An Act of God

As he looked down, he saw millions of people come together to pray. Not for themselves, not for their families, but for the victims of the horrendous crime called rape. It touched him. Acts of humanity from humans were rare.
Today, however, their support and sympathy was purely selfless, and selfless deeds that do not have a grain of benefit for the doer are the holiest.
He decided he had to intervene. He had let the humans run the world for long enough and they had failed. Miserably. Maybe this will send a message.
It was time, as they say, for a miracle.

****

It had been as if all his limbs had been drained of energy.
He had seen the slutty girl he had been following.  Alone. Seeing his chance, he had pounced. She had been asking for it, really. He had been sure she would give in.
The last woman he had raped had. She had struggled but had finally given up and laid down like a corpse with silent tears flowing down her face.
But as soon as he had grabbed her from the back, he had felt powerless, and the girl had pulled out a knife and a spray from her purse.
As she ran away, a voice pierced his ears. It made his ears bleed, but he could sense that it was divine. It seemed to be all around him, and yet it was only for his ears. The voice was singing something.

By some crazy birth right,
you had assumed it to be okay
okay to rip a woman of her integrity
and to forge them into claws.

Claws that hold her fast,
as she gets beaten down
into something more than a soul
but certainly not human.

For even now she wails
all through the night.
She wails, at the white blank walls,
when she sees the claws
somehow penetrate them
like they had done with her clothes
and crawl up the bed sheet
which she holds tight, up to her chin
like a kid, afraid of monsters under her bed.

For her, the monsters are only too real.
She wails and howls, at the blank walls
from which she sure the monsters shall emerge.
These are the same walls that cage her,
the same she is not allowed to go out of,
in case she gets ripped again.

By some crazy logic,
you thought it was perfectly fine
to grab her dress and yank it off her.
And to make them into curtains
curtains she is even now afraid to part
in case one of you is standing outside her house
eyeing her like she was your own fucking property.

But very soon, mark my words
those eyes will be scratched out
of their despicable heads.
And that dupatta you tore off,
while she struggled to keep it
in some horrible game of tug of war
shall be used to tie a noose,
and between its folds,
will not be her neck.
But this time, you will not get to take a peek
because hanging from it
will be your head.

In her panic, she had left a cut on his arm. A cut that wouldn’t stop bleeding even after an hour. The water and medicines that he tried to put on it seemed to be repelled, as if they were aware of the misdoings behind the gash.
It had been happening a lot lately. No one seemed to be able to lay hands on a girl these days. A friend of his who tried to get another girl had said that he had felt a searing pain and had gone blind for a few seconds, as the girl ran away. It had seemed ridiculous at that time, but now…
The scar couldn’t heal, and so could not the shame. It was all he felt now, as it dawned on him that he had been the recipient of god’s verdict.

****

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