He Outraged My Modesty

There was will and the way opened

It was a piercing scream.

The spinster lady heard the scream and pricked up her ears. She located it from the apartment next to hers. The tenants had come in only late that evening. She had not met them but the caretaker of the building had told her that they were a newly married Indian couple. In the U.S. Indians are good neighbours except for the smell of spices that often wafted in from their homes. But this scream was no shout of nuptial joy. It was more like a frightened woman calling for help. The lady had read about bride burning in India and even amongst Indian in the US there have been reports of bride abuse. Then it came again. There was no mistaking the scream of terror. She called 911.

*

The Indian who answered the bell was in his middle twenties. A policeman and a policewoman were at the door. He invited the visitors in.

"We have come to investigate a complaint from a neighbour that she heard a woman's screams of terror in this apartment," said the policeman. The young man was unflustered.

"I'll call my wife. It was her voice that the neighbour must have heard," He turned spoke in a language that his visitors could not identify. After an interval a young woman in a sari came in from the side room. She was very young, maybe twenty or even less. She was pretty with a round face and large eyes rather like a doll's. Her hands and forearms up to the elbows were covered by mehndi designs to confirm her newly married status."This is my wife Ramya. I am Viswam."

"Can she speak English?" asked the police woman.

"She can read and write English and she can understand certainly but she could not have had much experience speaking," said the husband.

"Sorry to intrude at this hour Ramya," said the lady police officer to the young woman speaking slowly, "but we have received a 911 complaint from one of your neighbours that someone in this apartment she identified from the voice as a lady's was screaming with fear. We want to know more about it. It is a personal matter true, but we have to investigate complaints of domestic violence lest they end in tragedy. Was it you who screamed?"

"Yes," said the bride.

"Why?"

The young lady stood silently turning her large eyes to the policeman and then the policewoman and finally her husband. She said something to him in her language. Her husband answered her in English for the benefit of the police persons.

"I cannot speak for you Ramya. With all this stories appearing in the TV and papers about bad things happening to newly married girls in India the police have to hear from you. My statement will be useless. It is difficult I know but please try."

The young lady face was full of concentration as she formed the words in her mind. She once again turned pleadingly to her husband.

"Ramya please, you have to," he said again in English. Then she spoke with eyes focused on the carpet.

"He tried to outrage my modesty," she said. The police man and woman who were looking at her when she spoke continued to do so but now with greater interest. Then they looked at each other and smiled faintly. Then they turned to the young man. He was trying desperately not to smile but when his efforts made matters worse he let go; his face expanded into a wide grin.

"What I tried to do can be described that way," he admitted.

"Is this man your husband?" asked the woman officer.

"Yes."

"From the henna designs on your forearms and hands it appears you were married recently."

"Yes, three days ago."

"How long have you known him?"

"Three days."

"You mean you did not know him at all till you married."

"I saw him for the first time the evening before the marriage. I have seen photographs of him though."

"Do you also know her only for three days?" asked the police woman turning to the young man.

"I have seen her before that. Her uncle's son is a close friend of mine. At his brother's wedding I have seen her nine months ago. But I spoke to her only at our wedding.

"You two then are practically strangers," said the policeman.

"No, we are husband and wife," said the young woman with vehemence.

"Of course, of course" responded the policeman, "but you do not know each other well. That is what I meant."

"You agreed to wed him after just seeing his photos?" asked the policewoman of Ramya.

"Yes," said Ramya, "but my uncle and aunt know him well and he is my cousin's close friend."

"Is this a common occurrence in your culture?" asked the woman of Viswam.

"Not quite. In urban areas never but in rural parts where we come from it can happen especially if the groom working abroad is able to spare only a week from work."

"Should be rather difficult to develop a relationship all of a sudden." said the policeman.

"In reality it does not seem so. Something happens and the two feel they are closer to each other than they have ever been to any other person."

"You have to explain," said the policeman.

"I'll give an example. A friend of mine on the day after return from their honeymoon found his wardrobe neatly stacked with his dresses on one side and hers on the other. His brothers and sisters or anyone else would not have dared to take that liberty. That was when he realised that the woman who has suddenly come into his life was something very different."

"Your moment is yet to come I suppose," said the police woman smiling.

"It has come. It came a short while ago. I was watching her waiting for her answer. I could not for the life of me imagine how she would be able to explain in English. But she did it deftly using a phrase from newspaper headlines. The unusual situation, what she said and the way she said are all unforgettable. It has made her very special for me." He turned and saw his wife looking with those large eyes glittering with joy and she smiled a loving smile." The policewoman noted the subtle exchange of love notes. "My mistake," said Viswam, "I should have gone about it more gently considering the prolonged wedding ceremonies she had been through followed by a long day at the U.S. consulate, two sleepless nights and a tiring journey half a world away from her home."

"So you do not need any help from us," said the policewoman to Ramya.

"No," she said. But the policeman had more to say.

"I am asking you this as per regulation. If you so desire we can make arrangements for your night stay elsewhere."

Ramya involuntarily took a step backwards but the policeman assured her that he is merely asking the question as required by the rules. They turned round to leave when Ramya spoke in her language to her husband.

