Durjanpur has fallen silent. Silence ensures izzat. Silence is a virtue this large Haryana village enforces to ‘protect’ its daughters. Some of the village girls have been allegedly raped repeatedly over months by two of their school teachers. If the panchayat elders had had their way, the can of worms would have remained tightly shut.
Durjanpur is not alone in following this unwritten code when it comes to dealing with untoward incidents of rape, sexual abuse, molestation, exploitation, incest and socially unacceptable alliances. The common sentiment is that all is well so long as the dark deeds remain a village secret. Tragically, social conditioning has forced victims to be part of this conspiracy of silence. They play along, sometimes willingly, at times out of fear and most often, without questioning. Who bothers about the damage to the victims’ psyche? It’s their trauma, to be dealt with in nightmares and tears.
My mind travelled to another village at the other end of the country. The little hamlet annually turns into a Mecca for the childless. On a particular moonless night women desperate to be mothers assemble at the village for puja. As the sun goes down, women carrying small earthern oil lamps walk to the river which runs through a wooded area away from any village habitation. After floating the lamp in the river, they start the return trip only at sunrise. No men, except sadhus and godmen, are allowed to accompany them. Legend goes that most are blessed with a child after the nocturnal holy trip.
A young woman I met had run away from the ritual to her husband waiting at the village. The couple fled before the others became aware of what had happened. The woman disclosed that the ritual at the river bank included sharing a bed with the accompanying godmen. Those who had gone there did so. Yet none chose to speak about it. Silence was the price for a chance to bear a child and bring happiness to the husband and his family.
{{/usCountry}}A young woman I met had run away from the ritual to her husband waiting at the village. The couple fled before the others became aware of what had happened. The woman disclosed that the ritual at the river bank included sharing a bed with the accompanying godmen. Those who had gone there did so. Yet none chose to speak about it. Silence was the price for a chance to bear a child and bring happiness to the husband and his family.
{{/usCountry}}I was told of another conspiracy of silence among women of a village in arid Rajasthan who travel lonely sandy stretches to fetch water. A group of five women were waylaid and raped by a gang of armed men. In their collective wisdom, the women decided to keep quiet. None wanted to be suspected or discarded by the husband nor spoil the chances of marriage of a 13-year old victim. For the sake of izzat, the code of silence was enforced. Tribal women from a village in Orissa went on dharna to demand a public toilet for women because they’d be molested by men in the forest.
The Durjanpur school too was aware of the goings on in its tiny health room. Why did everyone keep silent when a bed was installed in the room? Why did no-one question the two alleged rapists for summoning the girls to the room ever so often? Why did the victims keep silent? This conspiracy of silence perpetuates crimes of the worst kind. If Durjanpur has to be ashamed, it is for its silence, not for the loss of the izzat of its girls.