That Night…
Can retribution be justice?
“What are you watching?” I was startled when Ma came in. The room was dark except for the fluorescent glow of Prime Time News.
“Oh, nothing,” I put down my coffee and frantically looked for the remote. Where is the mute button!
“I know you are watching the report on the mercy petition. It’s ok… You don’t have to hide it from me.” Ma took off her wristwatch and put it on the table. Her face half-lit in the shadow of the lamp. She glances at the TV and her jaw clenches. The images of the four convicts of Nirbhaya case appeared on the screen. I try to quickly change it, but end up on another news channel. The infographic flashed in bright red: “THE DEATH PENALTY DEBATE…”, she read it out loud. “Tahole ekhono era DEBATE korbe?!” (oh, so these people will still debate?!).
“Oh, Mitra, you’re back. How’s Sudha doing?” It has been pouring all evening. Baba had gone out for a walk. No matter what season, he always carries a giant umbrella that could easily accommodate a whole neighbourhood. Yet, he manages to be a little drenched every time.
“Doctor gave her medicines.” Ma took off her rings, her mangalsutra, as she briefed her husband. “I dropped her home and asked her to take a week off or however long she needs. Mithu hasn’t returned since last night. I’m hoping he lets her be for some time now.”
Sudha didi works as a domestic help in our colony and Mithu, her husband, is a rickshaw puller who would also do odd jobs in the neighbourhood — gardening, getting groceries, delivering things from one house to another. He would mostly be seen with his head bowed and a faint smile. But once the sun sets, he is a different man. He would return home a little angry, a little drunk and vent out his day’s frustration on Sudha didi.
“Hmm… I will go see her some time tomorrow, in case she needs anything”, Baba sighed. “By the way, Mimi, I really liked your piece. Thoughtful and well analysed… Is it true? The thing you wrote about judges in trial court being incentivized to get more and more death penalties?”
“Yeah, but that is really the least of it. What is even more horrifying is that most men on the death row are falsely convicted to exonerate those who can pay their way out of the legal system. And again Baba, I didn’t write any of this. I interviewed people who have studied Capital Punishment all their lives — judges, social activists — and that is what they told me. In fact — ”
“It is one thing “studying” criminals, and another when you are on the receiving end of their crime… Only mothers know what it feels like… that poor woman has been wandering from post to pillar for all these years seeking justice… Law has made a joke out of her… You think those uncultured scumbags can be redeemed?… Asole oi jaat tai orom… bikrito manoshikota” (Actually, that entire class is that way… it’s just perverted mentality).
My mother is fifty-five,same age as Baba, and the CEO of an MNC. She is what they call “a woman in a man’s world” — a hard-earned title which she quite enjoys. She’s the boss in her office and at home. She is used to getting her way. No one dares cross her. Not even her daughter.
“Ma, kon jaat?”, I asked with my eyes on the coffee mug tightly gripped in my hands.
“What?”
“You just said, ‘they all belong to that jaat’. As far as I know criminals are criminals, they do not belong to any particular class.”
“So you are saying their education, upbringing, socialization has got nothing to do with why they commit crimes? They see a woman on the streets, educated, unattainable and it drives them crazy. God alone knows how the law still allows them to live.”
“All I am saying is that any violence, especially gender violence, has got little to do with which class you belong to; did you forget all those times when you, or someone you knew, had to be on guard as a woman in a corporate? M.J Akbar, Alok Nath, Vikas Bahl, all upper class, educated, men well established in their professional fields, were called out during MeToo and…”
“Don’t be dramatic, Mimi. Of course I realise what those women had to go through. But what you activists conveniently forget is that statistics also show that most rapists…”
“What statistics?? I’m sorry to say Ma, but now you’re sounding like those bhakts who believes all Muslims are terrorists”
As soon as those words escaped my mouth I felt an aftertaste of guilt. I knew I was being facetious. A part of me wanted to take it all back but my ego reigned me in.
“Mimi, stop… you bloody well know the difference between bigotry and statistics… And would you let me finish what I was saying! Why do you always already assume that I am in the wrong?”
