Not that I am a Thief

But I did Steal a Girl’s voice Once

It was a modest courtyard. A mother, father and daughter sat on wooden chairs on one side and one representative from a local non-government organisation (NGO) and I on the other. There was an unexplainable stillness. Inside the courtyard and outside, dusk had just begun to give way to the night.

The 17 year old girl had eloped with a man much older than her. They had been intercepted and the girl was brought back. The school principal claimed credit for stopping the child marriage that was also custom in that community. On being probed further, the principal, with great reluctance, apportioned minor credit to the father. “I convinced him. He agreed that child marriage is not good for the girl. It is also legally a crime in our country. I had to really explain it to him. These people don’t understand easily,” is what he had said or words to that effect. Had the girl come back to school? “I will have to check” was the response.

The NGO and its donor wanted success stories and this was a success. And I was here to document this success. The family, however, was clearly uncomfortable with the attention.

The father answered all the questions. The mother looked straight ahead, often with a vacant stare. The girl sat with her head bowed down. I used all my years of experience of rapport building here. I failed spectacularly. The girl avoided looking at me. There was a deep sadness in those eyes. Gradually, I began to understand the language of the silences that stretched out between us. That the father who was possibly subdued when dealing with more powerful figures was very controlling of the women in his family. That the mother shared the daughter’s sorrows and her silences.

I asked tentatively, “What do you think about what happened?” The NGO staff prompted, “Didi (sister) is asking about your child marriage. Tell her what you think. Tell her why you think it is wrong”.

I immediately interrupted, “I know you are trying to help. But I would really like to talk to her.”
The girl looked up. “My parents might have gone to jail,” she replied.

“Was he good to you?”
“Yes.”
“Can both of you wait for a year?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?” I asked. Both of us understood I wasn’t asking about the child marriage. “Our three year old niece fell in the pond while playing and drowned,” replied the mother. A tear rolled down the girl’s cheek. The case study I finally wrote was about a school, a family and an NGO preventing child marriage. It was not the girl’s story.

This work was written during the Ochre Sky Memoir writing workshop facilitated by Natasha Badhwar and Raju Tai.