Our Little Secret

"It’s been twenty years since he died; the abuser, my uncle. And I’m not the little ten-year-old girl any more who wondered what was happening to her. I’m in my forties now, heading for a divorce and the mother of a wonderful, young daughter who I have a terrific bonding with and love very much. But though it’s been a long time since the abuse, and I’m not as torn and fragmented as I used to be, it is still very painful to divulge my past in this interview. The grim scenes come back when I talk. It’s almost as if I’m reliving the entire experience.

It first happened when I spent a weekend, over at my mausi and mausa’s place... That particular night we chatted on till quite late and drifted off to sleep. I don’t know for how long I dozed off but suddenly I found myself awake. As my eyes got accustomed to the darkness, I could make out the form of my uncle. I knew it was him because he was a hugely built man and recognisable by his bulk. He detached the mosquito net from the bed and put a finger to his lips. I heard him whisper, `shh…' I was scared. I didn’t know what was happening. Something told me that whatever it was, it was not normal. Maybe it was the finger on his lips, maybe the look in his eyes. It wasn’t the usual kind of look that he had, which glinted of fun and good times. Instinctively I knew I had to keep quiet. There was no space on the bed, so he lay on top of me, his heavy bulk crushing my little body. I couldn’t move. There was a catch in my chest. I found it difficult to breathe... All I could do was think, oh God, please, don’t let his daughters wake up and see this, God, please. It was over in a few seconds. My uncle had his release and left."

Calcutta, Age 42