My name is Asifa.
When I was born, my parents rejoiced but after 3 years they were
afraid and maybe regretted my birth: not because I was a girl, but
the country I was in. India, the country where girls are worshiped, was going through a phase which no one ever expected. My country is
one of the safest in the world and if anyone disagree with it, you
can have all the stats available to compare with. Yet, there was a
change, a threat, a barbaric, an inhumane threat.
After three years an adult girl was raped in a moving vehicle and thrown on the road after the
act – I believe rape would be a softer term to describe the pain
she had gone through. She was raped, gang raped, her private parts
were mutilated, her vagina was inserted with rods. I was small but I
could sense, if not understand, that there was something wrong that
had happened. Country/Countries protested over this act. For the very
first time rapes were taken seriously and steps were initiated. Rapes
were discussed in homes which never happened so articulately. We made
measures, were relieved and thought that a lesson had been learnt on
the cost of a living being, but little did we know that this relief
would be shot-lived.
After a year another
girl was raped. A small girl of 5 was raped and this time it was at
the school she studied. People protested, parents protested. Humanity
learnt another lesson on the cost of another living
soul.
We all thought
all the lessons were learnt. What were the lessons? A girl shouldn't wear short dresses exposing their skins. I think that was the reason
of rape. Because the girl who was gang raped was wearing a dress
which showed her belly a little, not because she had exposing
breasts, or buttocks which invited the rapists/devils. And the same
reason I found with the small girl because she was wearing skirts of
knee-length. It meant breasts, vagina, buttocks do
not attract rapists but a little show of skin does: I
was small and inferred this as the sole reason of rape and started taking precautions. I
learnt all the other lessons that were taught by my parents: do not
show your chest area, do not wear skirt, do not bend, do not smile,
do not breathe and do not live.
Time healed
everything and we lived in harmony for 4 years. There were no
more reasons to rape, no exposing of skin, no nothing. I was safe
because all the protests have made an impact and all the reasons were
terminated; with the precautions, we had made this place safe and we
all were safe; I was wrong. There was one more reason left and we
were about to learn another lesson on the cost of another body.
Unfortunately the other body is me, and fortunately it is me
not anyone else and the reason left to rape – religion.
I was taken into a
holy place, drugged, raped, gang raped, fucked, eaten, distributed, numbered, torn: my death
was postponed for fifteen more minutes because another one wanted to rape me one more time
before getting me killed, so opportunistic of him. What was my mistake? I was not wearing
anything that would expose my skin. I had no breast, a flat
chest: I was just eight. I didn't have
a buttock to excite anyone. I didn't bend. I didn't breathe and I was not living all these years, then why? Maybe all
I had was a beautiful smile, a religion,
and a name – Asifa.
I do not want you to
cry or show any sympathy because my mother has cried enough; I
want you to fight, give them an answer that neither my country stands
for such an atrocious act nor humanity would ever accept this. Fight
for me, fight for my mother, fight for your parents, fight
so that another Asifa doesn’t happen.
Yours dead
Asifa
