Your Dreams Are Mine Now

by Ravinder Singh

  She walked into the college building amid the abandoned classrooms and took the staircase to go straight to the accounts department.

  But when she reached Prof. Mahajan’s cabin, she found the door locked. She looked at her watch. It was exactly 2 p.m. She wondered if she should hang around for a while. The professor could have been held up.

  When he did not arrive even after ten minutes of her waiting, she went to look at other faculty members’ cabins in the department to check if, by any chance, Prof. Mahajan was there. She checked the HOD’s office as well. But to her dismay, she didn’t find anyone from the department. In fact, she didn’t come across a single human in the area. The whole floor was desolate!

  Rupali was about to walk back in disappointment when, all of a sudden, she heard someone running up the staircase in her direction.

  It turned out to be the peon who worked in the accounts department.

  Finally seeing a face on that deserted floor, Rupali quickly asked him, ‘Bhaiya, Prof. Mahajan kahan hai, pata hai?’ (Do you know where Prof. Mahajan is?)

  ‘Prof. Mahajan! Hmmm . . .’ the peon murmured as he looked up at the ceiling, trying to recall where he had last seen the professor.

  She kept waiting till the peon looked back at her, only to shake his head from left to right.

  No, he hadn’t seen him around. So he turned back to leave. Giving out a sigh of disappointment, Rupali placed her notebook back in her bag. She had no choice but to go back to her hostel. Suddenly, her phone rang. The sound of the phone shocked her as it echoed in the empty corridor. She quickly pulled it out of her bag and looked at the number. It was her brother Tanmay calling from Patna. This sort of cheered her up. She quickly zipped her bag and picked up the call.

  ‘Hello,’ she said smiling.

  ‘HELLO!’ she said loudly the second time.

  ‘HELLO . . . be loud, I am not able to hear you,’ Rupali’s loud voice echoed in the silent dark corridor.

  ‘Yahaan signal nahi aata. Us taraf jaaiye,’ (The network is weak here, go to that side.) The peon shouted from behind Rupali, pointing his finger in the opposite direction on the same floor.

  Rupali followed the instructions in haste.

  But by the time she walked down the dark corridor and arrived on the other side of the building, the call had dropped. So she tried to call back. But then, the very next moment she disconnected the call for there was something that had suddenly caught her attention.

  In front of her was a window and there was some movement she could detect inside. As the outside was comparatively darker than the inside, Rupali had a clear view without anyone from inside being able to easily notice her. From a narrow gap in between the panes of the window she saw something that shook her.

  She saw the back of a lady, who from her dress, appeared to be a lady peon from the college. She was standing in front of a man who sat on the edge of a table with his feet comfortably touching the ground. Rupali could barely see him. But what was clearly obvious was that he was running his hands over her back, up inside her blouse. The lady peon’s body language showed her reluctance. She was trying to pull herself out of the man’s grip. Yet she wasn’t shouting, but murmuring. She repeatedly tried to pull the man’s hand out of her blouse. But the man persisted, clearly pushing himself against her will. For one moment, when the peon managed to step away, Rupali was able to see the face of the man. It was as if her fears had come true.

  Prof. Mahajan stretched his hand to grab the peon’s arm. Rupali was scared. She knew she had no business being there and that this could be dangerous for her. She pulled herself back and tried to breathe. Suddenly, she felt a heaviness, as if a wave of nausea hit her. She began sweating profusely and felt as if she was going to throw up.

  Was this really happening or could it be a nightmare?

  But the peon’s low distressed voice told her it was really happening. She took a moment to digest that a highly respected professor of her college was actually forcing himself on a lady peon. A part of her mind told her to run away and forget what she had seen. But then the thought of the lady peon began to bother her and she stopped. It was certain what was happening behind the closed doors and within the walls of the vacant faculty room wasn’t an act of mutual choice. She had witnessed the signs of silent and hesitant protests of the peon. And if she walked away, it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  So she thought to herself for a few moments. She recalled her baba’s words, ‘Stand for what is right and do not let evil persist.’ She knew what she was going to do. And when she had made up her mind, she looked here and there and stepped closer to the window again. She was scared of being caught doing what she was about to do. Yet she was determined.

