Meera

She always had led a mediocre life – not too fancy, but not too boring. Father, Head-Accounts in a private firm and Mother, a housewife. Wait! Not just a housewife (she hated that tag), but a part-time tiffin service provider too. She had two sisters, both elder to her. In spite of belonging to a simple middle-class family, she was the only member who was overly pampered and promptly attended to.

She loved her mother. She was a perfect epitome of a mother and a wife. Always calm and composed, impeccable with her work and dressed up gracefully (how much she was in love with her printed synthetic sarees!). She adored her Mother, but for one Quality - Her head bowed down.

Mother never looked up or into someone’s eyes, even when directly speaking. Even while expressing her anger.

“How could she live like that?” She would often discuss with her sisters. “If I were in her place, I would have been dead with spondylitis already.”

One day, straight after lunch, she summoned courage and confronted her mother.

“What are you scared of that you could never raise your head in front of others? Have I seen papa ever raising his voice at you? NO. Then why? Don’t you think it’s shameful on your part?” She did not want to say that last sentence and quickly regretted it too.

Mother was stunned. For a moment, She too was shocked to look at her face (with her head bowed down, of course). The redness on her cheeks slowly spreading to her ears, her nostrils flaring up and her lips were clenched. She not sure if she saw a drop of tear drenching her right eyelash. 

“Never dare you say that again. And better, you too learn to live like this. A woman you are, aren’t you?” came a loud reply.

Aghast and hurt, She was shocked!

“I would never do that. NEVER EVER…A bowed head is a sign of shame, fatigue and cowardice. I am none of this but you for sure are!” This time, her words were a deliberate attempt to hurt her mother and leave her shattered as she stormed off.

That night was never-ending.

“A woman you are, aren’t you?” Mother’s words were echoing in her head. 

For a 16-year old, it was difficult to decide if she was still a girl or a woman. But her sisters were 21 and 22 already, and were definitely young & pretty women.

The same women who have recently turned quiet and timid. The observation was unsettling and she quickly declined it in disbelief.

"Was I too on the path to becoming just like mother?" she pondered.

Immediately, another voice echoed. Something swept her to flashback…

‘MEERA…what an impressive name!” Vikas, her classmate had once said as she casually dismissed the praise.

“What’s so great about it? She mocked.

“Oh, it is power. Can you imagine a lady falling in love with the supreme – Krishna, and not bowing down to anyone, even at the cost of her being ruined? This name is not ordinary Meera. Make this your identity, not just a name.” chuckled Vikas.

“By the way, who gave you this name?” he asked.

“Papa says it was his guru. I have never met him though. But papa has great faith in him. Once he even said that he can give away his life for his guru.” she replied.

She woke up with a jerk. It was 7 in the morning. Last night was such a terror.

She stepped out of the room, expecting the usual hustle-bustle – sisters getting ready for college, papa heading to office and mother, as usual, in the kitchen.  But there was none of this familiar chaos. Instead the entire house was haunting an unusual, eerie silence. 

She could hear some faint noise from the storeroom. As she slowly headed for the store room, the voices became clear and she could hear her mother pleading.

“Please, spare Meera. She’s young and naïve. Last time when you took Kavita you had said this would be the final time.” Mother was sobbing hard, sounding helpless.

She peeped through the door and skipped a heartbeat. Mother was kneeling down and had grabbed father’s legs. Both her sisters, Anita and Kavita stood in a corner, scared and weeping.

Her father saw her at the door, mother wiped off her tears and everyone dispersed to get busy with the daily chores. It would have been hard to explain to someone if there was something wrong in the house only a few minutes back.

She did not bother to enquire knowing it to be futile.

But the answer was about to come….just a week later.

It was a cold morning of February and she was tucked in her cozy blanket when her mother  suddenly woke her up. She could sense some worry in her voice. She was asked to get ready and drape a saree. A saree? This was unusual!

Before she could contemplate, she was made to sit into her father's car. The car followed an unknown route - deserted and spooky.

An hour-long drive and they were outside a beautiful bungalow in the woods. The house was silent and religious but the vibes were unsettling. There were young men and women dressed in white robes. After a brief talk with one of them, her father took her inside the house. Mother was asked to wait outside.

Soon they crossed the massive hall room, she saw a big metal door with intricate designs on it. On one side of the door was a metal bell, dangling in the air. Father rang the bell thrice and another woman in the same signature robe came out. She had a pleasant smile on her face – the only thing that brought some respite to otherwise a nervous and anxious her.

She entered the room and saw him - Kripa Maharaj, a white bearded, old looking man with long hair and cringeworthy smile.

“Come Jagdish. I was waiting for you.” He said.

Jagdish, her father, ran and sat down touching his feet. It was awkward.

That man continued, “There is no chance of anything going wrong this time. I have given all my knowledge gained in last 40 years, just to make sure you produce a son.”

A son? Did she hear something wrong? 

 “You can leave now Jagdish. I will see you tomorrow, same time.” Said the man and closed his eyes again. 

Her Father quickly left, without even looking at her. Without taking her along. She hurriedly walked back towards the door but was stopped by the same smiling woman. Before she could understand anything, a cold hand started rubbing her neck. She turned back in despair. It was Guruji, with his eyes open and wild.

Two hours later after spending all her energy screaming and crying, she was escorted to another room. Right from furniture to the décor, everything in that room was royal and certainly not directly associated with monks and spirituality. But what caught her attention was a mesmerizing Tanjore painting of Lord Krishna. It gave her a strange sense of relief.

Some women assistants helped her wash and dress up. She was terrified but still wanted to know why was this happening to her. So she asked one of the assistants. And then she wished she shouldn’t have asked the question at all.

She thought her father was a hero and not a beast madly in desire of a son. Things started unfolding…

First mother and then sisters going away from home every now and then – returning back dejected and exhausted from the claws of this guru. And mother’s frequent visits to the clinic for tests followed by abortions. Hadn’t she given up already? First for herself and then for her daughters. A head bowed was all she could manage. She had accepted to be a loser and a coward or maybe a living corpse.

It was late in the night and the door opened. Guruji stepped in –no white robe, no vermilion; just plain Kurta Pyjamas. She was ready too. She did not have to wait much longer. As soon as he turned his back to take the glass of water kept on the table, she pushed the knife on his back - once, twice, thrice.....in a fit of rage, while reminiscing about the sufferings of her Mother and Sisters. Oozing blood made her nauseous, but she pulled out the knife and hit the same on his chest with all her powers! 

She fainted.

Even after a week, newspapers were flooded with the details and speculations over Guruji’s murder. Just outside the juvenile court she her saw mother and sisters. Mother had filed for divorce while her father was already in jail. Mother's head held high!!

‘Famous Guru Kripa Maharaj Found Dead in His Bungalow. Guruji was lying lifeless on the floor and just above his body was the Tanjore painting of Lord Krishna.', read the Newspaper Article.

‘MEERA – not an ordinary name. Make this your identity, not just a name.’ - Meera smiled, as the Judge pronounced the verdict and set her free.