Free Strength to Say No by Mouhssine Rekha; Ennaimi Kalindi

trying to ride bicycles. Their carefree attitude contrasted with my state of mind. I daubed a little water on my bruises, but that didn’t make any difference to the pain. I rummaged in Baba’s things and found a little pot of camphor cream. I gathered my scattered exercise books and sat huddled up in a corner of the room. My finger followed the letters, and I read in silence for fear that I would be discovered.
    My big brother Dipak came home sooner than expected. Since he stopped going to school, he has been running a little cardamom-tea shop not far from the statue of Hanuman beside the national road. He understands immediately that I have been hit.
    â€˜Ma?’
    I nod without saying anything. He puts down his two big kettles and the rest of his equipment before leaving the room, annoyed at not being in a position to reason with our parents about my projected marriage.

    At the market one of Baba’s friends called to him and held out a newspaper.
    â€˜This is your daughter, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Yes, that’s Rekha. What’s she doing in the paper?’
    â€˜How should I know? But look, she’s also in this paper and in this one, too.’
    â€˜What’s it all about?’ Baba asked.
    â€˜I haven’t the least idea. Just because I sell papers doesn’t mean I read them!’ says the merchant with a smile of complicity to his neighbour, standing between a mound of garlic and another one of red peppers.
    â€˜But you know how to read, don’t you? Can you tell me what is written in this article under the photo?’
    â€˜Give me five rupees first. If all my customers were like you, I’d spend my time reciting the information from these newspapers and go home in the evening without a penny in my pocket.’ He replied with the same mischievous tone, but turning this time to his neighbour on the left who feigned a friendly smile.
    â€˜Here you are,’ my father said, giving him the money. ‘Tell me what’s in the paper now!’
    The merchant took a pair of half-moon glasses out of his shirt pocket after throwing the coins into a box on the floor near a plastic sheet where magazines were displayed. He murmured for a few seconds while Baba fidgeted impatiently.
    â€˜They say that this girl set off thunderous applause at the museum in Purulia when she made a speech that was incredible for her age …’
    â€˜What did she say?’
    â€˜Wait, I’m reading the rest of it,’ said the merchant as he continued to murmur to himself. ‘She says that her sister had several miscarriages because she was too young to have a child when she fell pregnant … It also says that her parents want to marry her off without her consent before next winter. She triesto refuse, her parents insist on the wedding taking place, mainly because they don’t want to feed her any more … Who does she think she is, this kid, talking about this kind of thing in public? If I were her father I would have given her a good thrashing long before this! That’s quite right, don’t you agree?’
    Baba grabbed the paper out of his hands and rushed home. On his way, several people stopped him and asked if it was really his daughter they had seen yesterday on television. Baba couldn’t believe his eyes or his ears. Rekha had gone around talking about everything that happened in the family circle to the news papers and on television channels. In no time they will be the laughing stock of the whole village, the whole region and perhaps even of all of Bengal. Ma was going to be furious.

    Kitchen utensils fly in my direction. Insults rain down. I get a ladle, some spoons and even the cooking pot. I try to protect myself by curling up into a ball, but my mother takes me by the hair and knocks me down. I yell, I cry, I beg her to stop hitting me. Baba holds her back, and my brother Dipak helps me up. He orders me to hide out at my uncle’s and