Rape. Sexual harassment. Eve teasing. These are ugly words, words we are unfortunately becoming accustomed to hearing in our increasingly unsafe world. I never had much exposure to such topics before. My family doesn’t discuss subjects like rape very much, or at least we didn’t until a certain rape case in India came into the limelight two years ago. The girl was cruelly raped and left to die by the roadside after four men assaulted her and her male friend in a public bus in Delhi, India’s capital. This left me shocked, insulted as a young Indian woman, and most of all, appalled that no one stood up to stop the attackers.
I refuse to be a bystander. Which is why, when I had the chance, I decided to take back my power as a young woman and stop a rape in its tracks.
I was in Mumbai, India over the winter visiting relatives. In the wake of the Delhi rape case, many of my Indian girl friends were afraid to walk the streets alone in India. My aunt and I took my five little cousins to a beach in populated South Mumbai for a day out in the sun. After an exhausting hour and a half, we were finally ready to return to the car. Laughing, the kids ran ahead of us, and we were almost to the road when a piercing scream cut through the air.
A young girl, a fold of her sari clutched in her hand, was trying to run across the sand. A hoarse shout drew my attention to the man pounding after her. To my horror, he grabbed her arm and raised his other arm, cracking it across her face. She fell to the ground, another scream torn out of her throat, and then the man kicked her viciously, sending her rolling across the sand. My aunt gasped as his foot made contact with her exposed stomach once, twice, thrice, and that small sound galvanized me into action.
“Hey you!” I shouted. “Stop that! Stop kicking her!”
My cry did not go unheard. Several people who had otherwise been ignoring the situation glanced up. My cousins were frozen in horror. I stepped forward, making sure that the children were partially shielded behind me, and yelled again. “Stop that!”
The man made no indication of having heard me. He stomped hard on the girl’s hand, and she howled in pain. I saw a smattering of blood color in the sand. He grabbed her sari and yanked at it. She rolled away, and the sari unwound briskly. Her exposed skin was covered in welts. The man’s greedy eyes were on her blouse. Bile rose in my throat. My seven year-old sister was whimpering behind me. Frantic, I wheeled around to see a small group of college boys standing uncertainly on the periphery. Forgetting I was only a small girl and they were tall boys, strangers to me, I ran up to them.
“Please help her!” I cried, pointing at the girl who was wailing as the man continued to bruise her. The boys shifted uncomfortably but made no movement to aid the girl.
“It’s not something we can interfere in,” one of them said hesitantly.
Rage bubbled up in me at those words. “Oh yes,” I said sarcastically. “It doesn’t matter if one beggar woman dies, because she’s just a stranger, right?”
The boy pursed up his lips, but before he could defend himself, I unleashed a torrent of words on them. “Do you know why rape cases are becoming so frequent in India? It’s because people like you won’t act to stop them. When bystanders say nothing, the attackers think they can get away with anything, and they can! But why are you letting this fellow get away with this? The girl’s bleeding, for god’s sake! What if he kicks her hard enough to fatally injure her?”
I turned and stormed back towards my alarmed family, leaving the boys speechless. My raised voice had attracted the attention of other beach-goers. People were muttering, glaring at the man as he shouted curses at the poor girl on the sand.
That was when he paused and pulled off his belt. The silver buckle glinted in the sunlight before he cracked it down across her face. I heard myself scream in horror, but it sounded very far away. My aunt was shouting beside me, but my eyes focused on the vicious glee in the man’s eyes as he thrashed the poor girl. She must have been no more than seventeen.
My cousin had her phone in her hand, and I snatched it up. In three clicks, I had the police number on the screen and I stepped towards the man with the phone raised in the air. “If you don’t step away from her right now, I’ll call the police on you!”
I hadn’t expected him to stop, but the mention of the police halted him at once. His beady eyes turned on me. I glared back, the phone and sand separating us. “Get the hell away from her!” I shouted again, making sure people could hear me. The girl was sobbing quietly on the ground. Two other men, bystanders like the rest of us, ran up to the man and grabbed his arms, forcing him away from the girl. He thrashed and cursed, but they only tightened their hold on him. Furiously, he kicked them away and, after swearing one last time at the girl on the sand, he stormed off towards the far end of the beach.
Slowly, the girl pushed herself upright. She tried to cover herself with the torn remnants of her sari. Her face was soaked in crimson blood and she cradled the hand the man had stamped on. But she was alive. And after the horrific rape cases the country had faced, I was thankful that this girl would have a chance to live to see the next day.
She stood up carefully, clutching her garments to her body. Her eyes met mine. She said nothing – what could someone say after so great a humiliation – but her gratitude touched me nonetheless. It was palpable. How many words does it take to thank someone for saving your life? It shouldn’t be a situation that requires thanks. On that crowded beach, only one person had raised a voice to aid her. I hadn’t done it to stand out from the crowd. But sometimes, standing out from the crowd is the only way to make a difference.
My life continued as normal from then onwards, but this memory is a constant reminder that anyone can make a difference just by standing up for what is right. Cruelty exists, and will continue to spread, but by stepping forward and addressing the situation, anyone can save a life. Rape is a terrifying reality, but that is all the more reason to stand up for women around the world now. I have not had the chance to stop a rape again since that summer, but given the chance, I will do more than I did then. I am older now, braver now, and perhaps a little more aware of women’s issues around the world. But more than anything, I am a young woman, and I refuse to grow up in a world where women are downtrodden by men.
Image Credit: 1, author’s own