“Acha, hoeche, hoeche” (Okay, stop now). You two bicker like kids, you know… Mimi, aay na,sit with us. Let’s talk about something else.”
I don’t want to fight Ma, but neither of us were in the mood for pleasantries. “Baba, I would, but ektu kaaj ache” (I have some work), I made an excuse. “I have this article to finish that I’ll have to put out tomorrow. I’ll see you guys at dinner.”
It’s the warehouse… I am running…they’re looking down on me… faces, hands, teeth… they are everywhere… black, red, white… Voices, eyes… they bleed into each other… It’s all so dark… the cicadas incessant buzz numbs me… I hear them… they are laughing… the bus honks and honks louder, LOUDER…
“Arre, Phone ta kokhon theke bajche!!!” (Arre, the phone has been ringing for so long…) I woke up to the crescendo of my mother’s voice and a blaring landline. The warehouse had disappeared and I was back in my room. I could feel the sweat dripping down my neck. I swiftly wiped it off on my sweatshirt sleeve.
22:30 — I checked my phone. The rain had stopped for a while but the winds were still high. She closed the window and picked up the papers that fell scattered all over the floor. “Sudha called to say she’ll come tomorrow”, her voice a mix of concern and confusion.“I’m guessing Mithu has come back.”
“So, what now?”, I sat up and grabbed a hair tie from the bedside drawer.
“I don’t know why she won’t file a FIR against him.”
“Because chances are no one will believe her.” I gulped down the half-filled glass on the table. She looked at me knowingly.
“I’m sorry I overreacted earlier… but this is what I was trying to tell you, Ma. The statistics don’t even reflect half the story. Whether it is at office, or at home, most cases go unreported because the victims are overwhelmed by shame. The legal or the medical system does little to help the situation. Their ‘well meaning’ interventions make us feel that somewhere we are at fault. Unless we are able to remove the stigma from the victim and attach it to the perpetrators, we shall never truly be empowered… And of course, Sudha won’t say anything. This is marital rape we’re talking about. Even if she does, the law has no provisions.”
“Ei to bhaab hoe geche dekhchi. Ebar khaoar ta baari? (I see the mother and daughter have reconciled. Can we please have dinner now?) As Baba started serving dinner, Ma went around the table pouring water in the glasses. “Then let the law not bother at all, na. Just hand over the scoundrels to the mob or let them be shot to death like they were in Hyderabad. That’s what they deserve.”
“And then what? The police can open fire on anyone as an excuse for encounter?” I could feel the quiet rage bubbling in my gut.
“The police didn’t fire on just about ‘anyone’. These people don’t change, Mimi. They were rapists and murderers who snubbed the life of that girl, and we want justice. ”
“So the State now has a right to kill them in return. Retributive justice? An eye for an eye? Then there’s no longer any checks or balances in who the State kills and for what. That’s pretty convenient…”
“Unbelievable Mimi. How can you sympathise with the perpetrators and not the victim?”
I did not want to look at her. I was amazed by how easily my own mother could pick at my wounds. But whenever it felt unbearable, I would remind myself that she too was hurting inside.
“Because for me it is a moral absolute. No one should have the right to kill —”
“So can you guarantee that they would not continue in their ways once released from jail…”
I feel defeated.
“No, I can’t… I understand your frustration but Ma, in a democracy the judiciary is not supposed to dance to the dictates of mob justice… And if people have that moral right, why is there no plea for hanging those responsible for Rohit Vemula’s suicide?”
For a moment, there was silence in the room. I was pleased to have taken her off guard. Mitra closed her eyes and bowed her head. “You think I support that?… but that’s not a conversation for today.”
“ –why Ma, because it is not sexual assault? Well, let’s discuss rape then. Bhanwari Devi’s case was momentous in establishing the Vishakha guidelines, yet the convicts were later acquitted of all charges… Remember Unnao? the perpetrator was a former MP; or the Kathua case where BJP ministers supported those accused? IS THERE A DEMAND FOR THEM TO BE HANGED? OR ARE YOU AS A FEMINIST NOT OUTRAGED ENOUGH BECAUSE THEY WERE UPPER CASTE HINDU MEN AND THEIR VICTIMS MUSLIMS OR THE LOWERMOST RUNG OF THE SOCIETY?”
