Coerced Shadow: Entrapment of my mother

[Rupakpolo1]

Ravi Uncle arrived precisely at ten, driving his sleek black sedan. He wore crisp linen trousers and a silk shirt unbuttoned too low, revealing grey chest hair. "Debjani!" he boomed, stepping inside without invitation. His eyes swept over her, lingering on her painted lips, the exposed curve of her neck. "You look stunning. Like a goddess." Ma flinched, a tremor running through her silk-clad shoulders, but forced a thin smile. "Thank you, Ravi ji." Her voice sounded brittle, rehearsed. He turned to me, his smile sharp. "And Ayan! Ready to go out with us".
I asked him - “where is Rohan?”
He replied - “He has a martial arts class today. We will pick him up after our shopping”

The mall air conditioning hit us like a physical blow after Kolkata’s humid oven when we reached there.Ravi Uncle steered us towards a men's boutique filled with blindingly bright shirts. "Pick something, Ayan," he commanded, gesturing vaguely at a rack. "Something smart." I stared at the garish patterns – electric blues and violent pinks – feeling sick. Ma nudged me gently. "Choose one, beta," she whispered, her eyes pleading. "The blue one is nice." I grabbed the nearest blue shirt, a hideous polyester thing with shiny buttons. Ravi Uncle barely glanced at it before tossing it to a bored salesman. "Wrap it." He pulled out a thick wad of notes. "Now, say thank you, Ayan," Ma murmured, her painted nails digging into my arm. The words stuck in my throat. "Thank you, Uncle" I choked out, staring at my sandals.

Ravi Uncle clapped me on the shoulder, hard. "Good boy. Now, ladies first!" He steered Ma firmly towards the escalator. "Time for your treat, Debjani." Two floors up, we entered a lingerie store bathed in soft pink light. Mannequins posed in lace and satin, faceless torsos dbangd in scraps of fabric. Ma froze just inside the entrance, her silk sari suddenly looking cheap against the gleaming displays. Ravi Uncle strode confidently towards a young salesgirl scrolling on her phone. "Hey" he barked, startling her. "Show us your best pieces. For my wife." He gestured carelessly towards Ma. "She deserves something special. Today is our anniversary" The salesgirl blinked, then smiled brightly at Ma. "Oh, madam! Lucky you!" she chirped. "Husband appreciating your beauty after one kid? That’s rare!" Ma flushed crimson, shrinking into herself. Her fingers twisted the pallu of her sari into knots. "He... he's not..." she stammered, voice barely audible.

The salesgirl ignored her protest, already pulling out shimmering sets. "This French lace," she gushed, holding up a sheer black bra and thong. "Very sexy! …will suite you well…madam" Ravi Uncle grinned, leaning close to Ma. "Yes," he murmured, loud enough for me to hear. "That will look perfect on you tonight." Ma stared at the floor tiles, her painted lips pressed into a tight line. "No," she whispered.  Ravi Uncle waved dismissively. "Nonsense. Wrap it." He pulled out his wallet again. "And that red one," he added, pointing to a flimsy teddy.

The salesgirl beamed, folding the garments into crisp tissue paper. Ma stood rigidly, a statue of humiliation, as Ravi Uncle paid. He took the glossy bag himself, handing it to Ma with a flourish. "For tonight," he said, his voice thick with promise. Ma clutched the bag like it contained something valuable. I was not sure what was going around me. Why was Ravi uncle talking about tonight? What was going to happen tonight? Why was mom silent? Why was she not protesting? Why was she allowing Ravi uncle to buy such things for her?

We picked Rohan up from his martial arts class. He climbed into the back seat beside me, smelling of sweat and disinfectant. He avoided looking at Ma or me, staring fixedly out the window. Ravi Uncle drove to the multiplex, its neon lights harsh against the dusk. Inside the cavernous theatre lobby, Ravi Uncle bought tickets for a loud superhero film. "Popcorn?" he asked, gesturing towards the counter. "No," Ma whispered.
Ravi Uncle shrugged, buying a large tub anyway. He handed it to Ma. “Hold this.”

