Coerced Shadow: Entrapment of my mother

[Rupakpolo1]

I followed silently, watching her move like cracked porcelain. She placed the phone face-down on the chipped countertop beside the gas stove. With trembling hands, she lit the burner, dropped butter into the pan. The sizzle filled the cramped space. She didn’t speak, her gaze fixed on the melting butter. The phone buzzed again, vibrating against the laminate. She ignored it. I ate the toast she slid onto my plate, the charred edges bitter on my tongue. Her untouched slice cooled beside her.

"I’ll bathe," she announced abruptly, voice flat. She shuffled towards the bathroom, leaving the phone abandoned on the counter. The door clicked shut. Water pipes groaned behind the thin wall.

The phone buzzed again. Ravi Uncle’s name pulsed on the screen. Ma’s passcode was my birthday. I used it to unlock it instantly. Mom had shared her passcode in the past to pick up any important call when she was busy with household work.I saw a dozen notifications cascaded down: missed calls, texts, WhatsApp messages. The top WhatsApp chat screamed his name. I tapped it.

A video loaded. Grainy, dimly lit. The Playroom. Bollywood music thumped. The camera angle was low, from a side table near the bed. Ma’s face filled the left half of the screen – eyes squeezed shut, tears carving paths through smudged makeup, mouth contorted in a silent scream. Her hair was plastered to her forehead. Beyond her shoulder, Ravi Uncle’s bare, hairy torso dominated the right side. He was kneeling between her legs, hips pistoning violently. Sweat glistened on his back. Every brutal thrust slammed Ma’s shackled wrists against the headboard. A choked sob escaped her lips, drowned by the blaring music. "*Louder!*" Ravi Uncle’s voice, off-screen but unmistakable, growled. "Let me hear how much you love it!" Ma whimpered, turning her face away. The video ended abruptly.

Below it, the messages began:

**Ravi Agarwal:** *Remembering our beautiful night? How are you feeling now? Pain reduced?*

The words pulsed on the screen like venom. Ma's trembling reply appeared beneath:

**Debjani:** *You bangd me. I will go to the security officer.*

The reply bubble pulsed. Seconds stretched into eternity. Then:

**Ravi Agarwal:** *How will Bimalesh feel? Finding out his wife got bangd? Think.*  
**Ravi Agarwal:** *Poor Debjani. Such shame.*

Ma’s reply :  
**Debjani:** *Why? WHY did you do this? I cared for Rohan.*

The typing bubble pulsed for agonizing seconds. Then:  
**Ravi Agarwal:** *Exactly. You cared for Rohan. But never for me. Not a glance. Not a smile. You looked through me like I was glass.*  
**Ravi Agarwal:** *You should have paid attention. To me. Along with my son. Then it wouldn’t have happened.*  
**Ravi Agarwal:** *But I enjoyed it. Every second. You are so soft and delicate Debjani. I enjoyed every scream of yours.*

**Debjani:** *You are sick.*

**Ravi Agarwal:** *How will everyone look at you? When you tell them? When you scream ‘bang’? Think, Debjani.*  
**Ravi Agarwal:** *I know what kind of lady you are. Always wanting to keep yourself clean. Spotless. For Bimalesh. For relatives. For neighbours.*  
**Ravi Agarwal:** *That matters most to you. Doesn’t it? That clean image.*

The bathroom door creaked open. Steam billowed out. Ma stood framed in the doorway, dripping wet, clutching a thin towel around her bruised shoulders. Her gaze darted to the phone clutched in my hands. Her face drained of colour, leaving only the purple shadows beneath her eyes stark and livid. "*Ayan?*" Her voice was a rasp, barely audible over the dripping tap behind her. "*What are you—?

Before she could finish, the phone buzzed violently in my grip. A new message flashed onto the screen from Ravi Uncle:

“I will be coming in the evening”

The words pulsed on the screen like a death sentence. Ma lunged forward, snatching the phone from my hands. Her damp fingers trembled against mine. “Who told you to touch my phone?” Her voice was low, dangerous. Her eyes scanned the screen, Ravi’s messages, his threat to visit and her face went bone-white. The towel slipped from her shoulder, revealing a fresh bruise blooming purple across her collarbone. She didn’t notice. Her thumb jabbed frantically at the screen, deleting the entire WhatsApp chat history with Ravi.

“Someone sent a message,” I lied, the words thick and clumsy. “I thought… I thought it might be Grandma.”  
Ma’s eyes snapped to mine, sharp and desperate. “You saw nothing,” she hissed. “Nothing, Ayan. Understand?” Her knuckles were white around the phone. She shoved it deep into the pocket of her damp nightgown, then gripped the edge of the table, breathing hard.

The day crawled past like a dying insect. Ma moved through the flat like a ghost. She wouldn’t eat. She wouldn’t speak. She just stared out the  window at the narrow lane below, clutching her ribs whenever she moved. The buzzing phone stayed buried in her pocket, a constant, silent tremor against her thigh.

Kolkata’s humid evening pressed in, thick and suffocating. Then, the sharp rap on the door shattered the fragile silence.

Ma froze mid-step. Her eyes met mine, wide with pure terror. She smoothed her faded cotton sari with trembling hands, took a shuddering breath, and opened the door.

Mallika stood framed in the narrow doorway, her silk sari shimmering like oil under the bare bulb. Ravi Uncle loomed behind her, filling the corridor shadow. Rohan hovered near the stairs, scuffing his shoe against the chipped concrete. Mallika swept past Ma without waiting for an invitation, her perfume thick and cloying. "Debjani!" she exclaimed, her voice falsely bright. "How are you? I was so worried about you." Her obsidian eyes scanned Ma’s face, lingering on the fading bruises at her temple.

