Content Marketing Workshop. Sign up to start becoming more efficient AND effective at using Content to achieve your goals!
“Then give me what I need, Saritha.” He spoke, a rueful smile already lining his lips, his confidence along with his desire reared, knowing that the outcome would be exactly what he wanted it to be.
Jaishankar shivered, not because it was too cold, which it definitely was, but because a jolt of desire ran down his body just as he set his eyes on the widow. He sat on a frayed cane chair, in her small verandah surrounded by towering pine trees and a splatter of wild geraniums. Her three children ran around the verandah in various stages of undress, their rib cages jutting out like those children in Somalia, completely oblivious to the chill; a chill that grazed the insides of Jaishankar’s bones, especially after it had rained all night in the hilly town.
“Sahib, coffee.” She said, holding a dirty tray with a cracked ceramic mug, and steaming filter coffee inside. Jaishankar stared at her, rather stared at her olive colored cleavage spilling down her blouse, the seams of which were on the verge of tearing. Her cheap cotton saree wafted of sandalwood and sweat; and some where between his legs, desire reared its head.
“Theek hai ji, thank you.” He said. He regurgitated the phlegm stuck at the base of his throat and spat a mouthful at the bed of geraniums, to his left. He watched in fascination as the dirty green, thick mold slid down a purple flower and splat on the grass bed below. He then cleared his throat and turned to talk about the matter for which he had visited the widow’s home.
“Saritha, I have heard rumours about you.” He said and allowed the base of his throat to loudly scratch his adam’s apple. He could feel another cluster of phlegm forming there.
Saritha squatted on the ground next to Jaishankar and shooed her three children away. “What rumours, Sahib?”
“That you…” He cleared his throat and spat again at his favourite bed of geraniums, a waft of freezing wind shook him with vehemence, “That you…you know…give favours, in exchange for money.”
The widow stared back at him, her eyes glistening. “What?! What are these rumours, Sahib? Who told you this?” Then just as understanding dawned on her face, her voice trembled, “Have you come to arrest me, Sahib? Where is the constable?”
“No..no I have not come to arrest, not just yet. I have come…” He cleared his throat again, and his pants suddenly became tight. A welcome surge of warmth engulfed his body and it took massive amounts of self-control to not grab the widows olive breasts and chew at her nipples. “I have come to ask, if you know, you will help me…how you help those other men.”
A heavy veil of silence fell over the verandah, even the children froze between playing kabaddi, and the only thing that broke the silence was a violent bout of wind.
The widow opened her mouth to say some thing; he could see her throat working and her collarbone jutting out in righteous defiance. He spoke quickly, to make his desperate point clearer.
“Look Saritha, you give me what I want and I will make sure you’re not arrested.” Jaishankar spoke, he was already antsy sitting out there in the verandah; wary of any passers by who might see the celebrated police inspector, Jaishankar, in the house of a whore.
“But Sahib, the rumours are not true. Look at us, me and the children, do we look like have any money to feed ourselves?” Saritha pleaded, her eyes filled to the brim. “It has been six months since my husband died, we are only surviving on the frugal savings we had when he was alive. My children haven’t had a proper meal in days. We are low caste people, Sahib. Not even memsahibs want me to work in their homes.”
Jaishankar’s stomach dipped, while he knew she was telling the truth, his struggle with his sense of morality was short. Especially when his lions roared imagining Saritha’s supple breasts cradling his face and his hands squeezing her round, smooth bottoms.
“Fine, we have enough witnesses to state that you have been illegally operating as a sex worker, Saritha. Wait for me, I will come back with a constable.” Jaishankar spoke and stood up.
“No Sahib, please. My children will be on the streets, Sahib.” Saritha fell on his feet and begged him for mercy.
“Fine Sahib.” Streams of tears ran down Saritha’s cheeks. “Meet me at the abandoned boathouse by the lake tonight at 10:30 pm. I can’t do anything here with my children around.” She said, softly enough to make sure her little ones did not hear her. And instantly Jaishankar broke into a smile. His initial apprehension vanished at the how quickly Saritha had succumbed to his demands. He then wondered, if perhaps, she really was the whore he was making her out to be. Yet he shook his head and decided to be glad that he was getting what he wanted, and with such ease.
“Make sure no one knows about this.” He said and walked out, leaving his filter coffee half empty.
Lately, Jaishankar had been dying for a release and none of the town whores were good enough to satisfy him. It wasn’t until he had laid his eyes on the helpless young widow, Saritha, that he decided to concoct a small to lie to get what he wanted.
His chest swelled at the victory and his cunning mind. No other police inspector in the entire state could have boasted of intelligence as bright and vile as that of Jaishankar.
That night Jaishankar walked down the empty lake with a spring in his step and a song on his lips. Even the biting chill couldn’t dampen his spirits, perhaps it was the excitement of touching Saritha or the four large scotch shots he had had that night. Even that darn phlegm had subsided after his drink. Somewhere in the mountains he heard a long howl and looked up to notice a full moon shining through an array of clouds.
By the third song he reached the abandoned boathouse. It was unlocked, a broken padlock lying among damp weeds next to the door. It was a beautiful night, he thought. The kind of night where the sky reflected its marvelous beauty on the water of the lake, the kind of night where even young, nubile, innocent widows learned to break locks and unleash the temptress within. His organ was hard, hard enough to be painful and he couldn’t wait to release it.
He opened the door, slightly ajar and saw her silhouette against the subtle rays of moonlight, falling through the slits of the wooden planks that made the boathouse. He paused a moment to admire the widow, even three children hadn’t dampened her curvy body, in fact if anything, enhanced it all at the right places.
“Come Sahib.” She said, stretching her arms just as the mountains resonated with another howl.
In a dog like frenzy Jaishankar removed all his clothes before stumbling towards Saritha, he was done waiting. He had dreamed and fantasized about this woman since a month now. His right hand reached out to grab a blouse-clad breast, as he squeezed it hard and took her small mouth inside his, whole. Saritha did not resist, neither did she initiate. Jaishankar had his way with her, tearing her clothes, biting her, chewing her, bruising her, pulling out clumps of her hair. But now that he had her, there was nothing that was going to stop him from ravaging the widow…
… except for perhaps, the three little children who stood by the door, with their father’s sickles in their hands and drool dripping down their mouths.
It did not take long before the wolf howled again and the widow commanded her children to unleash themselves on their first whole meal in the last fifteen days.
Published here earlier.
Image source: Flickr, for representational purposes only
Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views. Individual posts do not necessarily represent the platform's views and opinions at all times. If you have a complementary or differing point of view, you can request to be a Women's Web contributor too!
Writer. Artist. Dreamer...and a Coach.
Hi, I am Lakshmi Priya, but I respond better
Whoa!! Brutal and beautiful!! Gripping story and its telling. Congrats!!
Thank you so much Sonia. Glad you liked it.
Zarine’s Disgrace [#ShortStory]
The Last Wish [#ShortStory]
Love In The Time Of Depression [#ShortStory]
Divorce Him, Mama! Go Ahead And Live Your Life! [#ShortStory]
Stay updated with our Weekly Newsletter or Daily Summary - or both!
Sign in/Register & Get personalised recommendations