Out of the Cages by Penny Jaye

Author:Penny Jaye
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: India;Mumbai;Nepal;trafficking;sexual slavery;slavery;prostitution;red light district;protection of women
Publisher: Rhiza Edge
Published: 2018-05-31T16:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

‘Let’s finish up for the day.’

Meena’s thoughts were interrupted by Didi. The older woman smiled, as if aware of how far away Meena had been. Had she really been rolling wool all afternoon?

She hurried to pack up her wool into the bag Didi had given her and together they walked past the painting, down the stairs. Didi lived on the Little Sister compound in the white building to the left of the dorms, so she didn’t have far to go. Meena hesitated at the office doors and watched the men climb onto their motorbikes, a waft of regret and blame hid in the bikes’ exhaust. The office was quiet now. Classes were finished, most of the girls were lingering in the courtyard, collecting dry laundry or somewhere inside the dorm. A soft rustling sound came from Maa’s office.

Meena stepped back, the plastic bag holding her skeins and knitting needles gently bumped against her knee. She glanced into Maa’s office. Maa was still there, hunched over the big desk. Her narrow face was deep in concentration. Her hands moving over a stack of small papers. No ... Meena frowned. The small papers were photos! Meena could hear the blood pounding in her ears as she inched forward, willing her flip-flops silent, to stand in the office doorway. Maa didn’t notice, so deep was her focus on the small photos. First one, then the next—studied, perused and then moved to the back of the pile, all the while moving her lips. Moving her lips like a brothel madam doing her sums.

‘Wha ...’ Meena stammered. She tried again, louder. ‘What are you doing?’

Maa looked up, surprised. She returned the pile onto her desk. ‘Meena, you startled—’

‘What ... are they?’ Meena forced the words out.

The woman glanced down at the photos, a look of knowing spread over her face.

‘These are photos.’

‘Of girls,’ Meena accused.

‘Not all, some are boys.’ Maa held up one of the photos: it was a stained picture of a small, shy-looking boy. She displayed another: a girl dressed in fancy wedding red. Meena’s fingers tightened on the handles of her plastic bag. The photos were not unlike the ones Madam used to send out with the broker boys, or the older girls, to bring in clients. The brokers flashed photos in the streets to loitering men and drew them upstairs to the waiting room. Meena stared at the Indian woman behind the desk. She felt choked.

She’d posed for a photo once. Dressed in green sparkles, gold bangles too rich for her wrists, make up too bright. She’d spun as instructed, while Putali clapped. Clapped. Why hadn’t they known? But she knew now. She glared at Maa.

‘Exquisite?’ Meena’s voice was a whisper now. Of course, this was why they had fed her, nursed her under the guise of helping her recover. ‘Is this how Little Sister works?’ she spat.

Maa’s brow crinkled with a frown, ‘Sit down, Meena.’

‘Nain!’ Meena jumped backwards, like Devi ducking Vishnu’s grasp. ‘I will not work for you. Not anymore.

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