My Twentieth Birthday

DISCLAIMER-  The story you are about to read is a pure work of fiction and has themes about murder and abuse that may not be appreciated by reader. Reader’s discretion is advised. Do not read if you are not comfortable with the theme!

thank you!

I officially turned twenty today.

‘you have become a woman today’ my father said that to me when he greeted me in the morning.

I was supposed to be happy, and like the other people of my age, should be out celebrating my youth but instead I was in the kitchen helping my mother out, preparing lunch.

‘we should get her married off, she would become a burden as she grows older’ my grandmother said as she chewed on her gutka, watching serial on the television, that she can afford only because my mother worked day and night.

My father agreed with her as he sat on the dining table, Eating the fresh hot Aloo Paratha that me and mother made and complaining about how it tastes bland and mother should learn to cook better.

Well, too bad! He shouldn’t have spent half of my mother’s salary on his alcohol every other night. we would have had more money to buy spices and better-quality food.

My mother, my worn-out mother who had so many scars of labor all over her body was the only hard-working member of this house.She was beautiful but all her beauty was degraded and thoroughly abused by my father and his mother. there wasn’t even one single jewelry on her body except that ‘mangalsutra’ that tied her to this wretched life. she was thin, she looked like a stick, her eyes always had dark circles and her hair all thinned out and rough because she hardly had time to give it any attention.

she was the one paid the bills, cooked the food and fought for my education even though my father and grandmother insisted I did not need to go to college as I was meant to be married off anyways.

This morning when I woke up my mother gave me some new clothes and two thousand rupees which I knew was very hard for her to hide from my father.

‘have fun’ she said and I cried in her arms.

what did i do to deserve an angel like her?

She went through all this humiliation, labor and pain so that I don’t end up being like her.

My mother doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve any of this.

He hits her every night; my mother takes it without complaining. He hits her with that belt, he slaps her with his hard-abusive hands and now it has become a routine. Nights wouldn’t be complete without him hitting her and without my grandmother complaining about how she cursed the family. How my father lost his job after he got married to her, even though it was my entirely my father’s fault.

A jobless man, who does not support his own family and has over whelming ego, is my father.

A man who never loved my mother and hated her more when she gave birth to a girl child, is my father.

A man who can never be satisfied as his only true love in his life was that bottle of whiskey, is my father.

And today on my twentieth birthday, he hit her very hard.

‘if only she could have blessed this family with a son’ I heard my grandmother say as she still sat on that sofa, watching as my father hit her with the leather belt. ‘it’s all my fault, I should have tried harder and got you married to a much richer girl…’  she said again.

My mother didn’t like that I could see all of this every night so she used to lock me up in my room, making sure I don’t come out. She knew how much I loved her and if I had a chance I would stop him from hitting her but she didn’t want me to get hurt. She was ready take all the pain just so they don’t hurt me.


But not today.

i cant stay hidden behind this door, hoping life would get better for us. i cant stand behind this door, be a coward and not protect her.

I couldn’t stand it today, especially when I hear the sound of the leather belt thrashing on to flesh that hardly had any fat.

I shouted from inside the room. I screamed my heart out.

The thrashing stopped, I could hear my father walking towards my door and I heard my mother screaming to leave me alone.

I screamed more just to provoke him. I called him out, abused him.

Suddenly the door flung open and he pulled me to the small living room by clutching on to my hair.

It hurt but I didn’t scream.

My mother on the other hand screamed for me, begging the abusive drunk man to leave me alone.

‘what did you say?’ he shouted as he took the leather belt  into his hand, and was about to hit me with it

But instead I took the knife that I hidden in my hand and stabbed him right where I assumed his heart would be.

My mother screamed.

My father looked down at his chest, where the knife had pierced his flesh, blood oozing out of it. the belt fell down from his hands. he was shocked, he just stood there.

the room was suddenly very quiet.

My grandmother, for the first time in many years got up from the sofa chair and came running to my father.

My father fell, he laid flat on the floor. Blood was every where, it even touched my feet but i did not move.

I looked at him, making eye contact. I wasn’t scared.

I was relieved

My mother slapped me , hit me and she was crying her heart out. This was the first time she had ever hit me.

‘what did you do?’  she said, shouting. ‘you ruined your life!’ 

I smiled at her. that’s all i could do.

‘you wretched bitch, you killed him! You killed my only son!’ my grandmother shouted.

I killed my father on my twentieth birthday and  I ended up going to prison the very next day as my grandmother called the police and the ambulance.

He was dead, my mother was free.

She cried her heart though, begging the police not to take me but i went with them without saying a word.

I hugged her for very last time and she kept kissing me

‘Don’t worry beta, i will get you out of there in no time…’ she said as kept hugging and kissing me.

I gave her the two thousand rupees that she had given me and i smiled at her.

She  cried more hard and stood there till the police van was out of sight.

I felt relieved.

I had no regrets as I knew my mother was safe from him, from all his abuse.

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