“Hold on, are you now asking for them to be hanged? I thought you were against capital punishment?”
My mother can be extremely cold and calculated. She knows how to twist and turn my words. Why is she being so obtuse and relentless!! Or am I… not being able to explain myself?!
“You know that’s not what I am saying. I am simply trying to argue that there’s something fundamental to this problem that we as a society fail to realise. Rape is hardly about desire or sex; It is about domination and control. Men violate women as a means to feel powerful. And that happens usually because of two main reasons: their sense of entitlement, or their feeling of helplessness in other areas of life.”
“O bas, tahole to hoei gelo (well, it is resolved then). They cannot be blamed for their actions since they too are a victim of their circumstances, isn’t it?? Kudos, let’s be proud of how liberal we are, now that we have stopped holding people accountable for their actions… Mimi, when a part of your body has rotten, there’s no gain trying to save it. You chop it off to save the rest.”
“And what if the whole body has started to rot? Only that it doesn’t appear so on the surface. We sever one part, unaware that the poison runs in our blood. It is a systemic problem, Ma. All those times when Baba mandated that I return home early, or you disapproved of my sleeveless dress, or I quietly obeyed all your injunctions, we have legitimised gender policing. Contrary to what you think Ma, I am holding people accountable; not just those four men, but all of us. Hanging Nirbhaya’s rapists is not the cure, it is simply a band-aid on a deep gash. It might bring momentary relief, but underneath the wound still festers.”
“If you think death sentences are atrocious, how else do you bring closure to a family who has lost everything to those men?”
Silence. She thinks she has got me. Perhaps she has. Not a single day goes by where I haven’t asked myself — if not death, then what?
“I don’t know. Life imprisonment in a solitary cell? Victim Impact Statement? I DON’T KNOW. All I know is that Nirbhaya wasn’t the first, and she definitely isn’t the last, and it is naive to think that death will serve as a deterrent. People talk about it as if it’s traffic violation, like once you raise the degree of punishment people will abstain, that they will be more careful about their actions. Rape is not a mistake or an accident. Most criminals believe that what they did was justified, that they had the right to assault a woman because they were teaching them a lesson. If that is the notion, capital punishment will only incentivize murder of the victims. Women will be killed lest they speak up. Just the other day I shared so many articles on these debates. Do you even open those links I send…
“So, you happy today?” Mitra’s voice was stern. “I’m hoping that you have fulfilled your civic duty… those four parasites of the society… their mercy petition has been granted, isn’t it? Is there any other rally, or candlelight march on the cards… for peace and forgiveness and what not…? Perhaps asking them to be let loose scot-free?”
Be calm Mimi, I told myself. You know she’s provoking you. Do not react.
“Ah, Mitra, drop it already.”
“No Susheel, your daughter would have to answer me today. Tell me Mimi, does it not bother you that Sudha is tortured every day? That every time Mithu forces himself on her she wishes she would rather be dead?’’
I was starting to feel a little worn out.
“Did Sudha didi tell you that? That she wishes to die? Or do you think, it is better for her to be dead?’’
“How dare you?… And I don’t need to ask Sudha; is that a life where you are treated like an object for someone else’s pleasure?”
“I understand if Sudha didi feels helpless because perhaps that is what she has heard all her life: to serve her husband unquestionably. But it is quite alarming if we — who pride ourselves on being feminists — start thinking about rape as the end of the world for women. Most people support the death sentence for rapists because they believe that the crime they committed is equivalent to death. Don’t you see how that is problematic?
“What are you even talking about?”
“Ma, It furthers the idea that a woman’s life is worthy as long as she is sexually “pure”. It is the same patriarchy that allows men to rape, which also convinces women that it is virtuous to be chaste…that her dignity lies in her body and her ability to ‘offer’ it to the right man. That is a reprehensible thought, ma. It is what keeps women from even acknowledging marital rape, because to her mind, since she is not being violated by another man, her ‘honour’ is unblemished. IF ANYTHING, INSISTING THAT RAPE IS WORSE THAN DEATH, IS WHAT WILL KEEP WOMEN SILENCED FOREVER… NO ONE WANTS TO BE LOOKED AT LIKE A LIVING CORPSE.”
