Trust is a Trafficker – Rescue Foundation

The wall comes crashing down.

A loud thud opens my eyes. It takes a while to register his face. He calls my name with an expectant voice – “Me! Your brother!”

He looks so familiar extending his hands with tears in his eyes. He looks so safe.

I wish I could take his hands but I am not able to reach him. ‘You are not tied anymore’, I tell myself. As a reminder, I look down at my free hands. But they are unable to move. It’s as if an invisible rope keeps me tied to the chair. I can still feel the jute cutting through my wrists, burning my ankle skin. My body remembers how moving stings. So I don’t move. I gaze at his face.

“Me, Bhai!” He has found me. He is waiting for me to recognize him as he looks through the hole in the wall.

5 years ago, we bid adieu just like that. From a small hole in the front wall of our house. He knew that I didn’t want to leave but my uncle had already paid for the tickets. Uncle had scolded us and Ma for having second thoughts. “I have paid a huge amount now” he reprimanded us. He knew that we couldn’t afford any more debts.

At our last meal together, Bhai had given me half his roti. And so it was decided. I will go to the city with my Uncle. I will stay at his friend’s garment shop, sell clothes, send the earnings home, and study in my free time. Except that – I had a lot of free time, but I couldn’t study. I sent my earnings home, but there were no garments. I stayed in a shop, but I wasn’t the one selling.

I was the one sold.

On our way to the city, my uncle had given me a cold drink because I wouldn’t stop crying. He said it would help calm me down. And it did but it also put me in a deep sleep. I woke up on a bed and instinctively I knew something bad had happened. When I looked around, I saw my uncle.

“You can trust me… I am family”, he said.

And he climbed into the bed. I fought him, but when I tried to bite, he stuffed a cloth in my mouth. When I kicked and clawed, he tied my hands and feet.

Silenced and Strapped. I shut my eyes. I couldn’t see what happens next. I decided I wouldn’t.

I didn’t open my eyes – Not when he stripped me. Not when he hit me. Not when he left. Not even when another man came. Not when any of them came.

I kept my eyes closed. Even as they watered, even as the needles pricked me, even as I was pushed around and my hair was being pulled, even as every part of me ached.

I knew that if I keep my eyes shut long enough, death would come. And I would meet Papa and I would tell him what his brother did.

But this thud has my eyes open and my brother stands in front of me now.

‘B-h-a-i,’ I try to whisper. “Yes, it’s me,” he sobs uncontrollably and I allow a sigh.