She sat wondering why she was dying now.
Now, when her father was hospitalized.
His arm was broken.
There was a fracture on his skull.
Looked like he'd lose one eye as well.
He had survived a murder attempt.
Her mother was also away.
Couldn't reach her or meet her.
Not even by phone.
Apparently all those privileges are denied, when you are in jail.
For attempting to murder your husband.
But her mother tried to kill him to make her survive.
Now, all that was in vain.
She was dying.
She did not deserve to die though. She was so young.
"I'm not even 12! Why me? Why now?"
She was sure it was cancer. In her tummy.
She was in pain for a day before. And now, she was bleeding from below.
She continued to stare into the bloody closet.
Her mother had been arrested the previous day. Along with her - her only child. The policemen were grilling her to see if she'd break down and give in - for conspiring with her mother, for the attempt on her father's life.
That's when Aunty, her mother's friend, walked in with a lawyer. And money. Apparently it was a serious offence. Trying to murder someone. That too a man. The victim being a policeman did not help.
Her mother couldn't be let go on bail. But she was allowed to walk out with the duo. Aunty magnanimously offered to take her home. She was thankful that she didn't have to spend the night under the prying eyes of the officers at the police station. She was always scared of policemen.
She was surprised at how calm Aunty's home was. Uncle was also very nice. He was not drunk at night nor was he screaming at Aunty. They had dinner together and uncle even offered a prayer! He hugged his 2 boys before they went to bed. He did not threaten to kill them, when Aunty went to sleep.
Her stomach pain started soon. She somehow managed to sleep through it. But she woke up feeling wet. She was so ashamed that she wet the bed and rushed into the bathroom to change before anyone else knew.
She did not expect to see blood.
She was wondering if she should tell Aunty or just accept her slow death.
The knock on the door brought her back to her senses. Aunty stood there. With her bed sheets rolled into a bundle, in her hands. She offered her some kind of a white tissue and asked, 'Is this your first period?'
What ensued, she couldn't follow. Aunty asked her if she was in pain. She said this was normal. She was a woman now. It was a good and joyous occasion (how can anything that's got to do with pain and blood be joyful?).
The toughest part was the napkin. Walking around with it was a nightmare. She soiled herself no matter what. Disposing the napkins was worse. She just couldn't get to roll it right. The newspaper always tore. She touched the blood.
She just wanted to puke.
She wanted to rewind the past 2 days. She wanted to go home to her spot near the bed. Where she spent countless nights under the blanket, trying to silence the horrific screams and sound of thrashings.
A year later, the murder attempt was forgotten. The crime already forgiven by the court of law. It was an attempt in retaliation to save one's own life. The verdict was in favor of her mother. Soon, her parents chose to be together again. Her father vowed to change his ways. And never drink. Nor abuse his wife. Her mother agreed to move in, back with him. For the sake of her daughter. For at her wedding, whenever it happened, only her father could give her away.
Her period kept coming. Every month. And she hated it. As she had only bad memories about it. Womanhood had chosen to come her way, when she had absolutely no one, to fall back on. She felt it deprived more of her, than it gave her.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
She had outgrown her blanket. It couldn't keep the sounds of the thrashings away any more. And they were also adamant. They kept coming at her with vengeance.
Like her period.
