening with someone else.
---------------------
She had been slipping in and out of consciousness. The pain at her throat was hot and searing, and eased only when the nurse injected a painkiller into the tube connected to her vein. There were 16 stitches outside and six inside and the surgeon said it was a miracle she had survived the vicious attack. Her neighbours who had been returning from a late night party had heard her gasping from across the hedge and had come to check thinking an animal was lying there injured. When they found her, bloody and weak, breath escaping from the cut in her neck they had immediately rung for an ambulance. They had marvelled at her courage and will to live. Not only had she opened the latch on the front door, she had also tried to walk to the gate for help when excessive blood loss made her collapse in the driveway. The assailant had fled from an open window after cutting her neck with the shining dagger that was always displayed on their sitting room wall, believing her to be dead.
---------------------
Her husband had pulled a chair close to the bed. Her older son was by his side. They were both looking at her with the same worried eyes. She tried to smile and reached out for the little hand clutching the blanket covering her. He was nearly ten and getting to be a handsome man, just like his father. Behind them, a familiar figure was standing with her younger son in his arms. It was Rajender. His eyes were clouded with tears and he was holding her younger son, who was clutching a red Hot Wheels car. It was a toy she hadn’t seen before so she guessed it was bribe for staying at home with Bhaiya while Daddy had been spending nights at the hospital with Mamma. She beckoned to him to come to her but he buried his face in Rajender’s neck, sobbing loudly. The woman with the tubes sticking into her arms and the bandages around her neck did not look like the mother he knew. “Take the children home. Sleep in their room. I’ll come home in the morning,” her weary husband said leaning his head back on the chair. Rajender straightened to say “Ram Ram Sa’ab.”
Just then the red car slipped from her son’s clammy hand and fell on the floor. Her eyes followed the sound automatically and stopped at a pair of faded orange canvas shoes that had a rip on one side darned with a dirty yellow cobbler’s thread. The sahayak, who had been with them for almost six years had picked up the toy, wiped it on his shirt and handed it to the little one in his arm. He was walking out holding the older one’s hand in a light grasp. “Stop him,” she whispered, her breath coming out in painful gasps. "I have seen those shoes before".
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