Our Impossible Love by Durjoy Datta

  ‘You’re overthinking this, Ankit. They are usually too busy being disappointed in me to be disappointed in you,’ I said.

  He laughed.

  ‘Wait. Why don’t you tell them you had a nervous breakdown? That you were overworked! They would totally freak out . . .’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea, Danish. You could tell them that you found me on the floor, frothing from the mouth or something. That will scare them,’ he said.

  ‘And mention the equity to them over and over again,’ I said. ‘Fourteen crores is a lot of money.’

  ‘Thanks, Danish,’ he said. ‘And sorry for the job loss.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  ‘Do you want to drink?’ I asked.

  ‘No reason why we shouldn’t.’

  We drank and drained what we couldn’t into the commode.

  Our parents threw a fit once we were back. Things settled down once Ankit told them fake stories about his deteriorating health, the nervous breakdowns, the irregular heart activity, and the recent deaths of three overworked entrepreneurs, which totally freaked them out but got them off his back.

  I called the principal and he told me my job was still there if I wanted it. I was reinstated.

  ‘Seems like you get to spend more time with Aisha, bro?’ said my brother.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘It’s time you make your move. Didn’t she break up recently?’

  ‘Yes, she did but I don’t think she likes me that much.’

  42

  Aisha Paul

  I was in a good space.

  Keeping quiet was working out quite well for me. There were still a few hours in a day when I felt violated, assaulted, depressed and suicidal, but the feeling would pass soon enough. I hoped it would die with time. I had designated corridors for myself where I was sure of not bumping into Vibhor who had not stopped calling and texting, telling me alternatively that he loved me and thought I was a prostitute.

  Despite everything, Vibhor still reigned, walking with his pack of minions, the boys who had hit and spray-painted my brother. Sometimes they booed me, or pinched me in the alleys of the library, but I didn’t retaliate. It would only bring me more pain. I had put myself in the position I was in. I had made myself vulnerable.

  And life was good otherwise. Sarthak and I would talk over Skype for hours every day. His college was beautiful and so were his friends. He couldn’t stop smiling and telling me about all the crazy nights and awesome places he went to every day. I started living a little through him.

  There were times when I thought of telling him or my mother about what Vibhor had done and was still doing to me, but I felt that would be selfish of. It happened to me and they didn’t need to go through it. I had brought it upon myself and I needed to deal with this pain on my own.

  I had started going to the counselling sessions again. Of course, I just lied and hid everything from Danish, but seeing him every day for an hour, even if it was in his office, made me feel as if nothing had happened. It was a little time capsule that I could sit in and travel back in time when we discussed books and movies and argued like he was Danish and not Danish sir. He never pried and just let me be. I would talk to him about Sarthak and how happy he was and he listened to every word I said, nodding and smiling.

  Sometimes I cried and he would just offer me a tissue and get back to reading his book. I had wanted to tell him as well, but I was always afraid of the repercussions. He would bring in a shitstorm.

  I could already hear people saying, ‘Who would believe you?’

  That day while I was in the washroom stall hiding out a free period, I heard a few girls walk in and talk in hushed tones.

  ‘Are you really dating Vibhor?’ asked a girl.

  ‘Yes! It’s going to be so exciting!’ answered the girl. The voice sounded familiar. ‘He’s taking me out tonight.’ I opened the door ever so slightly to confirm my suspicion. It was Megha. I closed the door.

  ‘So lucky! I don’t know what he saw in that bitch,’ said Girl 1.

  ‘Such a slut she was,’ said Girl 2.

  ‘I know,’ said Megha.

  ‘Did he kiss you yet?’ asked Girl 1.

  ‘What are you wearing?’ asked Girl 2.

  ‘Are you going to do it?’ asked Girl 1.

  ‘I haven’t decided yet,’ said Megha.

  ‘He won’t listen to you,’ I thought. I opened the door and walked out. They shut up and pretended to check their lips in the mirror.

