Pankhudi cried the whole night lying on her bed in those torn clothes. Last time he entered her house, she was dismayed and angry; she tried to wash off his touch in the shower. Now how could she wash off her own lust? It was indeed traumatic for her to realize that she was broken to such an extent that she had surrendered before him. She had been responding to his touches and kisses, she couldn't shake off that guilt and disgust she felt for herself.
She felt she needed help now; she had so many questions and finding an answer to each of them had become important for her. Earlier she used to share her problems with Nisha. She knew that Nisha would be still willing to listen, but she didn't want to drag her into this mess again.
She thought for a long time, trying to think of a way to help herself, trying to find answers. She made up her mind to see a psychiatrist. It was difficult for her to afford a psychiatrist in a city like Mumbai considering the high fees they charge, but she was in dire need. If she didn't help herself now, she might soon go insane.
On the scheduled day and time, she reached the clinic. She was called in.
The psychiatrist asked her to take a seat. The doctor was a lady with a pleasant personality, and her gentle and soothing way of speaking Pankhudi more comfortable.
"I have been facing a problem recently." Pankhudi said nervously.
"I understand, tell me about it." The doctor said.
"I get these dreams that I am being stalked by a man. He keeps tormenting me, molests me, and touches me as and when he pleases despite my resistance. I get these dreams repeatedly and I find them very disturbing."
"Did you see the face of the man in your dream?" the doctor asked, "Is he someone you know?"
"No" Pankhudi replied, "He is a total stranger. I have never seen him before in my life."
"If a dream appears repeatedly it could be a manifestation of some stressor in your life. Are you going through something particularly stressful?"
"I don't know, I can't think of anything in particular. It's just that this dream...over and over again. Last time I had a dream about him, he was molesting me in my own house on my own bed!" Pankhudi was tearful as she said this, "And what was most disturbing was that I was responding to him. Why doctor? I hate him! I hate him more than anything else! Then why was I getting aroused when I was touched by this man who has made life hell for me? I want to know! Why is this happening to me?"
"Are you sure we are talking about your dream and nothing else?" the doctor asked suspiciously.
"It's the dream." Pankhudi said hurriedly, "As I said before, it is a dream that I had."
The doctor sensed something wrong but didn't say anything to her. She didn't want to make Pankhudi uncomfortable. It was important for the doctor to earn her trust, so that later she could encourage her to be more honest.
"This might be painful for you, but I need to know something. Have you experienced a difficult past?"
"I was not fond of my father. I could never feel love for him. All I know is that I never really felt happy when he was around. He hated mom because she couldn't bear a son. He always cursed me and my sister. He told us we were a burden to him. Mom really loved both of us, but her love was weak before his bitterness." Pankhudi said.
"Did you suffer violence at home?"
"Yes. Dad used to particularly hate me. When he used to come home drunk and start abusing and beating mom, I used to always interfere. I couldn't just stand and watch! That made him angrier. He wouldn't lose one opportunity to yell at me or beat me. He always said I deserved it coz he said I was disobedient girl he was only trying to 'discipline' me. There was so much violence and stress at home! That man was a brute! I was a good student, but he wouldn't let me study. He used to throw away my books, thrash me and always told me that I am worthless. I had almost started believing in it. And I had to live a life full of vulnerability for several years. So many years of living in fear, hiding bruises, welts and an occasional broken bone...we couldn't even speak much without his permission." Pankhudi started crying as she felt the sting of painful memories again.
She paused for a while as she wiped away her tears and continued, "He was the only breadwinner of our family. We all had no choice but to obey him all the time and take his punishments silently. I shouldn't say this, but I was happy when he died. "
The doctor was listening quietly as Pankhudi was speaking.
"Each coin has two sides though," Pankhudi continued, "I can't say whether I was happier then or now. Having a father confers social security. Even though, he was violent, his presence would keep other men from casting a lustful eye on me and my sister. After his death, our life became increasingly insecure. Now we suffer immoral advances from other men at every opportunity they get. I was happy that the violence stopped, but I learned how difficult it is for a girl to face the world on her own. I don't really have a choice; it is a matter of survival now, so I manage to gather some courage. I came here to Mumbai all alone; I am doing a job and studying, trying to rebuild my broken life. But I feel so vulnerable."
"I am really sorry to know that. It must have been very hard to live through all that." said the doctor comforting her, "I am beginning to understand the cause of your problem. I appreciate that you are able to give me details about your past even though it is painful for you. I have a few more questions. Please answer then with equal honesty."
"Alright" Pankhudi said.
"Did you ever indulge in self harm?" the doctor asked.
Pankhudi was silent. Actually she was silent out of hesitation to speak. The doctor sensed it.
"It's ok," the doctor said with a comforting smile, "You can tell me. We are only trying to help you here."
