Samata - Part Two

The ground below Samata’s feet gave way as her 16 year old daughter fell into her arms.  The two crashed down together collecting droplets of each other’s tears while her daughter recounted the incident between heaves and sobs.  It was the landlord’s son and two others; the Sun behind her burned her body as they peeled off her sari; names reserved for her caste rang in her ears repeatedly, obscenely.

Samata’s husband was the first to come home and their son not long after.  Finding the women in their state and after a brief narration of the events, both men exploded in unison.  They grabbed long sticks and barged out, crossing the perimeter of their boundary by stepping into an area revered to be pure.  After polluting the village of the higher caste with merely their presence, father and son continued deeper towards a tea stall.  The three accused men sat on rickety wooden chairs celebrating their exploits with cheap homemade liquor.  Their glasses were full but three empty bottles sat discarded at the edge of the table.

Samata’s husband confronted the landlord’s son, stick in hand and fire in his eyes only to be reprimanded for contaminating the tea stall and the village by his presence.  His son came to stand by his father offering an equally fiery glare.  The largest of the three men stood up unsteadily and jabbed Samata’s son in the face, bruising his jaw.  His father brought his stick down on the monster, drawing blood from his forehead.  Soon the rickety chairs went flying crashing on sunburned backs.  Sticks met shoulders and knuckles made contact with eyes and ears.  In midst of the commotion no one saw the shiny metal the landlord’s son extricated from his pocket.  The jab was hard and deep just under Samata’s husband’s ribs.

To be continued….