  ‘Megha,’ I mumbled. ‘You need to cancel the date. He’s not what you think he is.’

  Megha looked at the others and then at me. ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’

  ‘He ra—’

  Words dried up. I tried to mouth the words but they failed me.

  ‘You lost your chance, Aisha,’ she said, ‘now back off.’

  And saying that, she left the washroom.

  *

  ‘I need to talk to you about something.’

  ‘Come in,’ said Danish ushering me in, and closed the door behind me.

  I sat on the chair, and picked at the skin of my fingers. He pulled a chair next to me, crossed a leg over the other, and scrolled through his phone while he waited for me to talk.

  ‘Something happened,’ I said, my tongue still wanting to retreat into my throat, choke me. ‘I didn’t have sex with Vibhor.’

  ‘Okay,’ he nodded, kept his phone on the table, and looked directly at me, his eyebrows burrowed.

  ‘I was raped.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘It happened twice. Once on the day of the party and once later,’ I said and broke down in little sobs.

  ‘Tell me everything.’

  I narrated the entire incident, breaking down and howling in between, and he kept listening to me intently, offering me tissues and water.

  ‘Does anyone else know?’ he asked. ‘Your parents? Your brother?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Why didn’t you stand by your story?’

  I didn’t have to tell him why.

  ‘You were scared no one would believe you?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I do,’ he said, and got up from his chair. He started to stuff his files into his leather bag. He switched off his computer and locked his drawers. ‘Come. We need to tell your parents.’

  ‘NO,’ I cried. ‘WE CAN’T DO THAT!’

  ‘Your parents would understand,’ he said, sternly. ‘Didn’t you tell me they surprised you by how openly they had accepted your brother?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘You were assaulted. It was a crime, Aisha. You can’t just shut up about this. You have to talk. We need to inform the principal as well.’

  Tears flew abundantly and I clutched my chair just in case he thought about dragging me out.

  ‘Listen, Aisha. It wasn’t your fault. That guy is a rapist and he needs to pay for that.’

  I shook my head and kept crying and telling him I wouldn’t go, I would die but I would not tell my parents.

  He sat down, took my hand into his and asked, ‘So why did you tell me this today?’

  ‘Megha,’ I said. ‘She’s going out with him today. I was just afraid he would do it again.’

  ‘And whose fault is that?’ he said.

  I didn’t answer. He sat down and asked me to look at him.

  ‘Aisha, you getting raped isn’t your fault but keeping shut about it is your fault. What can potentially happen to Megha is your fault. Do it before it’s too late.’

  ‘I can’t do it,’ she said. ‘He’s powerful. He will ruin me. He . . . beat up my brother.’

  ‘What!’

  I told him about the incident in the football locker room. Angry, he threw the paperweight that lolled on his table against the wall and it shattered to little pieces.

  ‘That fucking bastard! You need to fight this. We need to tell your parents. What are you scared of? And stop thinking about how powerful he is. We will figure that out.
’

  ‘What will my parents think? They will never love me again.’

  ‘That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard, Aisha. There’s no one who knows you and doesn’t love you,’ he said. ‘Trust me.’

  43

  Danish Roy

  Before leaving the school, I talked to the principal about the incident and he told me all necessary action could only be taken after an FIR was lodged and the investigation proved Aisha was telling the truth. Also, Vibhor’s name could not be let out because he was not eighteen yet, and his parents were not the type who would take this lightly. He told me I had his support in whichever way I wanted.

  I felt pure, raw anger while we hurtled towards Aisha’s house. I had to close my eyes and imagine myself slowly torturing Vibhor, picking out one tooth after another, skinning him alive, to temper it. An hour later, we were sitting on the couch in her house, her parents in front of us.

  ‘What’s the matter,’ her father asked, scared. ‘Did she fail her exams?’

  Her mother came and sat next to her and took Aisha in her embrace. She wiped her tears.