  Right then, her phone rang. It was Tanmay again.

  ‘Shit!’ she uttered and immediately disconnected the call, and put her phone on silent mode. She quickly sent an SMS to Tanmay telling him that she would call him back in a while.

  Rupali, with all her guts, turned back to look through the window. Prof. Mahajan had by now managed to lay the lady down on the table, her sari riding all the way up to her knees. She was still trying to push him away, but the professor being stronger, did not seem to bother. Rupali could hear her pleading with him to leave her alone. But the professor kept telling her that he would let her go very soon and all she had to do was show her willingness.

  Outside the window, Rupali quietly put the cellphone between the windowpane and held it at an angle behind the curtains. She then zoomed in on the scene and began recording. For the next couple of minutes she filmed everything that happened inside the room.

  The moment the professor unzipped his pants, Rupali realized that she couldn’t be a mute spectator any longer. Besides, she wasn’t prepared to handle the anticipated visuals. It was time for some action. She already had enough evidence. Now all she had to do was rescue the peon. She knew she had to be discreet.

  So she went to the end of the corridor from where she had come and started walking back towards the same window. This time she made noise with her feet, loud enough to be heard by the people inside the faculty room. She casually tapped on the door and a few windowpanes and faked talking to someone over the phone. She was loud in her fake conversation as well.

  ‘What, you are outside? I am in the building. Why don’t you all come here? It will take you a minute. You guys can do the election campaign planning here! No, no, there is no one here. It’s absolutely empty,’ she said, walking up and down the corridor, making her words audible to the people inside the room.

  ‘Wait. I will come down. Meet me at the ground floor. Bye,’ she said.

  When she was done, she quietly walked down and waited for a few minutes on the ground floor. She realized that her trick had worked when, the next moment, she saw the frightened peon walking out of the building in haste.

  As the lady peon speedily walked out of the building, she looked here and there, as if hoping that no one had seen her. She was continuously wiping her tears. That’s when Rupali realized that she too had started crying. But hers were tears of relief. She wanted to stop that lady. She wanted to speak to her; get to know all that she had gone through. She knew she was making a compromise by being in that room with Prof. Mahajan. She wanted to help her. But perhaps that moment wasn’t right. Perhaps, she should give her some time, she thought.

  And then, at the next moment, a thought struck her—the professor might also want to leave the building and might see her. In panic, she began to run and ran straight into a firm athletic body and a set of arms that tried to help her steady herself. At a sharp turn at the corner of the college block, she suddenly looked up and her eyes met a set of familiar eyes. He was the same senior who had questioned her about the plant.

  ‘S . . . sorry, I’m sorry,’ she blurted out as she came to a dead stop.

  He looked up at her and then in every direction across the building, as if trying to figure out why she was running. But he didn’t
ask her anything. Rupali moved away from him and gave a weak smile underneath her moist eyes. He didn’t respond. As she walked away fast, she could feel his stare on her back.

  ‘Who is this guy? Why is he always there whenever anything bad happens to me?’ she thought to herself.

  Seven

  It took Rupali nearly a week to trace that lady peon. She had been looking for her everywhere on the campus since the incident. She wanted to know if she was okay. She wanted to let her know that she was there for her but the lady seemed to have just disappeared. The problem was that without knowing her name or remembering any distinctive features about her, Rupali was having a tough time inquiring about her from the other peons on campus.

  One day, she finally found her in the garden area of the campus, where she was busy cleaning. Rupali took a minute to verify if she was the one whom she had seen the other day. There were several other lady peons who wore the same dress but something told her that she was the same woman. When Rupali was somewhat certain, she walked towards her.

