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Stories He switched on the tape recorder. She did not speak a word. She was hearing her own voice coming from the tape recorder in rapt attention. Five minutes passed. And suddenly there was a thundering shout from behind. The two looked in the direction of the sound. On the road opposite to his room the husband of that village girl was standing. " Badmash! I know you will come here. You bitch," he came to her, seized her by her hair, hit and flinged her to the wall. Not satisfied, he pulled her out on to the street, dragging her in the sand and kicking her intermittently, ' What do you call this, whore! Isn't it flirting? Born to defame your community, bitch." He continued his spree of rebukes and beating till he was exhausted. Putting up with his rage and violence, bearing the injuries, she did not leave the child. Her husband pulled the boy away from her and flung him onto the road. The child whimpered like a chicken. For ten minutes the violence continued unabated. Until after ten people gathered and seized him from all sides, he did not leave her. Still angry, he spat out and warned her that he would see her end if she dared entering the Thanda, and left the scene. The village girl was lying unconscious in the middle of the road. Nobody was sure if she was dead or alive. He stood spell bound in his room. The boy walked up to his mother wailing, and held one of the uncovered breasts and started sucking. There were bruises everywhere... Bloody wounds. The breast did not give out milk. The boy wasn't aware why. Tape recorder continued pouring out music. The voice merged into the song, as would a cataract into the sea. That cataract... flooding the people... from dust and mote, through the green foot paths up the hill, passing through the deep dark forest valleys, touching the abysses meeting the skies... was running along with time. January 15, 2006
The Week of January 15, 2006
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