“Some people beat me, bite me and even tie me up” – Shibika Thapa, Runner Up, Wordism Kartik

Writer: Shibika Thapa

When a person works hard for a living, they are appreciated, they are praised. But there are some people who work hard, cry harder but not heard but hated. They have different names, one in all languages but there are few who know their story. They don’t live in a society but they have their own, a dark world rather. Let me tell you a story, a story of a mother.

It was a year back when I started working as a primary school teacher in a school nearby. I came across so many parents and their ideas of bringing up their children but there was a woman who shocked me. She left her daughter an hour before the school started and came to take her very late. Sometimes I had to drop her home as she lived nearby. My mom always hated the idea of me going to her home but she never told me the reason and I never asked for it. One day it was late and like always I hold her hand and walked her home but for my shock her house was locked so I took her to my home instead. My mother offered me tea and she offered the small girl some biscuits and water and asked her where she lived but then my mom had a different expression. She wasn’t sad but had an expression of disgust, she told me to take her away in a rage. I had never seen this side of her, not yet at least. I hurriedly took her to her home before my mom created a scene and thank god her mom stood outside waiting for her. I wanted to start a conversation but she ended it with a thanks and banged the door on my face.

Tihar had already started, people had started shopping. I could see all the children happy as they would have their holidays soon except Maya. Maya was the little girl I always talked about. She was different from the other students, she was a bright student though but very silent. She hardly spoke anything but I could notice some changes past someday. She was less concentrated in class and always seemed lost. since I was their class teacher I called her mother. But she didn’t come, the next day Maya also didn’t come and she was absent the next day too. Before I could do something the holiday started. my mom had made some selrotis and I decided to visit Mayas home and take some selrotis with me. their house wasn’t decorated with lights, I knocked the door. Maya opened and greeted me and called me inside. Inside her mother laid in the bed covered in blankets but she still shivered. I handed Maya the selrotis and sat beside her mom. She told me her story, the story I want all of you to hear.

“My husband left me and me as an illiterate got no jobs. I use to clean utensils but the money wasn’t enough to fill my and Maya’s stomach. I begged for jobs but I didn’t get any. Maya was an year old when she got ill and I had no money for her hospital bills. This is when I sold myself for the first time. It wasn’t easy but my daughter was alive and nothing made me happier. As the time passed by, my skin, my body became the source of my income. My food is cooked by the money of my body. The society calls me a prostitute but choosing this field wasn’t my interest but my conditions forced me to be one. this society has their own way of looking at things but very few wonder why all of these happens. I run my family alone, all by myself and if my body can keep my child alive I aint stop doing it. Some of my customers are married and some aren’t,some lying to their wives and some to their families don’t they became a prostitute then? but only we have names. They come to us because they aren’t happy but they don’t look at our eyes full of tears. Everyday I stay there prepared to loose a part of me but then I stay strong because I have a girl to look after. Everyday I meet vultures, the vultures who want to rip all the pieces of meat that’s left. Some people beat me, bite me and even tie me up because they want to confess all of their anger on me. In this world I knew people have two faces, one good and the other evil. I am not as strong as before, I am gradually becoming weak. My body cannot handle the pain again for more now. People see my marks, my wounds and say she deserves it but only I know how much it hurts. I don’t see the people and society now but my child’s happiness matters more. I worked even more because I wanted Maya to have a wonderful Tihar, I wanted to lit my house like everyone else. I lay here sick, in pain but looking her enjoying the patakas and delicious food all my pain vanishes away.”

My eyes were full of tears but I controlled myself and asked for leave. I wondered whole night about the pain she is going through but I cant help her actually no one can. She walked a path from where there is no coming back. I thought what do labors do? they too sell their body and sweat to keep themselves alive but they are not hated but respected. We even celebrate “labor’s day” but when a woman sells her body works hard she is disgusted hated and thrown away, when girls do night shifts they are respected and called a hard worker but when a girl sells her body to a man she is called a prostitute. People think they do a fun job but the tears that are hidden are ignored. Even the men hate them but have no objection to sleep with them. A joker too makes everyone happy but they aren’t happy themselves. A woman also sells her body to satisfy men, make them happy but look for yourselves what place have we given to them? A mother can do anything for her child, can do any extremes lets feel the pain she is going through and plus the pressure of society she faces. I cant tolerate being stared for even a second and she’s stared all the way she walks. We should understand that

Behind every smile and behind every hidden face lies a story, untold, unheard and it shouldn’t be ignored too.

Tihar is a festival of new hope and from this Tihar lets promote “If no respect no hatred either” spread love and happiness this Tihar.
Happy Tihar !!

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