THAT PRETTY GIRL– a real story
That winter morning is still fresh in my memory. I had just sat down on my balcony with a cup of my favourite ginger tea and fresh newspaper, after finishing my routine morning chores. With the first sip, the doorbell rang. “Oh no ! don’t I deserve even a cup of tea in peace?” Mumbling to myself, I opened the door to see Geeta, my maid standing at the door. Surprised to see her, as she was on a week’s leave, owing to her daughter’s wedding, I was taken aback at her dishevelled appearance. Her clothes were in a disarray, her hands and tear-strained face covered in black soot.
“Hey Geeta! what’s wrong? What are you doing here at this time? It’s your daughter’s wedding tomorrow, isn’t it?” I asked, my mind telling me something was terribly wrong with her. My questions were answered by a fresh storm of tears, she started sobbing uncontrollably, tears flowing down her cheeks. All I could hear between her sobs was “Madam he killed my Chanda….. My Chanda… Madam please save her…”
I was shocked at her words. “What?? Who killed her? Geeta tell me” I shook her hard but she kept crying hard. I took a warm shawl and keeping some notes in my purse, I caught her hand and accompanied her to her house. She lived in a nearby slum area in a two roomed house with a thatched roof with her husband, son and her daughter Chanda, a pretty girl of 19 years.
A huge crowd was gathered outside her house, which was decorated with coloured sparkling paper strips and flowers, walls had been freshly white-washed and a multi coloured rangoli caught my eye, as I entered her house. Immediately a foul smell and lots of smoke hit my senses, but what stopped me in my tracks was much more horrible. There lay before me, covered in a half-burnt and torn blanket, that pretty girl who was to become a bride the next day. Her cries of unbearable pain were enough to tear any gentle heart. Below the tattered blanket, her once fair skin had turned black and wounds were bleeding. I couldn’t bear the terrible sight and felt my cheeks dampen with tears. A siren from an ambulance was heard outside and the crowd made way for the two attendants carrying a stretcher with them. Chanda was quickly shifted to the ambulance which took her to the hospital. Hailing an auto I took Geeta with me calling to the driver “city hospital …make it quick please” Her husband and son had gone in the ambulance.
We rushed towards the ICU, but Geeta’s face turned red with rage at the sight of a man standing just outside the door. He was a man in his thirties, dressed in a kurta pyjama, which must have been new and expensive too, but was covered with black soot and blood stains. She rushed towards him, hitting him on his chest and slapping him innumerable times, while hurling abuses at him of the lowest order possible. This must be Mohan, I realized, her son in law to be. Things were becoming somewhat clear to me now, but the question that still lingered in my mind was “why? Why did he do this, that too just a day before the wedding?”
The ICU door opened, doctor and the area police inspector came out. Seeing the inspector, Geeta called out, pointing towards Mohan, “He killed my daughter sahib… take him away…he burnt my Chanda…” Inspector threw a glance at Mohan but without a word just walked towards the main entrance. I followed him and faced him, “Sir! Why aren’t you arresting that man when Geeta is saying, he’s the culprit?”
“Madam, I’ve taken that girl’s statement and she herself told me that she caught fire while cooking. Mohan was merely trying to save her. It was an accident.” The Inspector said and immediately left, without giving me a chance to argue. Geeta’s shrill cry filled the air and I rushed in to find Chanda lying covered with a white sheet from head to toe. She had been relieved from all her pain and agony.
The next day, Chanda took farewell from her house, but not in a doli rather on four shoulders, one of which was of none other than Mohan. Three days later, another maid came to replace Geeta for my household chores. She was Geeta’s next door neighbour and sent and recommended by Geeta herself, who had strangely given up her house and shifted elsewhere.
What the new maid told me after a month, was even more shocking. “Madam, do you know? This Mohan was already married and also had a seven year old son from his first marriage. Under the spell of Chanda’s beauty, hiding his marital status, he had sent a proposal for her for a dowry less marriage and had also given some cash for the wedding expenses. Glad to have a well settled son in law, Chanda’s parents had even overlooked the age difference between the two and had not enquired much about him, except that he owned a big house in the walled city and a grocery shop in the nearby market. Two days prior to marriage, when Chanda had come to know the dark truth from a distant relative, she had refused to marry him. In spite of all his efforts to change her mind, when she did not budge, his male ego was hurt and pouring kerosine on her, he set her on fire. Using his resources and money he bribed the doctor and hospital staff, also the inspector who was investigating. You know madam, Geeta has shifted to a four room pucca house with her family and her husband is running a grocery shop in the front and is often seen in the evening, drinking with that Mohan. How do you think all this has been possible?”
