The girl stood there along with four others inside the room waiting to be exhibited before the customers. She was dressed in a black sequined sari draped around in such a way so as to show hard a little more of her skin than necessary. Her body stiffened in the golden sleeveless blouse deliberately cut low down her chest that provided a small glimpse of her cleavage. Her face, over-weighed with make-up, failed to conceal the turmoil that she was going through within. Her lips that were painted blood-red meant to proclaim boldness, presented a sharp contrast against her frightened soul that had forcefully submitted to bondage. The tiny black mole right at the centre of her chin finally completed her look. It made her wonder sometimes how her luck could possibly be charmed by its mere presence, as claimed by many before. Her hair had been done by Kumkumji herself, who had woven her braids around with daisy strands. Kumkumji, a 50-year old lady, was the owner of the brothel, who has been in this business for the past 15 years. She was fat with a round grim face and always bore a tight bun high up on her head. The enormous red bindi that occupied almost one-sixteenth of her forehead resembled a warning against some imminent danger to anyone who dared to counter her.
Hardly a week before, was the girl in her uncle’s place, sweeping and mopping floors, doing dishes, washing clothes, chopping vegetables, running errands every now and then and the list continued. Being an orphan doesn’t really put one in a very comfortable situation. She was compelled to stop attending school right after her parents expired. Her uncle and aunt considered themselves extremely virtuous to have provided an orphaned child with mere shelter and food. She wasn’t supposed to expect anything more. She would sometimes, steal the newspaper away from the living-room when her aunt would be taking a nap on a lazy afternoon, her uncle away in his shop and her cousins off to school. She was often marveled at the expanse of the sky, which seemed to mock at her ignorance! How little she knew! Through the years she had learnt to ignore her tattered clothes, her craving for knowledge, the burping sound from her empty stomach and the black mole on her chin that was believed to bring her good luck.
She had almost surrendered her life to the slavery of her uncle when things took a sudden turn. She still remembers that night when her uncle had returned home running, his face bearing a look of utter shock and panic. From all that she could gather from the conversation between her uncle and aunt, was that her uncle was in huge debt. In order to repay the loan, he had to put his shop on mortgage and it might also turn out that he would have to sell his house too. She would observe her uncle and aunt daily brooding over, busy in hurried conversations. She prayed earnestly that things might turn in her uncle’s favour as soon as possible. Suddenly, on the eighth day she noticed a look of relief on their faces. God had, after all, heard her prayers. She quickly closed her eyes and chanted a small thanksgiving prayer. Little did she know then what waited for her in the days ahead. Then one day a stout-looking man came to their house. He was short and bald and was dressed in a white kurta and a pair of brown trousers. His name, which she learnt later, was Shuklaji. The very next day she was asked to pack her luggage and accompany Shuklaji. Neither her uncle nor her aunt told her where she was going. The last time that she saw her uncle was when he was extending his hands to receive a brown envelope from Shuklaji while she was leaving. Shuklaji brought her to the brothel.
She had found hard to survive the first few days that followed. Her body had a tough time fighting against an empty stomach and lack of sleep. Tears gushed down her cheeks wetting the sides of her pillow. One week later Kumkumji entered her room and looked straight into her face. When she refused to answer any of the questions that Kumkumji asked her, she was slapped hard right across her face, twice. It was then that she finally succumbed to the bondage within the brothel, finally giving up all hopes to escape. She was asked to bathe and clean her hair and be ready by evening. And there she was finally standing along with her fellow mates prepared to be chosen.
She was looking down while the customers went in and went out of the room. Finally, a man, aged around thirty-five, dressed in white shirt neatly tucked inside his blue denims, entered. His encounter with Kumkumji revealed that he was not only a frequent visitor to the brothel but also was a figure of extremely high reputation. Something caught his eye as he was scanning through the exhibits. He raised his finger to declare his choice to Kumkumji. Kumkumji called out, “Aparna, follow me”. She hung her head and followed.