"What is she saying," asked the policeman.

"She wants you to thank the neighbour who complained," said Viswam, "for showing so much concern for someone she has not even met." The policeman was taken aback by this unexpected request.

"We will Ramya," said the policeman, "we most certainly will do that."

"We have to thank you both too," said the policewoman. "These domestic affairs can be very difficult for us. You two have made it almost pleasant." They left.

"Sorry," said Ramya, "for bringing the police to our door on our first night together."

"Far from being displeased I'll be savouring this unique experience forever," said Viswam, "and so should you."

"I thought you will be furious with me," said Ramya, "but instead you spoke such good words. Thank you." A tight hug would have been the correct response but Viswam did not dare risk it.

They decided to go to sleep without more ado. Viswam curled up on a sofa-cum-bed called futon in the sitting room leaving to his wife the sole occupation of the queen-size bed. When he woke up it was past seven. He was surprised to find his head resting on a soft pillow and his body covered with a comforter. He was thrilled that his wife had made the changes when he was asleep. Alas another occasion demanding a tight hug that he had to let go.

From the direction of the kitchen he heard the sound of plates and cups. Ramya must have been alert to what was happening in the sitting room for she was aware that her lord and master was awake.

"Brush and come for coffee," she said.

Her voice was cheerful. Must be a very resilient girl thought Viswam to get over the searing experience of the night. She served excellent Madras filter coffee.

"After your bath I will give you dosai (crepes made with soured rice batter) for breakfast." she said, "I am surprised that you have a well stocked kitchen." Viswam explained that strict vegetarians have no choice in the U.S. but to make their own arrangements.

"I can cook a simple decent meal too," he said.

"It has been my dream to have my very own kitchen," said Ramya," but this is beyond my dreams. Large granite table, mixi and wet grinder plugged in and ready, island table with sink to cut and chop. It's wonderful.

"Any other dream?" asked Viswam with a wink.

"Yes," she said speaking slowly, "to have babies. After what happened yesterday I do not know if I can. I want you to know that yesterday's debacle was not as you said owing to sleepless nights and all that. It is something more serious. Have your bath and come I'll tell you during breakfast."

*

Ramya's problem started on the 16th December 2012. On that day a gruesome gang rape occurred in Delhi that the news media worldwide reported extensively. A young girl and her male companion boarded a charted bus. The six men in the bus including the driver forcibly held the man as one after another they raped the woman. They then threw the two out on the roadside and sped away. The woman died of her injuries 13 days later.

"The new reports stated," said Ramya, "that the injured woman's intestines were out. In my mind I imagined what those men could have done to that innocent woman using an iron rod and I shivered with anger and hatred. I could not get it out of my mind. A week later I was watching a movie with my father and mother. In that movie there is a rape scene. I suddenly found myself sweating and shivering. I could hear myself scream. I must have been unconscious for when I woke up I was lying on the sofa with mother and father by my side. It seems I screamed and then fell sideward on the sofa and became unconscious. I recovered in a couple of minutes. Soon I was normal again. From then on either my father or my mother will see movies first and allow me to view it only if the movie is clean. Surprisingly I got to see very few movies after that. It is really worrying that so many of our producers and story writer and directors need rape scenes to move their plots forward. I think banning rape scenes in movies will make the country safer for women.

"All this happened months ago. The incident became a distant memory or so I thought. When you came close to me and held me all the gruesomeness of the Delhi incident suddenly came to my mind. I found myself shivering and just as it happened that day I could faintly hear myself screaming. I do not know what happened afterwards."

"You lost consciousness," said Viswam. "I made you lie on the bed. You opened your eyes after maybe three minutes and you saw me and screamed again. This was a high pitched one and was quite frightening. I was not surprised that our neighbour called 911 promptly. I moved away. You quietened down. I watched you from a distance. I was afraid that if I came close you may scream again. You were lying looking up at the ceiling. Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes later the door bell rang. I had to call you. I was not at all sure you will be able to come. But luckily for us you came and what was more you were quite composed."

"What next for me. Will I ever be normal?"

"Time will heal. No, not to psychiatrists. I am sure of that. The last thing you need is medication. When we become close friends you will be all right. I am prepared to wait. No issue there. Or something will happen that will make you think positively about sex."

"Can there be anything more positive than babies."

"Something more immediate perhaps. Meanwhile I'll take you round the city. You will like this country. We start with a visit to a grocery store. To one for whom owing a kitchen was a dream the American grocery store will be something worth seeing."

Viswam had judged correctly. A grocery store the size of a football field was something Ramya could not have imagined existed. It was at the long vegetable aisles that she spent most time. Broccoli was new to her. Soon it was to become her favourite and zucchini too. Brinjals, called egg plant in these parts, she found were a foot long and ribbed gourd looked different too. Though the store labeled them as Chinese they tasted the same as the Indian ones. But the greens were a disappointment. Only spinach and nothing else. In India they have a dozen varieties. Milk was a disappointment too. The 1% and 2% cans were watery stuff. To one who from childhood had watched cows milked in front of the house this was a come down. As for yoghurt Ramya was unable to decide if it was as good as the curds her mother made at home. It was thick and creamy and cut like halwa but was something missing? Ramya was not sure.