  ‘Didi,’ she said, addressing her as an elder sister.

  In response, she looked up at Rupali questioningly.

  Rupali looked at her face and into her eyes. All that she had witnessed a week before flashed through her mind. Swathed behind the poor peon’s innocent face, was the pain she had been going through. Rupali was sensitive enough to see that and sympathize with her.

  ‘Bolo madam ji?’ (Yes, madam?) the peon broke her thought process.

  ‘No need to call me madam. You can call me didi,’ Rupali said with a smile.

  ‘Ji didi,’ the peon acknowledged with a smile. Rupali was happy to see the smile on her face.

  ‘Kya naam hai aapka?’ (What’s your name?) Rupali asked her.

  ‘Ah . . . Raheema,’ she replied, wiping the sweat off her forehead.

  Rupali, in turn, introduced herself. She then asked her if she ever came to the hostel building. Raheema replied that she seldom visited the hostel block, as her duties were limited to the college block only. But she did ask Rupali the reason for her query.

  Not sure about how to initiate the difficult conversation, Rupali lied. She told her that she had been looking for a maid who could do the dusting in her room. It had been more than a month since she had moved into the hostel and now there were spider webs in the corners of the ceiling. She also mentioned about cleaning the cupboard tops and windowpanes and grills. Rupali said that she would like some help with it if possible and the helper would be able to earn something extra at the end of the day.

  After knowing the reason, Raheema happily referred her friend to Rupali. She said that one of her friends who worked in the hostel mess also worked for the girls in the hostel after duty hours.

  She asked Rupali for her room number so that she could send her friend to her room. Rupali felt a bit disappointed. She needed to talk to this lady and now she wouldn’t be able to. So when she was about to pick up her broom from the ground, Rupali held her arm and said, ‘No didi, that maid in the hostel doesn’t clean well. You come.’

  Seeing the way Rupali had held her arm, Raheema felt something different. She wondered if cleaning her room was all that Rupali wanted from her. Yet, listening to Rupali’s persistent requests, she agreed to come to her hostel room, but only in the evening, once she had completed her day’s work.

  Rupali told her that she was absolutely fine with it.

  ‘Don’t be scared, didi. You can speak freely with me,’ Rupali said.

  It was evening, and as decided, Raheema was finally in Rupali’s room. Saloni had gone off to the basketball court. In her absence, Rupali felt comfortable holding a private conversation with the peon.

  Rupali had made Raheema take her chair, while she herself sat on the bed. With her legs crossed and a cushion on her lap, Rupali was continuously persuading the lady to speak up.

  ‘Tell me please, don’t be scared,’ Rupali insisted one more time.

  More than fifteen minutes had passed since Raheema had arrived, but she was not in a position to answer any of Rupali’s questions. She looked hesitant and Rupali could understand why. For Raheema, probably one of her worst fears had come true. Her dark secret was no more limited to herself. After all, someone had seen her in a compromising situation with a man, on the very campus where she worked. And that someone was sitting right in front of her and demanding an answer from her.

  How does she face this someone? What all did she really see? Was it just as much as she had said—the professor forcing himself upon her? Would this someone ever understand her state of mind now, and more importantly then, when she was being molested? How is she, Raheema, any different from the other women who sell their bodies in return for money, which she had been doing in return for the favour that Mahajan had once done her? Scores of such questions clouded her mind and she didn’t have an answer to any of them. Whatever it was, at that moment, she wasn’t prepared to hold any conversation with the girl who was privy to her life’s closely guarded secret. In her mind, she believed she was the culprit.

  Rupali kept on insisting and trying to make her talk. But Raheema was lost in her fearful thoughts. The next time when she heard Rupali’s voice and became conscious of where she was, she wondered who all Rupali would have shared this with. For a while, she thought her job in the college had come to an end. The thought of how she would now earn a living and secure a future for her daughter had started bothering her. So she tried to defend her position, even though Rupali hadn’t accused her at all.

