Scars of yonder

(This is the writer’s tryst with an unfortunate victim of acid attack trying to come out of self-imposed hiding—A work of fiction though)

Scars of yonder

I hear the chirping of the birds with the early sunrise. What a sweet sound to awaken to. Unfortunately I cannot go out and feel the morning breeze on my face because I am wary of been seen by anyone lest I frighten them, since I have been frightengly scared beyond hope.

Let me tell you I was not born this way, in fact I was a beautiful young girl born to average parents in a lower middle class family. Life was so joyful when I could go out and play with anyone as a young girl. I had many friends and was looked upon in our group as being the prettiest. I grew up to be a young woman with strong and good features that attracted many suitors. It is only when boys would try to establish contact with me that I realised that I was after all pretty.

After high school, I got admission into college and so my list of academic qualifications grew as did my list of suitors. It was difficult to tackle the many who would try to make friends or would simply propose. Others would whistle or pass lewd comments to attract my attention. Since I was grown up and understood the ways of the world, I kept a neat distance and wondered about my daily routine.

However this one chap who refused to take no for an answer changed the face of my existence for ever. One fine morning as I was walking back from college, he approached me and proposed again to me. I got annoyed at his ways and rebuked him no end. The woman in me wanted to be treated with dignity and respect, and I did not mince words explaining this to him.

However the rascal that he is, I was thrown back by a stream of hot liquid that came out of his hands, I did not know what happened, as I writhed in pain and shouted and cried out while the rascal scooted.. God knows what happened after that and I do not want to remember as the agony forces me to drain away all my emotions. Now, whenever I lie in bed and try to think about it, I get angry and fume at myself, at the universe, at my friends and neighbours for abandoning me. I blame everyone for scarring me by their acts of passiveness.

The boy who marred my life for ever did go to jail but is now roaming free after having completed his sentence, while I am left to feel imprisoned to a lifetime behind the veil. Are a few years in jail enough punishment for having scarred an innocent’s life? Are a few years in jail enough to cover up for the pain, for a lifetime lost? Is it enough to wash away the shame of a lifetime?

Doctors say fixing my face will be a lengthy process and the cost enormous, out of bounds for me who cannot even step outside the house least of all find suitable employment. I am scarred for life and no amount of fretting or fuming, no sympathies will alter my fate. I am afraid to look into the mirror lest I scare myself. People I consider as my very own started to avoid me, I have no friends now no sympathizers, no enemy except the one in my head. Such is the enormity of my wound that no amount of counselling could help me find succour.

However over the years I have realised that the best way to tackle this monster in the head was to come out and speak for one self and for other unfortunate victims. This new found imitative has given me a sense of purpose in life. I now go around and help victims like myself and try to organise them to respond to life’s misery through grit and determination. I am determined to let people know, to speak to the world, and ask them to reconcile to my fate.

Robin Varghese

Mail to: robin_vargh@yahoo.com

August 01, 2013