The Undead

By Debayani Sengupta

The late evening sky is aglow with the silvery moon and the countless stars, yet the house I am in is engulfed in total darkness, with only a few lights peeking out of small confined rooms scattered across the premises. I descend quietly down the crooked stairs, my feet bare and bruised from the rough and scratchy steps. Leaving the lantern hanging over the staircase, I trace my path back to my assigned room, drying my long, drenched hair after a quick evening bath. With hurried footsteps and a thumping heart, I scurry along the pitch dark lobby, longing to meet the one waiting inside the room. I have memorised every nook and cranny of this house I have been a hostage in for the past twelve years.

I open the door and walk in. My room it is, in some ways at least.

A small boy, playing with a wooden little car on the floor, greets me. He looks up at me and smiles. A toothy smile which manages to melt my stone cold heart every time. He reaches his arms out, waiting for me to lift him up as I let my worn out legs carry me over to him. My heart swells as I embosom him and shower him with kisses all over his face and he squirms and giggles in my arms. He has curly black hair and hazel eyes, just like mine. My precious little boy!

He is my Arush. The first ray of sun amidst the darkness that consumes my life.

I put him down and let him resume his frolics with the wooden car, the only toy I could buy for him before he came into this world. I walk over to the mirror sitting in the corner, caged inside an intricately carved out wood. I stare at the piece of glass, spattered with blotches of dirt and ink. It is the only token of memory my widowed mother left behind before those ruthless people sold me off to this pleasure House.

I was only eleven years old. I was scared and weeping, but the brothel-keeper, a strong, beautiful elderly woman, took me in. 'Mai Ji' everyone called her.

I admired her. She raised me and provided a shelter over my head. Even though she was always kind and gentle, she put me up for her business all the same. I hated it at first. I hated all the grizzled men and their feral touches on my defenseless, vulnerable body. It took me years to get used to this life that I have now. I had even grown to like it.

Mai Ji was proud of me and so was I.

I started calling her Amma. Neither did I remember my mother, nor did I know what a mother is supposed to be like. So she became like a mother to me, until the day she cut my boy, Arush out of my womb two years ago. I still remember, how she grimaced when she found out I was having a boy. How she brought in those grimy women and in a gruff voice instructed them to "Kill the child".I screamed, wailed and begged for them to not take my child away. It hadn't even been six full months of Arush growing inside me and yet our souls were so closely entwined already. I was exhausted and in unbearable agony as I watched them carry my silent little baby away. They took him away from me just because he wasn't a girl. We, the women here in the brothel are only allowed to birth fatherless daughters who would grow up to become mere products to propel Amma's business. I detested her. I couldn't bear to even look her in the eye again.

Arush runs upto me and hugs my legs. I look down at him, with tears in my eyes blurring my vision. His hazel eyes sparkled back.

No, they didn't take my boy away from me. He is right here.

Everyday I play with him, I laugh with him, I care for him, I love him.

I wipe my tears away and start brushing my wet, tousled hair. I pat some powder back onto my damp cheeks, apply some colour on my lips and slip into a creased satin robe. I stare back at my tarnished image in the piece of glass, all dolled up and ready for the next man to please.

The mirror is stained and so is my chastity.

A knock on the door pulls me from my daze and I look around to see Arush gone. My sharp little boy! He always knows a knock on my door is his cue to leave. He knows it's time for his mother to work, so he takes off to play somewhere else.

I open my door to the tall, white-bearded man, who walks in without waiting for my assent. I notice the fat wallet in the man's hand and the ravenous look in his eyes, the stare of a beast about to devour its prey. However, it doesn't faze me. All I can hear is Arush and his giggles as he skips down the lobby of the prison we call home.

I am not worried, no. My little boy always knows when his mother's work is over. I know that when the man leaves, not even a second will go by before my Arush will be back inside the room, chuckling and playing with his only toy on the floor, like he always does.

And I will embrace him tightly till the next man comes knocking on my door, like I always do.

By Debayani Sengupta