It was only around
ten in the morning, and there was a strong knock on the door. It was
surprising, because the knocks were usually rare, mostly at night, and always feeble.
They either sneaked in or just waited there to be summoned. Even the post-man
or the milk-man preferred to come in unseen to the world.
Aunty walked out slowly
to check who the customer was and how desperate he was.
Turned out there
was a group of five, mostly young men. She had seen their group, the youth wing
or something who apparently did good for the society. Maybe they want to try to
throw her and her whorehouse out of the village, like their predecessors tried.
Let them keep trying.
She walked out and
stood there with her hands on her hip, squinting at them.
One of the younger
men (the leader by the way he carried himself), spoke to no one in general, facing
the house, “Namasthey Ma’ji. We need no introduction. You and your girls are also
the beneficiaries of our good work. We believe in an all-inclusive society”.
He beamed with
pride, while his flunkies clapped without much enthusiasm.
“As you know, we have now adopted
the Girls Orphanage and are raising funds for running the school and the
hostel. You can also donate books, clothes, food, or whatever you can for the
well-being of the girls so that they grow up to become strong, independent
women and not go astray!”
She took her time
to take-in where he was getting to. It was very rare that someone addressed her
as “Ma’ji”.
When he said no
more, she slowly spat the pan and said coarsely, “So, you want my whorehouse to
contribute to keep girls from going astray?”
“Yes, yes!”, the leader smiled.
“Business is dull. We have no
money for food. We’ve never seen any youth wing come this way to adopt us from
going astray, let alone feed us.”
The youngsters
kept shifting their weight from leg to leg. Otherwise, no one moved. Probably
hoping to catch a glimpse of her girls, whom she had strictly forbidden from
coming out in the presence of strangers.
“Would you have books?” the fool was persistent.
“What would we have to do
with books?”
“Even old clothes would do” he had no intention of leaving.
“Let me ask the girls” she gave up.
The girls were
more than happy to part with their old clothes. It was their first experience
of giving back to a society which rarely accepted anything from them, except
for their warmth at nights. For once, they had a chance to give. And it felt
good.
Over the next two
days, they opened old trunks and pulled out clothes they had outgrown or grown
tired of – torn ones were sewn up, some were given a make-over and a few girls
were enough benevolent enough to give away a few new ones gifted by their
part-time lovers.
When the youth
wing came to collect the clothes, they were surprised. There were far more bundles
than they had anticipated, all neatly arranged.
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Donated clothes
were usually dumped into the hall, at the orphanage. No one checked what the
clothes were or how they were. They may have been dirty, torn, or simply unusable.
But the management had better things to do than sort old clothes for a bunch of
unwanted children. When the doors to the hall opened, the girls simply ran in
and grabbed whatever they could. That was how it was done. It was a game of
survival. And the mightier always won.
But this time, the
girls took their time to admire the treasure that came their way. Apart from
the regular blouses and skirts, there were silky gowns, lacey bodices,
transparent underskirts, revealing dresses, and a lot raunchier clothes.
They were shy to look.
They were ashamed to touch them. They felt guilty for wanting them, even though
they were so beautiful.
What if my friend saw me take
it?
What will they think of me?
I will look like the vamp in
the movies with all that glitter on me.
I am a good girl. How can I
wear these?
But, it only took
a few minutes for the mob mentality to set in. As soon as the first girl
grabbed and ran, all chaos broke loose. Every girl soon wanted the shortest
skirt, or the skimpiest dress.
Every girl went to
bed that night with a dress clutched to her chest. They couldn’t wear it. But they
didn’t want it stolen either. It was unlike all the dresses they had ever had. And
each of them went to sleep with a smile on their face.
However, there was
a problem.
They couldn’t wear
the clothes in daylight or at night. The warden would definitely slap them for
not reporting the clothes, let alone wearing them. Until, one day a girl came
up with the perfect solution. She wore them underneath. And topped it off with
her regular wear. That way, she could wear the clothes, and not worry of them
being stolen, nor caught. It was brilliant!
Soon, all the
girls were wearing the whores’ clothes underneath. The clothes made them feel beautiful
and confident. They magically turned them into women at night. They imagined
themselves to be heroines from the movies, who danced at the drop of a hat.