"Yes" Pankhudi gasped, "When no one was watching, I used to cut myself, and sometimes even burn or suffocate myself."
"Why?" the doctor asked calmly.
"I don't know" said Pankhudi. The topic of self harm suddenly made her stop crying. It was like the memories of self harm strangely energized her. "I used to feel good when I did that to myself. It used to feel like some sort of morphine...it caused me pain but that pain felt like it was healing me. It like I wanted to do more and more of it to myself..."
The doctor took as deep breath and looked at Pankhudi who was still lost in some kind of a trance of her memories about her process of 'healing' herself.
"Pankhudi" the doctor said, "I think you are suffering from something we call - Masochistic Personality Disorder."
"This is also known as Self-defeating Personality Disorder." the doctor continued, "When a person develops these patterns in behaviour, the cause can almost always be traced back to early life. If in early life has had to deal with a disciplinarian or a strict authority figure while growing up, and has been constantly told that they do not deserve love or that they deserve to be in pain and should be exploited, then that is exactly what they will grow up to believe. Unfortunately, in your case, this has manifested in the form of that man in your, as you say 'dream'. He is a reflection of the authority figure you subconsciously fear. Because of your condition, you feel submissive towards him and that is why you respond."
Pankhudi was listening calmly. It pained her so much to understand that the trauma she had been through in the past had left an ugly scar on her mind.
"However, the good news is that you seem to have a milder form of this disorder, considering the fact that you have tried to seek help yourself. Usually people suffering from Masochistic Personality Disorder, thrive in being sad and in pain. This disorder has at its crux the feelings of humiliation, insult and other factors that lead to being depressed and sad. Patients don't seek help and try to avoid and reject anything that leads to pleasure. But you are not like that. You are fighting it. That is a good sign."
Pankhudi's smiled weakly.
"But we need to fix this as soon as possible," the doctor said in a worried tone. "If this dream is appearing repeatedly then your condition might be worsening. Unfortunately we do not have a pharmacological treatment for it. You will have to undergo psychotherapy. I will be honest with you. Your condition has resulted due to living under stressful conditions for several years. So it will take time for you to overcome it. I request you to have patience with the treatment."
"Will everything be alright doctor?" asked Pankhudi in a soft voice, feeling hopeless within.
"That depends on you dear," the doctor said, "The success of the treatment depends entirely on your willingness to change."
"How long will it take?" Pankhudi asked.
"At this stage, I can't say anything. Maybe once we start the treatment, I will monitor your progress and will be in a position to comment on the amount of time the recovery may possibly take."
Pankhudi was silent. She was holding so many secrets within.
"I really want to help you dear," the doctor said gently holding her hand, "But I can't, until you be honest with me and tell me everything."
Pankhudi still didn't speak. She just looked away and wept silently. The doctor was understanding and compassionate.
"Perhaps you need some more time. It's alright. Come back to me whenever you feel like and speak your heart to me. I will listen to you. I sense that you are in great pain right now. Go home and take rest. And don't worry about my fees." The doctor said with a comforting smile.
Pankhudi felt good to acknowledge that she was being understood. A faint smile flickered on her lips and then it was gone. She got up and left.
She reached home. She was lost in deep thoughts as she was lying awake on her bed. The things she learned from the psychiatrist about herself had shaken her. The most painful thing about a disturbed past is how cruelly it affects the present and the future. How could she shake off the memories of the past? How could she heal a scar?
She wanted answers, and she got them. Sometimes she wished she had never known the bitter truth about her condition. How was it going to help her? How was anything or anyone going to help her? The kind doctor was willing to treat her without charging a fee. But counselling sessions? Psychotherapy? How was all this going to cure her of the nightmare she was living? Pankhudi may have lied to the doctor, but how could she lie to herself? She had to face the truth. This wasn't about a dream.
She walked back home with a heavy heart. The world seemed to collapse around her. Something had changed within her since she got her answers. She could feel increasing amount of curiosity emerging within herself, to explore the darker side of hers. She still feared the stalker. She didn't even know his name. He was dangerous, his moves were unpredictable and it was still highly unclear as to what his real intentions were.
Pankhudi had started keeping a diary since Nisha left. That was the only way she could vent the feelings of her troubled heart. After she returned home, she was shocked to see her diary kept on the table in the living room with a red rose placed on it. A few fragrant candles were lit nearby. To a casual observer, the ambiance was romantic. Perhaps the visitor was in a romantic mood. But Pankhudi knew his romance is always creepy. Her heart was beating fast as she opened her diary. Something was already written in it and the handwriting wasn't hers. She got anxious when she realized that the person who wrote that also must have read everything else. She had an uneasy feeling within her heart as she read the disturbing piece of text written in it.