“THEN WHAT DO WE DO?” Mitra stood up with a start. The chair fell behind her, and the curry on the table spilled on cue. “IT BOILS MY BLOOD KNOWING THAT THEY WILL LIVE ANOTHER DAY… WE WERE ROBBED OFF OUR FREEDOM THAT NIGHT, MIMI. YOU THINK YOUR “WELL RESEARCHED” OP-EDS IS GOING TO BRING JUSTICE TO US?”
“Mitra, enough is enough, now stop it both of you.”
In a flash I was back at the warehouse. This time it was my mother looking at me. The voice in my head was screaming to be let out. Even then I could hear the incessant hum of the cicadas… and then the bus, the bussssss…
“Justice….”, a sigh escapes me. “It might not seem so but… I sometimes struggle with it. Maybe not as much as you, after all, you are my mother, but I do… Whenever I think about that night, I start questioning everything. Sometimes I even see a bus in my dreams. I can hear her scream. They did those things to me too, didn’t they…”
“Mimi, ai Mimi”, Baba rushed towards me. “taka amar dike, ar na Ma…” (No more Mimi, no more)
“I am fine, Baba. I can talk about it. It’s ok.”
“Mimi, please stop. For God’s sake Mitra, why do you have to be this to her.”
“No baba, it’s not her. I remember it all, you know. Behind that warehouse where you hear the cicadas, they took me apart, bit by bit… They were drunk and angry… cursing me… “maagir lekhar boro shokh, na re… lekh ebar” (You whore, you want to write… now write about this.) When they stripped me down, I kept telling myself, this couldn’t be it… But I was lying to myself. I was so scared I couldn’t move.”
“Mimi…”, Ma tries to put her arms around me. She suddenly seems so frail, I am afraid she’ll crumble with my touch. I clutch her hands.
– “Ma, trust me. It takes every bit of me to sit through the hearings. Sometimes I am tempted to give in. I won’t lie. I have imagined what it would feel like to end all of this, to have them die. But what difference would it make? Them being alive keeps me working towards something…all this research, writing helps me understand the system better… I am not sure if what I’m doing is right or wrong. All I know is there’s so much to be done…”
Mitra had thumped on the floor. Her hands now covering her face, tears streaming down through the gaps of her fingers. I place my hands on her head. “Ma… I know how it feels. And I know that it is hard for you. But I can’t help you Ma. It took me a long time to get here… to realise that revenge will not bring justice, not to me, not to anyone else. I am grateful to be alive. I can’t let them define me. This is my only chance, Ma... I don’t know if what I’m doing is right or wrong… but I know I will have to fight. For all those who couldn’t.”
Ma looks up, her eyes welling up an eternity of anguish. If only, I could take away her pain…
“I shall be going to the protest tomorrow. Ma, there will be many others like me there… I’m not saying its going to be easy… but you can come with us… if you want.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Sreerupa is a student of literature and a Young India Fellow, 2020. Between surviving in academia and filling up her bucket list, she likes taking long walks, humming old Hindi songs and hopes to bring world peace.
ABOUT THE STORY:
Through a dinner table conversation between Mitra and her daughter Mimi, the story explores the different facets of the death penalty debate that unfolded in the aftermath of the 2012 Nirbhaya rape case. In a democracy it is an alarming sight when people choose morally absolute positions without considering the nuances involved in meting out justice. The conversation thus struggles through some of the questions that have polarised the Indian consciousness: Is granting death to the criminals enough to prevent the crime? If not capital punishment, how else do you bring closure to the victims and their family? Is retribution justice? This story is a self reflection on the anxieties of not knowing these answers; irrespective of whether the readers find their allegiance with the mother or the daughter, the story is a humble attempt to destabilise their personal beliefs, as has been the author’s through the course of writing this piece.
