Once upon a time, when I first fell in love with the mist on the mountains, I was sure, it was here I would meet my end. If ever I have to die, it should be here, I had once told a friend, as we walked through the clouds. This was the first memorygraph that raced past my mind, while I was being strangled.
It had rained all night, and I was looking forward to a pleasant trek to Mahuli on Sunday, 25 June, 2006. It was the first trek of the season and it felt nice to meet my old trek mates. I had been trekking with them since the past three years.
The trek started well and we made it to the top in good time. Though it was not raining, it was lovely. We were walking in the mist. We reached the fort, had lunch, faffed around and then started back. On my way down, I happened to drift away from the group and was walking alone. This usually happens with me on treks, as I like to spend time with myself and I did not feel any sense of foreboding.
While walking, I saw a man gathering wood in the forest. Again, I did not think of anything amiss as one often encounters locals on the way while trekking. I did experience a quick wave of panic when I saw him stop when I did, to enjoy the mountain air. But it passed away quickly, and was not strong enough to prompt me to run all the way back to the group. Even, if I had attempted going back, I wonder if the events that followed could have been averted.
I continued walking and the next thing I knew was being flung down the cliff by that man. My first instinct was to scream for help...I kept yelling and he kept kicking me further down...thankfully affording me more time to scream. I kept calling out for my mom and D..Its funny how I selected these two names from the rest of the lot. D would be right at the end, as always, guiding the last and slowest of the trekkers to climb down. He would be furtherest away from me, and mom was home. Yet those were the only two people at that time whom I completely trusted to help me.
Finally I was face to face with him. His eyes were pitch balck and he wore a cross in his neck. I asked him what he wanted. He pointed to my vagina. We were perched precariously on the cliff. If I tried to fight back, there were more chances of me getting hurt than him. I was hoping beyond hope that somebody had heard my screams, but it seemed unlikely as I had not heard a reply.
To buy time, I told him I was ready to give him as much money as he wanted. He asked me kitna hai...and realised that I had nothing with me at that time...I started screaming again and he took to strangling my throat with his hands...I couldn't breathe..the world was spinning...a blue and white world...I needed oxygen...Twice I pretended to be knocked out and as soon as the grasp loosened, I gulped in the much needed air..then again his hands and my throat..The second time I feigned unconciousness, he realised it was not going to work. He removed his handkerchief and tied it around my throat and started strangling me with it..it was hell..
And yet through it all, there was this one part of the brain which kept ticking and talking to me..Are you gonna die like this? You haven't achieved anything yet...This is a nightmare...go back to sleep..you will be fine when you wake up..I f I die here, nobody will find my body..You are not close to death - you haven't got a near-death-experience yet..And so on and so forth, the restless mind kept talking, kept me detached from the actual pain..And then, there was no pain, no sensation, nothing.
The next thing I knew was that I could breathe. The handkerchief was slipping away and somebody was running. He had run away. I looked up and saw A, my office colleague and trekking mate. I was alive. And yet I was screaming..begging him to be quick..cursing the man, cursing myself for being a fool and promising never to go for a trek again.
I remember walking the rest of the way by myself, refusing help. There were no tears, only anger. I wanted to march to the nearest police station, but my friends were busy pinpointing loopholes and possible complications if I filed a police complaint. I felt the gap between us increasing every time they came up with a new one. I was just waiting for D. I trusted him completely and knew he wouldn't let me down..atleast he wouldn't let me down. But even there, I was proved wrong.
D arrived after an hour and on hearing what happened from the others, came over, put his arms around me for a minute, said forget it as a nightmare..there's no need to file a complaint.. it will only get you into trouble..just forget it.. i told you not to walk alone.. And that's that. It was over. Nobody looked at me, nobody even bothered to say goodbye at the station.
On the way to Asangaon station, I kept arguing with the two friends who were still with me, about wanting to file a complaint, and they kept digging out new loopholes. It was frustrating. The nearest police station was 4 kms away at Shahapur. I couldn't go alone, given the nature of my wounds, and I knew nobody nobody wanted to risk their own comfort and accompany me. They did not want to create any problem for themselves. Cowards. Each and every one of us was a coward. Me for not having the guts to go alone. I was ashamed of myself.
I tried one last ditch effort. I called Sayli, who said she would come to Asangaon right now if I wanted. But Asangaon was two hours from where she was. It was useless. Added to that, with the group refusing support, on what ground would I stand in front of the police. Sayli gave me the number of the Thane rural DCP, Archana Tyagi and asked me to speak to her. I called Tyagi. She heard what had happened, admonished me for walking alone, cut the phone and switched it off.
That was that. I knew I would never forgive myself for this but I had no more strength. My throat was killing me. I sat in the train as it moved out of Asangaon towards home. I felt alone, very alone. I had failed myself. I had not even tried to fight injustice.
This incident taught me many lessons. Not walking alone in a deserted place, for one. The second was that when it finally comes down to the nitty gritties - you are alone. Never expect anyone to help you. Never look up to anyone for solutions. You have to find your own solutions.