The theatre was dark and cold, the booming soundtrack already assaulting our ears. We shuffled down the aisle. Last time, Ma had insisted Rohan and I sit between her and Ravi Uncle. This time, Ravi Uncle gestured sharply. "You boys, there," he pointed to the seats on the far left aisle. "Debjani, here.sit beside me" He slid into the middle seat, patting the plush chair beside him for Ma. She hesitated, clutching the popcorn tub like a shield, then sank stiffly into the seat directly to his right. Rohan and I sat on the outside edge, flanking them, Rohan beside Ma, me beside Ravi Uncle. He stretched his arm casually along the back of Ma’s seat.

The superhero punched through walls, explosions shaking the seats. Beside me, Ravi Uncle leaned close to Ma. His head tilted towards her ear, his lips moving silently against the roar. Ma sat rigidly upright, staring fixedly at the screen, her face pale in the flickering light. I strained to hear, leaning slightly towards them, ignoring the flashing images. Fragments drifted through the noise: "...so soft..." I heard Ravi uncle saying a low murmur. Ma’s head dipped slightly, her lips moving rapidly. "...please... stop...Ravi" I heard my mom's voice. "Not here... the boys..."

Ravi Uncle chuckled, a low rumble lost in the movie’s thunder. His hand, resting on the seatback behind her, slid down. His fingers brushed the bare skin of her shoulder where her sari blouse ended. Ma flinched violently, jerking away. "Don’t!" she hissed, louder this time, glancing desperately towards Rohan and me. Rohan stared straight ahead, motionless, pretending not to see. Ravi Uncle leaned in again, his mouth brushing her earlobe. "You look stunning," he breathed, his voice thick. "Can’t wait to taste those lips...I will lick you everywhere tonight." His hand slid lower, tracing the curve of her spine through the silk. Ma froze, a trapped animal. "Stop it!" she whispered fiercely. "They’ll see!"

"They see nothing," Ravi Uncle murmured, his fingers digging into her waist. "Just enjoying the film. Like good boys." He shifted his bulk, pressing closer. Ma squeezed her eyes shut, her knuckles white on the popcorn tub. "Please," she begged, her voice cracking. "Not here. Later... whatever you want... just not here." He grinned, a flash of teeth in the dim light. "Later," he promised, his hand finally retreating to the armrest, but his thigh remained firmly pressed against hers. Ma stayed rigidly upright, barely breathing, her gaze glued to the screen but seeing nothing.

The film dragged on, explosions and quips meaningless noise. Rohan remained a statue beside her. I watched Ravi Uncle’s profile—the smug satisfaction, the way his eyes kept drifting to Ma’s trembling lips, her neckline. Every flinch she made was a tiny victory for him. When the credits finally rolled, flooding the theatre with harsh light, Ma practically leaped from her seat, dropping the untouched popcorn. "Let’s go," she gasped, pushing past Rohan towards the aisle. Ravi Uncle chuckled, rising slowly. "Impatient?" he teased loudly, drawing stares from exiting patrons. Ma didn’t answer, fleeing towards the lobby’s brightness.

He steered us towards ‘Saffron Dreams,’ an Indian restaurant dripping in gold leaf and velvet. The air hung thick with cumin and clove. Ravi Uncle ordered a lavish spread—butter chicken, lamb rogan josh, fragrant biryani. Ma perched on the edge of her plush chair, her untouched water glass clutched tight. She stared at the gleaming silverware like it was a trap. Ravi Uncle piled food onto her plate. "Eat, Debjani," he commanded, his voice smooth velvet over steel. "You need your strength." He winked, slow and deliberate. "For tonight." Ma flinched as if struck. She picked up a spoon, her hand shaking so violently the metal clattered against the china. She managed a single grain of rice. "Not hungry?" Ravi Uncle feigned concern, leaning closer. His gaze roamed her face, her collarbones, lingering on the swell of her breasts beneath the silk. "You will be," he murmured, low enough for only our table. "By the time I’m done with you." It wasn’t hunger in his eyes. It was predation—the look a leopard gives cornered prey before the pounce. He’d devour her, piece by piece, tonight.