The door closed behind her. Aparna looked at the man who seemed too busy in undressing himself. He was tall and sturdy and his beard made him look no less than a gangster. He called out to her, “So, you are Aparna. New here?”. She simply nodded her head in agreement. He called out to say again, “I am ready, you may start.” Although she approached towards the bed, she did not even have the slightest idea as to what to start with. When she reached the edge of the bed she simply sat on it with her fingers folded and placed on her lap. He cried out again, “I told you to start”. This time her trembling lips opened to mutter, “I am new. I don’t know what to start with”. Giving her a look of immense disgust he asked her to lay down. Then he undid his pants right away and quickly plunged at her. After a minute or so she felt an excruciating pain cutting through right between her thighs. Her fingers clutched onto the edge of the bed firmly. He released her finally, got up, zipped up his pants, tucked his shirt in just like it was before and darted out of the room. She writhed in pain, her legs still trembling from the act. The blood stains on the white bed sheet revealed that she was no longer a virgin. She had lost her virginity to someone who didn’t love her or kiss her forehead. In the days that followed she would often argue with herself on whether she was being raped or not. It would be unfair to call it a rape, she reasoned, as she decked herself up with her own hands every night. However, her heart failed to accept since her being there, was under compulsion and not as a choice. In the days that followed she learnt to accept her life, confined within the walls of the brothel. Kumkumji had the eyes of an eagle that spared her not even a second to escape. Amidst these Aparna noticed something really weird about the man who was her first customer. His name was Mr. Nirvaan Sharma, she learnt. She sometimes heard her fellow-mates discussing that he was some very big businessman who owned two bungalows and three cars. Aparna noticed that whenever Mr. Sharma would visit the brothel he would always choose her. There were other customers who came frequently too but none as consistent as Mr. Sharma with their choices. Lata, her fellow-mate had once playfully teased her saying that “Only you can satisfy Mr. Sharma’s needs, Aparna”. She had weakly smiled in return. Eight months passed in this way. One night Aparna heard loud noises coming out of Kumkumji’s room. She was probably having a tussle with someone. She wondered which person could have so much of audacity to involve in a conflict with Kumkumji. After few minutes or so, she saw Mr. Sharma storm out of the room and walk away. A month later Mr. Sharma returned again but this time there was no brawl. To everyone’s utter amazement, Aparna was called inside. Kumkumji told her, “Aparna, get ready, pack your luggage and go with Mr. Sharma. Your life is over here”. Before leaving the brothel that night Shuklaji had informed her that Mr. Sharma had paid Kumkumji a sum of tweny lakhs, to keep her as his mistress which was five times the amount that her uncle was paid. So, she was worth twenty lakhs, she wondered. “Am I that expensive?” she questioned herself in disbelief.
Mr. Sharma stayed alone in a four storied bungalow that opened out to a lush green lawn. The enormous walls, carved with “Sharma Residency” in black bold letters supported the iron bars that not only served as an entrance to the palatial mansion but somehow also reflected on the captivity that Aparna thought, she would soon be a part of. Roses, lilies, sunflowers, marigolds and daisies spread out their aura to present a heavenly welcome to anyone who entered the house. As she stepped out of the car, Aparna turned her head around to behold the magnificence which left her too enthralled to speak. Mr. Sharma had not spoken a word to Aparna all the while he was driving. She dreaded to open her mouth too. Still there were several questions that kept lingering on in her mind. Why did Mr. Sharma choose her to be his mistress? Why did he spend twenty-lakhs on her? Why did he need a mistress at all?
