By Dr Lokman Khan
In the heart of bustling Dhaka, where the cacophony of rickshaws and vendors created a symphony of survival, lived a young woman named Priya. Priya Rahman. Her eyes, a deep brown, reflected dreams bigger than the sky above. As a student, she yearned for knowledge, her heart beating in rhythm with the turning pages of her books.
But reality was a cruel master. Her family’s finances were a sinking ship, and the only lifeline was an offer from a wealthy expatriate, Zahid. An arranged marriage, they said, simple and transactional. Education abroad and financial support in exchange for her hand. It seemed like a fair trade.
Priya clutched the worn copy of Jane Eyre, the words blurring with unshed tears. A year ago, escaping poverty in Bangladesh and pursuing her studies in London had seemed like a dream. Now, trapped in a loveless marriage, she felt like Jane, imprisoned by a life she didn’t choose.
Her husband, Zahid, was kind enough. A quiet accountant, he’d agreed to a contract marriage—a way for Priya to get a visa. They’d barely spoken before the wedding, and their conversations now were clipped and polite. The real problem was Zahid’s overbearing family.
Zahid wasn’t cruel, but his family was a different story. Aunty Rohima, his formidable mother, treated Priya like a servant, barking orders in a torrent of Bengali Priya barely understood. Zahid, perpetually caught between his wife and his domineering mother, remained silent, a ghost in his own home.
“More tea, Priya?” Aunty Rohima, a woman with eyes as sharp as her tongue, loomed over her. Priya forced a smile. “No, thank you, Aunty.”
“You’re too skinny,” Aunty Rohima sniffed. “Need to eat for the baby.”
Priya’s heart clenched. The “baby” was a constant pressure, a way for them to extend the control. But Priya, fiercely independent, refused to be a baby machine. “I’m not having a baby, Aunty.”
A collective gasp filled the room. Zahid entered, his face pale. “What’s going on?”
Priya looked at him, a flicker of defiance igniting within her. “I won’t be bullied. I’m not a possession.”
Zahid stared, then a flicker of understanding crossed his face. He turned to his family, his voice surprisingly firm. “Leave us alone.”
Later, in their tiny apartment, Zahid sat beside Priya, the silence thick.
“I… I understand,” he finally said. “I never meant for this to happen.”
One afternoon, Priya found herself scrubbing the pristine kitchen floor, Jane Eyre forgotten on the counter. Aunty Rohima swooped in, a hawk eyeing its prey. “Priya, you lazy girl! This floor still has streaks! We have a dinner party tonight. Important guests.”
Priya straightened, her back aching. “But Aunty, I’ve been cleaning all day. Can’t I take a break?”
Aunty Rohima scoffed. “Break? You Bangladeshi girls only know how to laze around. Unlike English girls, who know their place.”
“I’m not lazy!” Priya’s voice shook, but a spark of defiance ignited within her.
Aunty Rohima’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t raise your voice at me! You forget your position. You’re here to serve, not argue.”
Tears welled up in Priya’s eyes. She wouldn’t cry. Not anymore. She grabbed her coat, ignoring Aunty Rohima’s spluttering.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Zahid materialized behind her, his voice tight.
“Out,” Priya stated, her chin held high. “I need air. And maybe some respect.”
Zahid looked torn. Finally, he sighed. “Come, let’s go to the park. We need to talk.”
The park, their haven during their courtship, felt different now. Zahid apologized for his mother, for his silence. But his words were laced with a helplessness that frustrated Priya.
“Zahid, I can’t live like this anymore. I’m not a servant, I’m your wife. But more importantly, I’m Priya.”
Omar’s eyes met hers, a flicker of understanding passing through them. He squeezed her hand. “I know. And I’m a coward. But what can I do? It’s my family.”
Priya’s gaze fell on a group of women laughing on a nearby bench. They were South Asian, like her, but their clothes were bright, their faces unguarded. Freedom danced in their smiles.
One day, while dusting Asif’s study, Priya discovered a hidden file. Inside, a faded photograph – a woman with fiery eyes, strikingly similar to Asif, and a document mentioning a “disappeared wife.” Fear turned to a burning anger. Was she just another replacement, another pawn in their game?
Confronting Asif, her voice trembled. “Who is she?”
Asif looked pale. “My mother. She… left.”
Doubt turned to suspicion. “Left, or was forced out?”
Days turned into a tense stand-off. Priya refused to be a silent participant. Asif, caught between loyalty and a growing respect for Priya’s fierce spirit, started questioning his family’s narrative.
Then, a heated argument between Mr. Khan and Zahid turned physical. Priya, fueled by a sudden surge of courage, stepped in. “Enough!” she shouted, her voice echoing through the opulent house. “This isn’t a life, it’s a prison!”
The moment hung heavy. A stunned silence followed. In that moment, a silent pact formed between Zahid and Priya. They were trapped, but together.
An idea, audacious yet liberating, sparked in her mind.
“There might be a way,” she said, her voice firm. “But it’s risky.”
Zahid raised an eyebrow, a flicker of hope sparking in his eyes.
Priya leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows, a plan – a daring act of defiance – unfolded.
The dinner party was a tense affair. Aunty Rohima glared at Priya, simmering with undisguised fury. But Priya held her head high, a secret smile playing on her lips.
When the doorbell rang again, Aunty Rohima huffed. “Who else can it be at this hour?”
The door opened to reveal a woman in a crisp power suit, a badge gleaming on her lapel. Her gaze landed on Priya. “Ms Rahman? I’m Officer Khan. We received a report of domestic abuse.”
Aunty Rohima sputtered, Zahid’s face paled. Priya stood tall, her voice ringing with newfound confidence.
“Yes, Officer. I’d like to press charges.”
The ending hung in the air, heavy with the weight of Priya’s choice. Would this be her escape, or just the beginning of a new battle? The story wasn’t over, but in that moment, under the watchful gaze of the law, Priya had taken a step towards reclaiming her life. What the future held remained unwritten, but for the first time, she held the pen.
12 June 2024
LK INNOVATE 
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