Karnan: A Story on Silence | Thursday Tale No. 19
There are days when the sky seems impossibly wide, when every road appears open and every horizon within reach. It is easy, then, to believe that freedom is where one's flight takes one. But between the promise of an open horizon and the act of reaching it lies reality, where the distance travelled and the direction taken are not always the same thing.
Karnan is a story of what becomes of a life when its course is decided long before its destination is understood.
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She had said “No!” but there she was at the hospital, awaiting her medical report.
Even before the doctor pronounced it, Madhura knew the result.
“You are pregnant,” the doctor announced. Madhura's smileless expression faded into disappointment.
Madhura was only seventeen, married, and now expecting. But none of these were what she had wanted in life.
Madhura had wanted to become an IAS officer, did not want to marry until she was thirty, and did not wish to have children—after having lost her mother to childbirth and bearing its unfortunate consequence.
But one event, and its domino effect, had landed her there.
It was 11th October 2024. Madhura was sixteen, appearing for her Higher Secondary Certification internal viva examination. Professor Ashok Kumar, her cool Sociology professor, had asked her to wait back for a discussion, and Madhura obliged.
When the examination concluded and the college emptied out, Professor Ashok invited her to his office. There he spoke expressively at length about the subject, its scope, scholarship options, and career prospects. As the conversation gained momentum, he drew out of his drawer a box of chocolates, a bouquet, and a ring; he sat on his desk, offered them to her, and professed his interest in marrying her.
A sour taste of revulsion rose to her throat, but Madhura politely rejected his offer.
He became embittered when he persisted, and Madhura firmly resisted. Wanting to reduce her to silence, especially after she clearly stated, “I said ‘No!’ sir. I have to leave now. Allow me to retain the little respect I still hold for you,” he shut the door behind him.
After that moment, everything became a demonstration of his power. He took out his phone and recorded his monstrous face brushing against her face and neck to tarnish her future, her reputation.
Satisfied that the fear would do the rest, he unlocked the door and said, “I am giving you a week. Choose wisely.”
For a week, Madhura believed his narrative and existed in silence. But as the daze of that day slowly lifted, she remembered who she was and told her father everything.
Madhura’s father was an easy-going man until something interfered with his power and his family’s reputation. So he acted with strategy. First, he filed a complaint against Ashok to establish his dominance and got him arrested. Next, he arranged Madhura’s marriage with Prakash.
Prakash was Madhura’s cross-cousin living in Mumbai to whom she was betrothed at birth. Apart from the knowledge that he was a software engineer, Madhura knew nothing about Prakash. But Prakash knew relatively more about Madhura and her family. From a young age, he was constantly reminded about his bride-in-waiting and of her maturing beauty. So when her father called, explaining the situation, he dutifully obliged and also developed an anticipation for the union.
But Madhura opposed the marriage. She did not want a single setback to hinder her education. So she said, “No!” but after all that had unfolded, her father only allowed her voice to echo alongside the wedding sangeet in the background.
Within a week, Madhura was married to Prakash and started her new life in Mumbai.
Considering the thoughtfulness with which Prakash went through the wedding ceremonies, and the little conversations they shared over the course of the wedding, Madhura felt a hint of hope in her nuptial life. So during the night of the wedding, Madhura, who was growing comfortable around Prakash, expressed her desire to study further and requested to put everything off till she graduated from college. Surprisingly, Prakash agreed.
A few weeks passed by sweetly.
Prakash looked out for Madhura as much as she looked out for him. He bought her flowers, took her to theatres, and helped her around the house. Slowly, her sensibilities began softening in his presence, especially after he accompanied her to her hometown for her examination and back. But Madhura held her resolve; she still had to await the exam result.
Prakash took notice of all these changes too. Occasionally, his observation would intensify his yearning for her, but he would contain it.
One day, after their return from her hometown, Prakash returned home with a bouquet of flowers and some sweets. Madhura, who had spread a feast out of overwhelming gratitude for his support, joyfully served him. They both ate, talked, and laughed until the lights were turned off for the night.
That night, Madhura looked at Prakash’s silhouette for long, and she looked at the rhythm in which his chest flared and compressed. At that moment, she felt content with the direction in which her life was blooming. As she turned around to sleep, Madhura felt the warmth of his palm against her waist. A tension ran through her body, but she gently lifted his arm away from her and rolled to the edge of the bed. This time, Prakash rolled closer to her in bed, put his arm around her, and whispered, “Please, only tonight.”
Sensing his intention, Madhura, who was equally drawn to him but also determined about her goal, said, “No, dear! Not yet.”
He pleaded, “The exams are over, and I am sure you will pass.”
But Madhura remained determined.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Despite the darkness, Madhura could see his eyes darken.
“I have only been nice to you, and is this how you pay me back?” he retorted.
“No, you are misunderstanding it,” she tried to explain.
“Then please, only tonight,” he entreated.
“No, Prakash,” she reiterated and closed her eyes.
But Prakash did not let the conversation end there. Instead, he moved closer to her, ignoring her “Nos!”, and continued prioritising his desires over her autonomy. Displeased, Madhura looked ahead at the darkness engulfing the room.
The next morning, Madhura woke up silent. Prakash too observed the change in her demeanour, but chose to shut himself behind his work by convincing himself that it was nothing but her duty to satisfy his needs.
About thirty-five days after that night, Madhura missed her monthly cycle and was declared pregnant.
Madhura had enquired about possible abortion options, saying, “No. I do not want to keep the baby. Please don't try to convince me. Please!”
“You are a minor. You'll require your husband’s or a family member’s signature,” the doctor informed.
“Is there no other way?”
“No!” concluded the doctor.
After the check-up, Madhura did not return home. She sat at a bus stand considering all the possibilities for other means of eliminating the product of her disconsent. But the more she thought, the more she realised that she was in an unfamiliar city, among unfamiliar people, with no money of her own except her allowance, and only limited ways of expressing her decision to her father and her husband. Realising this extinguished the last faint light in her eyes.
Madhura sat there, under the roof of the bus stand, in the scorching heat, amidst the restless traffic.
Her lifeless eyes took in the sight of: a bus queue larger than the capacity of the vehicle boarding the bus; a fruit vendor’s hand moving at the speed of light, chopping and serving the fruit salad; a woman carrying luggage down the bridge as her husband carried one child in one arm and fed fruits to the other with the other arm. Madhura looked at a child passing through the traffic trying to sell his pens and roses. She saw herself in the glass windows of passing vehicles moving lethargically through the traffic. She saw her hand rest on her belly. She saw a dog sleeping cosily by a man tying flower garlands across the road. She also saw the egg of a pigeon perched on the roof roll down and plop near her feet. She saw the pigeon look at the shattered egg and then at the sky, and take off.
Suddenly, Madhura rose up. She crossed the traffic, walked straight to the fruit vendor, and bought herself three huge semi-ripe papayas. In her hometown, it was believed that consuming papayas induced uterine contractions.
Madhura wanted to put an end to the hypothesis. So she returned home hastily. She went straight to the kitchen, sliced the papaya, and served it to herself in a huge bowl with a big fork.
As the sun gently set and the clock’s hand moved closer to her husband’s arrival, Madhura sat by the window side, shoving a mouthful of papaya down her throat. Throughout the feasting, her eyes only looked at the pigeons aimlessly flying between the sky and the building crevices.
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