Aparna was allotted a room in the first floor with a balcony that directly opened out into the lawn. The room was well-furnished with a king-size bed, a wardrobe, a dressing-table, a centre-table and a small couch. There was a closet beside her bed too. The floor was carpeted which matched the colour of the walls. The wardrobe was already filled with numerous dresses all of which were brand new, some of them still wrapped in plastic sheets. She took out a sea-green chiffon sari with a pink border, placed it on her shoulder and saw herself in the mirror. It looked lovely. There were stuffs on the dressing-table too. Nail paints, lipsticks, perfume, eye-kajal, mascara, blusher, ear-studs, pendants, bangles, all beautifully arranged in their places. She was rummaging through the stuffs when someone called out, “Madam”, Aparna turned back, startled to find a woman standing behind her. She asked again, ”Madam, how do you feel?”. Aparna was too overwhelmed to answer. The woman continued,” My name is Lakshmi. I have been asked by Sir to attend to anything you need. Are you comfortable?”. Aparna was shocked; she could barely manage a nod. Lakshmi told again, “Let me know anything that you need”. Aparna wondered what more could she need? Later did she realize that she did need more.
Aparna was free to do anything, except leave the house without Mr. Sharma’s permission. Mr. Sharma never spoke to her. Whenever he wanted her he sent a word to her through one of his servants. She was supposed to get ready within half an hour, go to his room, pleasure him and then come back to her own room. Other than that, Aparna did not really have much to do. She would sometimes read the magazines and newspapers that lay on the table in the living-room. She would often play on the swing in the backyard or simply lay on the grass. She also made friends with the gardener and learnt tips on gardening. Gradually she learnt from Lakshmi that Mr. Sharma never married nor does he have a girlfriend. His father has expired and his mother lives in USA with his younger brother. He doesn’t have many relatives and friends and is more of an introvert.
Days passed by followed by weeks and months. Now it had been almost a year since Aparna was staying here. Her mind would sometimes yearn to wander away in the night-sky laden with stars only to realize the very next moment that her body was still shackled behind the bars of Sharma Residency. She hated to accept that she was a whore. It filled her with disgust for her body. Thus her soul desperately longed to liberate itself from such mental turbulence when something suddenly struck her mind. What if she starts loving Mr. Sharma? She reasoned “What if, I have sex with someone I love. It doesn’t matter if he loves me back or not. It wouldn’t probably be so disgusting then”. Although this seemed not so easy yet it was not impossible either. Thinking so, she fell into a deep slumber.
The very next morning she sprang to action. She made breakfast in the morning and served it to Mr. Sharma herself. She packed his lunch and at night served his dinner with her own hands. She would slip into Mr. Sharma’s room when he would be away for office, dismiss the servant who attended to Mr. Sharma and start arranging his bed, his desk and his table. She started enjoyed doing these chores for him. There was an unfamiliar kind of happiness building up inside her. Yes, she was happy; at least, she thought so. One day, she took out a white salwar-kameez from the wardrobe. She undressed herself and stood in front of the mirror. For the first time in two years she stared at her bare body. It no longer filled her with wrath. She put on the dress, the maroon dupatta heavily embroidered with mirror-work, swaying along her shoulder, her hair left loose with one or two strands falling into her face. She painted her lips light pink and batted her eyelids with a slight dash of mascara. She slipped a pair of silver bangles into her wrists completing her look with a tiny red bindi. Lakshmi had asked her why she had decked up. She simply said, “For me”. When Mr. Sharma returned home that night it was Aparna who opened the door, took his blazer off, and gave him a glass of water. Mr. Sharma would hardly pay her any attention but tonight Aparna caught Mr. Sharma stealing her a glance or two. She smiled within. She began to want more. She wanted to be loved! No sooner did the thought cross her mind than she tasted salty drops trailing down her cheeks into her mouth. It was impossible.
