I am Nirbhaya. I am Zainab. I am every woman and the personification of the girl child before after and in between. And I am hurt. Not here to contest issues of theodicy or free will, but I know it all went down under your watch.
I was born with shame, lived with indignity, a vector of guilt and consequently perished with my opprobrium. I was a perpetual victim of circumstance. For this, I beseeched the divine, I asked her to rid me of my ignominy and validate my humanity. I was not born a woman out of my free volition. You created me, then man and then imbued an insatiable lust. You were omnipotent and I was handicapped by time and space. You knew how my body and soul would be desecrated and it was, but I still anticipated your divine help only to recall that you were the non-interventionist God. I do apologise for my misplaced expectations.
Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) is quoted to have said, that a unified nation was akin to that of a human body; if the toe was injured the whole body endured its throbbing torment. Yet, generations upon generations of me have suffered, sometimes emphatically, mostly mutely and wordlessly but the proverbial nation-body never felt my seething pain. To cater to the pleasures of my custodians, I have been dressed in chiffons and laces, the blood of my mutilated genitalia because you were unable to perfect it and then some more of my own blood courtesy of my protectors turned rapists. I have made marriages appear perfect in spite of marital abuse both emotional and physical. Yet, you never interceded, as it was against your character. You were the non interventionist God. Again, misplaced expectations on my part.
As I sit and wrote, I thought I had the luxury of penning my thoughts in a safe environment. Or, did I? For I was only one inappropriate gaze, touch or joke away from being harassed and it would always be my fault
As I sit and wrote, I thought I had the luxury of penning my thoughts in a safe environment. Or, did I? For I was only one inappropriate gaze, touch or joke away from being harassed and it would always be my fault. Intellectually, I have had to dumb myself down in order to ensure a steady income. I knew that with every pound on the keyboard, somewhere my body and soul were being pounded by insults and I was digging my nails into my assailant, kicking and fighting for my life. I knew that by the time I would be done with this thought, several would have succumbed to their physical injuries and several more would have survived only to witness the deaths of their souls and only to carry on with the motions of life. With every keystroke, somewhere I was being violated and my body and soul subjugated. I fought back and soldiered on. I remained persistent in my effort to sustain myself. Screaming, surviving, dying and breathing my last breath as my rapist intensified his onslaught upon my frail body and soul. I called upon You several times, but you were nowhere to be found because as I recalled, You were the non interventionist God.
The view must be nice from up there. Tell me, was it entertaining to watch me fend off six attackers in a moving bus, dying in the process of protecting my honor strategically placed within my vagina, the genitalia You created? A cavity so deep that it still cannot satiate the thirst of men from times immemorial. You created me to be a receptacle of aggression and humiliation. Nevertheless, I was to fulfill the grandiose role of Jaggat Jannini. The mother of mankind.
You watched as I, with my tiny limbs and hands, battled with my caregiver-turned monster. I am no longer afraid of monsters under my bed.
With every ounce of strength, my fifty pound, seven year old body fended against a hundred and seventy pound adult man. With every blow to my head, every thrust to my dying carcass, every struggled breath I took from my forcefully muffled lips, with stifled screams, I called out to You. I could not save myself neither did anyone else. Your prophets and goddesses were bestowed with miracles. Clearly, I didn’t make the cut. And now I am dead. None of this matters anymore. I realise my expectations in your omnipresence were unfounded. It’s my fault really.
Your religions speak of great men who were to treat me with utmost respect, place me on pedestals, immerse me in holy rivers. I would humbly settle for safety as I have not felt any in a very long time. I implore you, the non interventionist All Seeing and All knowing Goddess.
Thank you for abandoning me after creating me to be subservient to Man because I now understand that you the Almighty are bound by your non-intervention. Fortunately, I am not. I pride myself for having survived as long as I did. You can find comfort in the fact that you sent down books, codes, prophets, demigods and miracles to guide us but you need to know that we were cognisant that you had full knowledge of the centuries of torment it would take for a ‘woman’ to survive in all times past, present and future. You may not take comfort from that.
I hear there will be a promised day of reckoning. If so, it might be too late for me. Aeons of injustices, battling stigmas and assailants with bare hands, forced silence and the mighty pentakes its toll on one’s psyche, but you wouldn’t understand. I don’t expect you to, because You are not human.
I am fatigued. I am dying. Once I am, I’ll have all eternity to wait for you, the All Hearer, the All knower and on that promised day of reckoning, there are some questions I’d like answers to. Ready whenever you are, the non interventionist God.
Sincerely,
Woman
Woman@PerpetuallyAbused_OnYourWatch.com
The writer is Washington DC based Canadian of Pakistani heritage. She is currently working on a book on issues of sexuality and other things taboo amongst Muslims. Can be reached via FB and Twitter
Published in Daily Times, January 30th 2018.