  ‘Calm down, Aisha, you can take the exams next year. There’s no need to cry,’ she told her and Aisha burst out into more tears.

  ‘It’s not her exams,’ I clarified.

  ‘Then, what is it?’ asked her mother.

  I narrated the incident with as much objectivity as I could manage. Once finished, her mother covered her mouth with her saree and cried into it for a few brief seconds before she wiped off her tears, and asked Aisha, ‘Are you okay, are you okay, why didn’t you tell me! You tell me everything! Why did you hide this?’

  ‘I thought you would not love me any more. You trusted me and I betrayed that trust. You let me go out with him and this happened,’ Aisha kept repeating.

  ‘I am here, beta, I’m here,’ she said and kissed her all over.

  Her father sat there, stunned, and then with trembling hands took out his phone and called his friend, asking him to come over. He sat there, unmoving with his head in his palms. Half an hour later, his friend, a doctor, came home and we sat with him in the living room. Things weren’t looking good.

  ‘It’s been too many days. She has showered since then. If there was any tearing it would have healed by now.’

  ‘There should be something we can do,’ said the father, holding his friend’s hand, begging. ‘Something. Something that proves it. Kuchh to hoga, yaar. Aise mat bol, dost. You can’t tell me there is nothing we can do.’

  The doctor shook his head. Mostly to humour her father, he took Aisha and her mother to the adjoining room, ran a few diagnostic tests, and found nothing. Before leaving he hugged Aisha’s father and offered his help if he needed anything. Her father cried openly now.

  Aisha and her mother came out of the room, Aisha clinging on to her for dear life, both wiping their tears.

  ‘We should inform the police. He has to pay for this,’ said her father.

  I nodded.

  Aisha looked on, horrified. ‘No! I won’t be able to go to school!’

  ‘I will be there,’ I said.

  ‘NO! JUST NO!’

  She threw her hands up, stomped her feet, and stopped only after her mother restrained her.

  ‘Aisha, think about Megha and all the others. If he gets away this time, he will repeat it,’ I said.

  ‘I just want things to go back to normal,’ she said, and slumped on the sofa.

  She dug her face in her knees and cried.

  We left for the police station in about an hour. It took another painful retelling of the incidents from Aisha. The cops looked at her in disbelief, already blaming her for what happened in their heads, scorning at the parents for being irresponsible while they listened. Had there not been a kind lady police officer present during the time Aisha talked, they would have thrown us out of the police station. The FIR was registered and the statements of Namrata and Norbu, who had joined us at the police station, were taken down.

  That evening, Vibhor was arrested. He got out on bail within fifteen minutes. Three days later, the summer vacations started.

  *

  ‘Should we get him picked up?’ Ankit said later that night.

  ‘And do what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Beat the bastard up,’ he said. ‘Should we put up a picture on Facebook with all the shit he has done? Why don’t we run a Facebook campaign? I will sponsor it. It will get a million hits in a day.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why the fuck not? We will destroy him. No matter what happens in the court, he will be a rapist for life. Everyone will know he got away because he’s rich.’

  ‘Innocent till proven guilty, Ankit.’

  ‘But you know he did it, right?’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But let’s not encourage mob justice. How different will that be from those people who lynch a guy because he’s a suspected rapist?’

  ‘But he’s not suspected. You know—’

  ‘You get my point.’

  ‘Whatever,’ he said. He put his arm around me. ‘But I’m proud of you. You handled it right.’

  ‘What handled it, yaar? There’s no hard evidence. Everything points against her. The pictures, the students, everything. No one is going to believe her.’

  ‘You believed her.’

  ‘. . .’

  ‘I wish more people did,’ he said. ‘You should make them.’

  *

  We didn’t stand a chance in court.

  Despite Ankit’s support and his money and my parent’s lawyers, we got decimated in a fast-track court, and things got really ugly once the pictures and the texts surfaced. Their lawyer went on a carefully rehearsed rant about young drunk girls regretting their wilfully made choices the morning after. We had no case.