It was a Saturday night. Mr. Sharma generally chose Saturdays and Wednesdays to indulge in bodily pleasures. And tonight was no different. He sent a word for Aparna to come to his room within half an hour. Aparna draped herself in a light blue floral-printed chiffon saree with a dark pink blouse bordered around its puffed sleeves with a thin silver zari. She tied her hair in a loose bun, dashed a little powder onto her face and headed towards Mr. Sharma’s bed-room. He was seated on his couch holding a glass half-filled with wine. Mr. Sharma preferred to drink before having sex, which Aparna was often intrigued by. Unable to contain her curiosity anymore, she blurted out, “Why do you always drink before making love to …..?”. Mr. Sharma gasped in shock which made her realize the blunder she had just committed. She quickly corrected herself, “..I mean, before having sex with me?” Without saying a word Mr. Sharma directed her to the king-size bed. As usual, Mr. Sharma, with a jerk of his hand undid his robe and got into action. He pushed himself harder and swifter. Aparna clutched onto the bed sheet like she did always, tears wetting her cheeks. Once done Mr. Sharma would usually roll over to his side and fall asleep. Aparna would climb down the bed and quietly slid out of his room but tonight things turned out differently. After being done, Mr. Sharma lay half upon the bed and half upon her, his head upon her chest, for around a couple of minutes. After that, he lifted his head and moved up a little. It confused Aparna. It had always been down there. Neither had his hand nor his lips have ever touched anywhere above the lower portion of her navel. She was also not allowed to touch him anywhere. He looked at her. Drops of tears had accumulated in the corner of her eyes like they always did, too eager to gush out. He asked, “Do you cry every night?”. She nodded. Mr. Sharma spoke again, “I don’t make love to you. Do you understand?” Her lips quivered a little before she spoke, ” I am well aware of it Sir. I am sorry for having said so. And I promise I will never say it again”. It was perhaps the longest that she had spoken to Mr Sharma in all these months. What Mr. Sharma did next, shocked her more. He reached for her right cheek and cupped it with his hand, his right thumb stroking the black mole on her chin. After a couple of seconds, he said, ” Let me show you what making love actually means.”. He hesitated for a moment to speak again, “May I?”. Mr Sharma who had bought Aparna in exchange of a sum of twenty lakhs was asking her permission to make love to her. Aparna was too stunned to say anything. She merely nodded in affirmation.
Aparna still remembers how the look on his face had drastically changed. His eyes turned as tender as dew, his touch as soft as cotton wool. He cupped her face with both hands, lowered his face to kiss the black mole on her chin. A shiver ran down her spine. He then kissed her forehead moving his lips down her closed eyelids, nose, cheeks followed by her lips. Her lips parted a little and they kissed. He went on to explore her body with each touch softer than earlier. Mr Sharma hadn’t let her go to her room that night. She slept in his arms.
The days that followed were the most beautiful days of her life so far. Aparna had never imagined she could be so happy. Mr Sharma would take her out for dinner. Sometimes he would take her to walk along the river banks; at times he would take her to shopping too. He asked Aparna how her past life had been. He too revealed his own, hearing which left Aparna more bewildered than ever.
Mr. Nirvaan Sharma was born to two wonderful human beings on earth. His father was a businessman who was very kind and generous. He loved his mother more than anyone in the world. She had a younger sister who had been his best friend before their family was struck by a disaster. A sudden car accident took the life of both his mother and sister. His father remarried a couple of years later and had a son with his step-mother. Few years ago he fell in love with a girl. Hardly had it been two years when he found her cheating on him for another man. His father too expired within a month of that incident. This had left him shattered. Long counseling sessions helped him to revive but had drained every emotion out of him. He came to think that every woman he had loved in his life had left him and decided to remain alone. It was then that he started visiting the brothel. When he had first met Aparna the black mole on her chin had caught his eye. It was the same thing that his mother, sister as well as his ex-girlfriend possessed-a black mole on the chin. This had made him weak which led him to visit the brothel more frequently. He then finally decided to keep Aparna as his mistress.
Aparna started living her life to the fullest. She gradually observed that a part of Mr. Sharma’s heart had been left unexplored for a long time. The more she explored the more it brought closer to him. Then one fine day, while they were walking along the banks of the river, hand in hand, Mr. Sharma suddenly turned towards her, and looking straight into her eyes asked, “Will you marry me, Aparna?”. Aparna blushed. The black mole on her chin, indeed, had brought her good luck, as prophesied by many. The mole shone away as the sun showered its last rays on her, trying to wipe out her past and promising her a brighter future. Her soul exclaimed within, “She had lost her virginity to someone who had kissed her forehead and loved her ever”.
By Ayentika Sen
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