Ma flinched, stepping back. "Fine, Mallika-di," she murmured, her voice brittle. She clutched the doorframe for support. "Much better."

"Wonderful!" Mallika chirped, her gaze sweeping our cramped flat with undisguised disdain. "So good to see you reviving quickly." She patted Ma's arm; Ma recoiled as if burned. Mallika pretended not to notice.

Ravi Uncle stepped inside, his bulk dominating the small space. He smelled sharply of expensive cologne and something metallic underneath. "Told you, Mallika," he boomed, his eyes raking over Ma's hunched shoulders and bruised neck. "Debjani's strong. Resilient. Takes a hit, gets back up." He smiled, showing too many teeth. "Ready for the next action, aren't you?" His gaze lingered on Ma’s trembling hands. She stared fixedly at the floor like a trapped animal.

Mallika clapped her hands lightly. "Exactly! Now, Ayan," she chirped, pivoting towards me with predatory cheer. "Such a brave boy yesterday. You took a good care of your sick mom. How about a treat? Ice cream? Outside?" Her obsidian eyes pinned me. "There’s that new parlour near Park Street.”Rohan shuffled nervously behind her, avoiding my stare.

I didn’t move. My gaze locked onto Ma’s face. She stood rigid beside the doorframe, her knuckles white where she gripped the wood. A trapped panic flared in her eyes, sharp and desperate, before she quickly masked it. She gave me the tiniest, most imperceptible nod , a brittle flicker of assent. “Go, Ayan,” she whispered, her voice thin as rice paper. “Have ice cream.” Her lips trembled around the forced smile. “Be good.”

Ravi Uncle’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, heavy and warm. “Listen to your mother, boy,” he rumbled, steering me firmly towards the door. His grip felt like iron beneath the silk shirt. “Mallika will treat you both.” His eyes, cold and assessing, stayed fixed on Ma. “Your mom needs quiet. Rest.” The word *rest* landed like a threat.

I looked at mom, Mallika held my arm and said -”Let us go now. Your mom and Ravi have some important things to do”, Rohan trailing silently behind her. Her chauffeur-driven sedan swallowed us whole. The air inside was frigid, smelling faintly of leather polish and Mallika’s suffocating perfume. Kolkata’s chaotic streets blurred past the tinted windows – honking rickshaws, crowded buses, vendors shouting.

Mallika chose an ice cream parlour gleaming with chrome and neon, a place where three scoops for three of us cost more than our families weekly grocery spending. She ordered triple sundaes without asking us – towering monstrosities of chocolate syrup, nuts, and lurid pink cherries. I couldn’t swallow past the lump in my throat; the sweetness tasted cloying, rotten. "Enjoying it?" Mallika asked brightly, watching me push melting vanilla around the bowl. "You must try the cherry." I shook my head mutely. "Such a serious face!" she cooed. "I know! To cheer you up... I have three tickets! For that new superhero movie everyone is raving about. Starts in an hour" Her smile was razor-edged.

"No," I blurted, the word sharp enough to make Rohan flinch. "I need to go home. Now." My spoon clattered onto the marble tabletop. "Ma might need me."

Mallika’s smile didn’t waver, but her obsidian eyes hardened. "Nonsense, Ayan!" Her voice dripped with false cheer.

"Your mom is resting soundly. Ravi is ensuring she gets the best care." She leaned forward slightly. "Besides, ice cream isn't enough! We must celebrate your bravery." She paused, tapping a crimson nail against her chin theatrically. "Ah! I know what will lift your spirits. Toys!" Before I could protest again, she said with a dominating voice. "After this…we will go to South city mall"

After completing the ice cream, Mallika took us to South city mall. Mallika sailed through the mall's crowded chaos, silk sari shimmering, while Rohan trailed behind like a lost shadow. My agitation grew with every step; I wanted to go back home to see what was going on between mom and Ravi uncle. "Patience, little hero," Mallika murmured, steering me firmly by the shoulder towards a brightly lit electronics store. "Something special awaits."

Inside, the air hummed with refrigerated coolness and the high-pitched whine of demo TV screens. Mallika ignored the hovering salesman, her obsidian eyes scanning towering shelves stacked with sleek black boxes. She pointed decisively at the most expensive model – a gleaming console plastered with garish game artwork. "This one," she commanded. "Wrap it." The salesman scrambled. Rohan stared at his shoes. I stood frozen, the console’s price tag flashing in my vision, more than our families monthly groceries. Mallika paid with a flick of her platinum card, the transaction swift and surgical. "For you," she declared, placing the heavy box in my unresisting hands. "To keep you occupied. Happy.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. The weight of the plastic felt obscene, a bribe wrapped in garish promises. Shock turned my limbs leaden. I’d never owned anything beyond cheap plastic toys; this felt like holding stolen treasure.

"*Drive?*" Mallika suggested brightly as her driver opened the sedan door. The Kolkata dusk was deepening, the humid air thick with exhaust fumes and street food smells. "Before home? A little spin?" Her gaze pinned me. The console box pressed against my chest, cold and accusing. After this? How could I say no? How could I refuse this monstrous gift? My throat closed. I nodded mutely, the movement stiff. The car swallowed us again. We cruised along the choked arteries of Kolkata – past glittering shopping districts, past crumbling colonial facades, past crowded markets where Ma bargained for vegetables. Each minute stretched like taffy, pulling me further from our flat, further from Ma. Mallika pointed out landmarks with brittle cheer; Rohan remained silent. Two hours crawled past before the sedan finally turned onto our familiar, narrow lane.