Outside, the humid Kolkata night swallowed us whole. Ravi Uncle unlocked his sedan, its black paint gleaming under the streetlights. "Hop in, boys," he ordered, opening the rear door. Ma moved stiffly towards the back seat. "No, Debjani," he stopped her, his hand firm on her elbow. "You ride with me. Up front." He steered her firmly towards the front passenger door. Ma hesitated, her eyes darting to me, wide with panic. "But... Ayan..." she stammered. "He’ll be fine with Rohan," Ravi Uncle dismissed, pushing her gently but insistently into the seat beside him. "Close the door." He slammed it shut himself, the sound final. "Now," he announced, turning to Rohan and me as he slid into the driver’s seat. "Ayan, you’ll stay at our place tonight. Sleep in Rohan’s room." He started the engine, its low growl vibrating through the chassis. "Your mother needs uninterrupted rest tonight . Our house is quieter."

Ma stared rigidly ahead through the windshield, her knuckles white where she gripped the seatbelt. The garish makeup looked clownish under the dashboard lights. Her lips, smeared lipstick catching the glow, pressed into a tight, furious line. Not fear this time – pure, simmering irritation. She didn't look at Ravi Uncle, didn't look back at me. Her silence screamed louder than any protest. "Is that clear, Ayan?" Ravi Uncle pressed, pulling away from the curb. "You’ll stay with us." I forced a nod, my throat tight. "Yes, Uncle.” Beside me, Rohan slumped deeper into his seat, staring out at the passing blur of streetlights and shuttered shops. The air inside the car thickened with Ma’s silent fury and Ravi’s smug satisfaction.

Deep inside, I knew what would happen between them tonight. The lingerie bag lay crumpled at Ma’s feet. I started recollecting Rohan’s fake birthday events—the Playroom’s cold metal bed frame, the shackles clicking shut, Ma’s choked sobs drowned by music. Her pain echoed in my ears now, sharp as broken glass. Would Ravi Uncle tie her again? To the same bed? The thought coiled in my stomach like a live wire.

Ravi Uncle’s penthouse smelled of stale perfume and leather. He steered Ma towards the master bedroom, his hand possessive on her silk-clad back. "Go to Rohan’s room," he commanded me without looking back. "Sleep." Ma paused at the threshold, her shoulders rigid. "I need... to freshen up," she murmured, her voice flat. She bent stiffly, retrieving the glossy lingerie bag. Her fingers trembled against the plastic. Ravi Uncle grinned, patting her hip. "Hurry," he ordered, pushing her inside and slamming the door. The lock clicked—a small, final sound.

Rohan tugged my arm. "Come on," he muttered, dragging me down the corridor. His room was a sterile museum of untouched toys—dusty Lego sets, unread comics. He kicked the door shut behind us. "My dad is going to fuck your mom now," he stated, dropping onto his bed. His voice was unnervingly casual, like announcing rain. "Want to see? Or sleep?"

My throat tightened. "See?" I croaked.

Rohan shrugged, pulling his laptop from under the bed. "The Playroom cameras. Same as before. But first..." He powered it on, the glow reflecting in his hollow eyes. "*You need to see this" He navigated to the encrypted folder, the one filled with horrors—Sneha Saha’s terrified eyes, other women’s muffled pleas. "Do you remember I told you Dad makes an intro video. For every woman. Before he... uses them." His fingers hovered over the keyboard. "He made one for your Ma.You have seen the other videos. Your ma’s one is special.”

He clicked a file named ‘DEBJANI_PRELIM.mp4’.

The screen flickered to life. Not the Playroom. Our bedroom. Our mattress on the bed . Ma sat perched on the edge, wearing her everyday cotton sari – the faded yellow one. Her hair was loose, messy. Her eyes were fixed on the floorboards. She looked smaller, younger, terrified. Ravi Uncle stood just off-camera, his shadow stretching long and distorted across the wall.

"Introduce yourself," Ravi Uncle’s voice commanded, smooth and detached. A clinical tone I’d heard from him before.

Ma flinched. Her fingers twisted in the faded yellow cotton of her sari. "Debjani Sarkar," she whispered, the name sounding unfamiliar, brittle. Her eyes stayed glued to the worn floorboards near her bare feet.

"Age?" Ravi Uncle prompted, his shadow shifting impatiently on the wall.

"Thirty-six" Ma whispered, her voice cracking. She swallowed hard. "Married...My husband…”She paused, Her fingers tightened on the mattress edge. "He... he works away. Six months... then home for six months." A tremor ran through her shoulders.