They chatted of friends and family, watched English movies, world news, travel and sports on TV, but mostly listened to music both the light variety from movies and classical. For a girl who spent all her life in an agricultural small town Ramya knew a lot about the wider world. They had a delightful two weeks together. For an external observer it would have appeared a perfect honeymoon.

Viswam made no attempt to consummate the marriage. He had no clue of how to go about it.

One day they were watching TV when near nude girls frolicking on the beach came on the screen.

"Are you interested in porn?" asked Ramya.

"Like all teenagers I was when I was that age but not now," said Viswam defensively. Ramya did not respond. They went on to other things.

"Would you like to see someone being tortured?" she asked after a while. This question coming out of the blue puzzled Viswam.

"Tortured?"

"Say water boarded."

"Certainly not. But why such a thought."

"Suppose the police want to get information out of a suspected woman terrorist," said Ramya, "what would you think would be a better way of forcing her to speak water board her or force her to have sex with a man as many watched and cameras whirled?

"I have not thought of it that way. Yes what you said would be far more potent than mere water boarding. But women in porn movies are on their own free will."

"No, they are not," said Ramya vehemently. "There are men behind every porn star, a boy friend or relative or even her father and these men shamelessly live on a lavish scale on her earnings. This is on record. These drooling men that watch these movies must be made to realise that they are watching torture pure and simple." Viswam would have liked to discuss further but as Ramya became quite emotional he changed the subject. Little did he know the effect this bit of conversation was to have on his life. They talked of other things. The next morning, their fifteenth since their wedding was to be critical in their lives.

*

For Viswam the day did not start with Ramya calling him to for coffee. Instead she was standing over him her large eyes expressive of some strong emotion.

"What's the matter," he asked jumping up from bed.

"Early this morning it flashed on me that after all the glib talk about torture yesterday it was I who am the one practising torture."

"You? Torturing whom?"

"You."

"Me Ramya? I don't understand."

"Yes. In a perfect setting for honeymoon I am preventing you from coming close to me on pain of another visit from the police. Has any newly married wife ever subjected her husband to such humiliation? Is this not torture of the worst kind""

"It has been difficult, yes," admitted Viswam.

"No, I want a straight answer torture or not?"

"Yes, if you pin me down I suppose one may call it a form of torture," said Viswam smiling.

"Thanks for the confession," said Ramya, "You have been so kind and patient and understanding. I have to respond. I have found a way round my affliction. Yes I have. You should not do the love making. That will trigger the demons in me. I will make love and you should be passive. I can't wait. Please sit and make place for me by your side."

Viswam sat with a puzzled look on his face. Ramya sat by his side and rubbed his cheek with her palms.

"Scruffy," she said feeling the day's growth of beard. "I believe modern girls want it that way. Not I. I am not modern."She hugged him but when Viswam brought up his hand to hold her she pushed it down. She rubbed her cheek against his and she kissed all parts of his face and finally ended on his lips. She then held his hand and placed it on her breast.

"Fondle," she said and held him in her embrace resting her head on his shoulder. "I like it, do you?" she said softly.

"Very much so," said Viswam.

"You deserve better," so saying she unzipped her night dress and in one swift movement pulled it off. She was totally bare and with eyes goggling Viswam savoured the sight but had the supreme sense not to charge in. She held him by his head and brought it to her breast.

"Suck," she said. He took the nipple between his lips and kneaded it.

"No, bite," she said. He covered his teeth with his lips and bit.

"Harder," she said and he bit as hard as he could and she moaned. She now got into frenzy. She pulled off his shirt without even bothering to unbutton it and using her toes she pushed his dhoti down. She lay back and pulled her unresisting husband between her spread out thighs.

"I can wait no longer," she called out aloud.

*

Six months later Ramya was at her favourite outing--the grocery store. She was carefully examining each Brussels sprout before throwing it into her bag. These sprouts had lately overtaken broccoli as her favourite vegetable.

"Hi Ramya, good morning." Ramya looked up at the large American woman looming over her.

"Good morning," she said though she could not place her. And then she did. It was the policewoman who had visited them on their First Night.

"Know me?"

"Of course Inspector though I took me a moment to place you in mufti," said Ramya.

"Off duty I am not an inspector," she said. "Call me Judy. Doing well? You are indeed doing capitally." Her voice rose to a screech when she made the discovery. "I can see a bump."

Ramya with half closed eyes and with a roughish smile and shake of the head tenderly rubbed her hand over the abdominal bump.

"Your husband in spite of promises to be good has become bad as soon as our backs were turned," said Judy in tone of mock severity. "Last time he escaped, but now that we have hard evidence he cannot."

"No, he can," said Ramya.

"No, Ramya it is an open and shut case. He can't deny, certainly."

"But I can. Under oath I'll say that I outraged his modesty."

Ramya was grinning from ear to ear but inspector Judy laughed out loud.