  When she decided to speak up, she only denied all that Rupali had said. She told Rupali that nothing like that had happened and that she might have confused her with some other peon. But her only problem was that her face and body language didn’t support her statement. She couldn’t look into Rupali’s eyes when she spoke. On the contrary, her face had turned red. And she started stammering. At one point, when she could not communicate any further, she wanted to run away. She wanted to run out of that room, that hostel, that very campus. She wished her running away could undo everything.

  In a state of panic, she tried to get up from her chair, but Rupali comforted and consoled her. Then, suddenly, she couldn’t take it any more and tried to rush out of the room. Rupali jumped out of her bed and held her arms. Raheema’s skin felt ice-cold. She was shivering.

  Rupali could not think of any other way to stop her, so she hugged her tightly.

  ‘Please let me help you, didi . . .’ she pleaded.

  Perhaps it was the soothing sound of her voice or the warmth of her body that comforted Raheema. That one moment broke the ice between them. Raheema could not hold back her emotions any longer. She cried her heart out. She gave voice to her emotions when she screamed loudly in Rupali’s room. Her unbearable pain gushed out of her eyes. Rupali allowed her to vent her feelings. She continued to hold her body close to her chest and in the tight grip of her arms. She kept rubbing her back gently, allowing her to lighten her heavy heart. For some time, neither of them spoke.

  A bit later, Rupali offered Raheema a glass of water. When the two of them sat back again, Rupali was all ears.

  ‘Didi,’ she said, clearing her throat. She was finally talking now.

  Rupali kept looking at her moist eyes when Raheema started narrating her story.

  Raheema was in her late thirties. Yet, for her shapely body and appealing facial features, she made an attractive female in the clan of other lady peons on campus. Rupali had realized this when, earlier in the day, she happened to take a closer look at her. She was a widow and a mother of a fifteen-year-old daughter. She lived in the nearby slums where most of the residents were from her minority community. Years back, she used to work as a domestic help in a few houses, where she would clean utensils and do other household chores. But when, three years back, her husband died of cancer, she had no other option but to look for a better job. On the one hand, she had to run her household and on the other, she had to take care of her daughter’s educati
on. Like her, she didn’t want her daughter, too, to clean utensils. She had dreamt of a good life for her daughter.

  Much before tobacco made Raheema’s husband bed-ridden and finally took his life, he used to work as a gardener in the same college. Someone in her community had asked Raheema to see if she could get some work in the college as a replacement for her husband. That’s when she had arrived on this campus looking for work.

  But getting work, even as a replacement for her husband, wasn’t easy. Someone else had filled the vacancy that her husband’s absence had created. For days, Raheema moved from one facility office to another, from one security guard to another. At the end of two weeks of useless running and pleading in front of every person, including students, faculty members, the administrative staff and even the security guards, she met Prof. Mahajan.

  He had noticed her, probably for the third time, outside the administrative block. Raheema had been standing there for the whole day in anticipation of meeting the facilities manager, who unfortunately, was not even present in his office that day.

  Late in the afternoon, Mahajan had stopped by and asked Raheema why she had been standing outside that block for the whole day. She felt obliged that someone of his stature had stopped to listen to her. Raheema told him her story.

  Mahajan was a man of great influence. So to get Raheema a peon’s job on campus was only the matter of one phone call for him. When Mahajan had told Raheema that she could come to work from the very next day, she could not believe what she had heard. And when it was clear to her, she thanked him scores of times. Back then there were tears of happiness in her eyes.

  He was her angel and she would remember him in her prayers—she had said while leaving that day.

  Unfortunately, it only took two more weeks for Raheema’s angel to transform into a devil. The unexpected had unfolded when Mahajan had specifically asked Raheema to clean his cabin on a holiday, when there was no other faculty member or student in the college block.