They blushed at how their lovers would love to see them in those clothes, and
fall head over heels in love with them. They wondered how they ever lived,
before having those dresses. How were they even happy!
Every now and
then, the laces from the bodices peeped out from their blouses, which they
managed to tuck back in time. Until that one time, when the warden noticed.
The girl was
stripped, to the horror of the onlookers. There she stood – the puny little
girl, with the over-sized red lacey gown not so cleverly hidden under her white
school uniform shirt.
The warden ordered
a strip-search. Which was soon followed by a search and seizure. The girls
tried hiding the clothes in vegetable baskets in the kitchen, the dump-bins,
and some even threw them over the compound wall hoping to retrieve them later
when they were allowed on their weekly outing. A lucky few got away when they
got innovative – hiding them into tiffin boxes or in between library books.
The warden was
amazed at the loot. She ordered the clothes be dumped into the courtyard and
doused with kerosene. And all the girls were assembled. They were to watch as
the beautiful pieces were lit on fire. The girls wailed as if it were their
parents’ funeral pyres.
The warden summoned
the Youth Wing. She had kept the red gown as evidence, to show the leaders. When
presented with the evidence, the leaders handled it gently, as if the gown would
break, some passed their fingers over the material, some held on to it without
passing it over, and some even sniffed at it. At the end of the discussion, the
decision was unanimous. The whorehouse had corrupted the minds of the young
girls, beyond repair. And they deserved to be punished.
The warden vowed
to be more diligent in the future. After all the girls were her children. She
was devout to keep them safe from the evils of the world.
That night, she
went to bed with a smile on her face. The gown fit her better.
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There were
multiple knocks on the door this time. Strong and demanding to be heard.
The group was larger.
It had the fool from the Youth Wing, most of the self-appointed village leaders,
old men, children and a few women as well. The warden stood along with a few of
her orphan girls who held a banner which read:
“Throw them out,
They tainted our minds”.
They tainted our minds”.
She knew this was
trouble, but she couldn’t hide the sarcasm, “We don’t have any more clothes
to donate. My girls too need clothes, at least until it gets dark.”
“If you don’t leave the
village by night, we will ensure you don’t need any”, sneered some voices from the mob.
“But, why should we leave?”
“She’ll tell you why”, screamed the warden nudging one of the
girls.
The girl was still sad that she lost her lacy gown. But she knew this
was her opportunity to make up for her grave mistake and get back on the good
books of the warden. That meant she could be on the list of those lucky girls,
who got to take turns to massage the warden’s feet, sitting under the fan and watching
TV.
“Tell her beta. Don’t be
scared”, the youth
wing leader encouraged.
The girl stepped
forward, straightened her collar, folded her arms and parroted away what she
had taken hours to byheart,
“Because your clothes take
girls away from the path of righteousness.
Because your clothes bring dishonorable feelings that should never occur to women
of grace.
Because your clothes make men immoral and salacious.
Because your clothes make the society lewd and filthy.”
The leader beamed
with more pride, and his flunkies clapped more enthusiastically this time.
“Enough of this thamasha! You
came to my doorstep and begged for my clothes. If you don’t want them, throw
them away. How dare you insult me like this?”, Aunty was losing her patience.
“We
don’t want your clothes, nor you and nor your filthy girls”
“Are
you trying to recruit?”
“Why
don’t you all die? This village needs cleansing”
It was late night when
Aunty and her girls finally left the house. They didn’t have much to pack. They
didn’t own much, except for temporary lovers. The mob had turned violent. A brick
brushed her forehead, leaving a gaping wound. One of the villagers even tried to
undress her. Her girls had to rush out and beg to the village leaders for
mercy. They were given time until dusk to move out.
Clients who didn’t
know came knocking until late. She turned them away and many left with heavy
hearts. Some men broke down saying they could cry only there. Some vowed
revenge. Some claimed they will ensure this temple of love remained.
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She set up her new
place not so far away. Business went on as usual. After all, where were
beautiful women not well received?
And one night,
well after the wee-hours, there was a feeble knock.
She was shocked to
see the youth wing leader and his flunkies at her doors again.
“Please don’t harm us! We can’t
run anymore and we have nothing to offer you”, cried out Aunty, worried what they’d ask now.
“Oh, but you do”, he smiled sheepishly scratching his head,
and running his fingers over his pockets, which bulged with bundles of fresh
notes.