I, obviously didn’t need to answer her last question. Everyone was happy, what if the price had been the life of THAT PRETTY GIRL.
“Hey Geeta! what’s wrong? What are you doing here at this time? It’s your daughter’s wedding tomorrow, isn’t it?” I asked, my mind telling me something was terribly wrong with her. My questions were answered by a fresh storm of tears, she started sobbing uncontrollably, tears flowing down her cheeks. All I could hear between her sobs was “Madam he killed my Chanda….. My Chanda… Madam please save her…”
I was shocked at her words. “What?? Who killed her? Geeta tell me” I shook her hard but she kept crying hard. I took a warm shawl and keeping some notes in my purse, I caught her hand and accompanied her to her house. She lived in a nearby slum area in a two roomed house with a thatched roof with her husband, son and her daughter Chanda, a pretty girl of 19 years.
A huge crowd was gathered outside her house, which was decorated with coloured sparkling paper strips and flowers, walls had been freshly white-washed and a multi coloured rangoli caught my eye, as I entered her house. Immediately a foul smell and lots of smoke hit my senses, but what stopped me in my tracks was much more horrible. There lay before me, covered in a half-burnt and torn blanket, that pretty girl who was to become a bride the next day. Her cries of unbearable pain were enough to tear any gentle heart. Below the tattered blanket, her once fair skin had turned black and wounds were bleeding. I couldn’t bear the terrible sight and felt my cheeks dampen with tears. A siren from an ambulance was heard outside and the crowd made way for the two attendants carrying a stretcher with them. Chanda was quickly shifted to the ambulance which took her to the hospital. Hailing an auto I took Geeta with me calling to the driver “city hospital …make it quick please” Her husband and son had gone in the ambulance.
We rushed towards the ICU, but Geeta’s face turned red with rage at the sight of a man standing just outside the door. He was a man in his thirties, dressed in a kurta pyjama, which must have been new and expensive too, but was covered with black soot and blood stains. She rushed towards him, hitting him on his chest and slapping him innumerable times, while hurling abuses at him of the lowest order possible. This must be Mohan, I realized, her son in law to be. Things were becoming somewhat clear to me now, but the question that still lingered in my mind was “why? Why did he do this, that too just a day before the wedding?”
The ICU door opened, doctor and the area police inspector came out. Seeing the inspector, Geeta called out, pointing towards Mohan, “He killed my daughter sahib… take him away…he burnt my Chanda…” Inspector threw a glance at Mohan but without a word just walked towards the main entrance. I followed him and faced him, “Sir! Why aren’t you arresting that man when Geeta is saying, he’s the culprit?”
“Madam, I’ve taken that girl’s statement and she herself told me that she caught fire while cooking. Mohan was merely trying to save her. It was an accident.” The Inspector said and immediately left, without giving me a chance to argue. Geeta’s shrill cry filled the air and I rushed in to find Chanda lying covered with a white sheet from head to toe. She had been relieved from all her pain and agony.
The next day, Chanda took farewell from her house, but not in a doli rather on four shoulders, one of which was of none other than Mohan. Three days later, another maid came to replace Geeta for my household chores. She was Geeta’s next door neighbour and sent and recommended by Geeta herself, who had strangely given up her house and shifted elsewhere.
What the new maid told me after a month, was even more shocking. “Madam, do you know? This Mohan was already married and also had a seven year old son from his first marriage. Under the spell of Chanda’s beauty, hiding his marital status, he had sent a proposal for her for a dowry less marriage and had also given some cash for the wedding expenses. Glad to have a well settled son in law, Chanda’s parents had even overlooked the age difference between the two and had not enquired much about him, except that he owned a big house in the walled city and a grocery shop in the nearby market. Two days prior to marriage, when Chanda had come to know the dark truth from a distant relative, she had refused to marry him. In spite of all his efforts to change her mind, when she did not budge, his male ego was hurt and pouring kerosine on her, he set her on fire. Using his resources and money he bribed the doctor and hospital staff, also the inspector who was investigating. You know madam, Geeta has shifted to a four room pucca house with her family and her husband is running a grocery shop in the front and is often seen in the evening, drinking with that Mohan. How do you think all this has been possible?”
I, obviously didn’t need to answer her last question. Everyone was happy, what if the price had been the life of THAT PRETTY GIRL.
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