  Vibhor got off scot-free. He mouthed the words, fuck you bitch, before he left the courtroom. Aisha didn’t leave her house for many weeks after the case ended. The summer vacations had started before anyone got to know about the court case and that saved Aisha a lot of grief. But slowly, the case and the result was common knowledge amongst the students. Anonymous accounts on Facebook and Twitter called Aisha a vengeful slut. The boys of the school started to throw facts about fake rape reports filed to harass young men, and the girls started to project her as one of the reasons why even real instances of rape aren’t reported.

  ‘Do you think we should tell Sarthak?’ asked the father.

  ‘No,’ the mother said. ‘Let him be. He has just joined college.’

  Her mother served Ankit, Namrata, Norbu and me tea and biscuits. She had held herself better than Aisha’s father in the past few days, shuttling between meetings with lawyers and psychiatrists and comforting Aisha.

  ‘Sir, what did you decide on the school?’ I asked. ‘Did you get time to go through the brochures?’

  Her father shook her head.

  ‘New Era is a good school,’ said Norbu. ‘Great academic programme. Their principal is quite nice too. I considered it when I was shifting schools.’

  ‘Even BBPS,’ added Namrata.

  ‘I went through the brochures,’ said the mother. ‘I don’t think she should shift to another school. I don’t want her to run from this.’

  ‘But I talked to the principal. Vibhor is staying on in the school. He told me it’s not in his hands. He’s helpless—’

  ‘I think Aunty’s right,’ said Ankit.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked her father.

  ‘She shouldn’t change her school, the boy should. A new school won’t change anything. She will spend her life being scared. I don’t want that,’ she said.

  ‘But she’s not even taking psychiatric help, how do you think she will agree to go back to school? It would be so hostile,’ her father said, close to tears.

  We looked at Namrata and Norbu. Namrata stammered and stuttered before she could say anything intelligible.

  ‘They still think she lied. The sympathy is with him . . . I don’t think—?
??

  Ankit rolled his eyes. We slumped.

  ‘Danish will be there,’ said the mother and looked at me.

  I nodded to reassure her.

  ‘She has to fight this.’ She held her husband’s hand. ‘And she will. We will help her. If she changes schools, it will look like she was at fault. She’s not. We need to constantly tell her that.’

  ‘So, it’s decided,’ said Ankit. ‘She’s going back to school.’

  ‘Should we ask her?’ I asked.

  ‘If that’s what Maa wants, I will go back to school.’

  We all turned to see Aisha standing at the door. Her hair was dishevelled and she had dark circles from sleepless nights. ‘I will go back.’

  Her mother smiled, and rushed to hug her.

  ‘That’s like the Aisha I know.’

  44

  Aisha Paul

  My parents booked a cab for me the first day.

  Norbu and Namrata sat by my side, holding my hand the entire way, telling me that it wouldn’t be as bad as I thought it would be. Did they know how I imagined school? How I imagined myself standing at the edge of the roof, staring down, wanting to jump and end it all and yet not find the courage to do so? Did they know anything? I walked into the school nervously, my eyes stuck on the marble pattern on the floor, Norbu and Namrata constantly whispering assurances in my ear.

  When I looked up, I saw friends of Vibhor huddled in the corner. They booed, surrounded me and called me a slut, threatened to beat up Norbu, gag Namrata’s mouth and fuck her skull. I tried not to cry, be strong, keep my chin up, just as my mother had asked me to. They spat on me before leaving for class.

  We ran to our own class once they left, and took the last seats as usual. Our physics teacher taught us Fission, and never once looked in my direction. Clusters of students talked in hushed and accusatory tones, throwing sidelong glances and rolling their eyes, calling me an actress.

  The class ended and I collected my books. A little chit fell out from the desk. I took it and walked to the basement, somewhere I knew I could hide, head hung low. Namrata and Norbu stayed back to catch up on assignments.