Unspoken Story of a Bhutanese Woman
Devi Subedi
Erie PA, USA-
The women literature course I took in my undergraduate Junior year showed me many wretched stories of women abandoned from literature and opportunities, stories of women abandoned by their family and society, and stories of women harried by men. All those stories taken place before twentieth century have showed women suffering in one way or another. Those stories represented women from developed nations (United States, Japan, United Kingdom, and China), but none of them represented or quoted women from poor nations.
So in this creative project, I have decided to write the story of women from underdeveloped nations whose stories would never be asked about and would remain untold. Today, women of western countries are fighting for equal rights/equal opportunities, whereas women from the Eastern world are still struggling to gain their fundamental human rights. They are still working for men, eating remaining portions of food, and rely on men as the deciders of their lives. They are socially and politically jeopardized.
This story, ‘’Unspoken Story of a Bhutanese Woman,’’ is the story of politically victimized women from Bhutan, the small Himalayan kingdom in South-east Asia. “Unspoken Story of a Bhutanese Woman” is the true story that resembles the stories of many Bhutanese women that are still unspoken. This woman never told her story until she was diagnosed by PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) and admitted to mental care.
After six days in the BP Institute of Health Science, Dharan Nepal, a group of doctors summoned by a female doctor of my mother’s age enter the medical ward. After the doctor assured her they would never use the information beyond her treatment, she started telling her story. It was 12 years ago, but I fairly remember the silence of the room, the curiosity of the doctor and her weeping.
This is the story of a woman being raped and tortured by Bhutanese Insurgents. I still remember her bewailing voice whenever she said “I was counting them until I finished my fingers and was conscious.”
In this story, I tried to retain her exact voice to give an impression of her sentiments and suffering.
“In mid-1990,the army came to my home and asked for my husband and brother-in-law. ‘My brother-in-law was in Bumthang College,’ I told them honestly. My husband never used to tell me where he used to go and neither does he today. I never tried to ask him; it was not considered social for a wife to concern and disturb a man’s decision. They hit me on the chest with the butt of their gun; they considered it was a lie. I shouted and fell. They investigate every room and corner of my home. After all that, they left with threats. In their next raid, I need to tell them where my husband goes and what he does unless they would not let me survive.
It was usual for my husband to come home late. That night I was also waiting hungry for him in the kitchen. The hour hand of our old wall clock stuck 1:00, but he did not arrive. I decided to go to bed, but it is not easy to sleep with a hungry stomach and apprehensive mind. It wasn’t respectful for a woman to take food before her husband.The women, especially the sister-in-law of the family, were allowed to take the remaining portion of the food after all members finished eating. On the bed, I was wondering about him: why is he late today? Did the night patrolling force catch him on the way home? I need to wait for him.I need to tell him about today’s incident and the threat the army has given to our children and me.
I heard a knock at the door; I ran towards the main doorway, he hated waiting outside the door for me to open it. He favored me to wait close enough to the door so I would not be late at his service. I humbly requested him to say who he was. I got the answer I used to get, ‘Do I need permission to enter into my own house? Bitch! Who the hell you are to ask me?” He walked straight to the bedroom. I followed him with water to wash his hands for the meal. But he ignored me and got into the bed. Within a minute, he fell into deep sleep.
For me, it was too late to fall asleep. Before anyone in the family wakes up, a housewife needs to feed and clean the cattle, milk the cows, clean the house, and ready breakfast for the family. I lay for a while; breast-fed my four months old son and went out to carryout my regular duties. I finished my work a half an hour early that day as I needed extra time to talk about the incident that happened the day before. I went to the bedroom with tea for my lord. I described the incident fairly and entreated for quick attention. In response he said,‘If you feel insecure here in my house, you can go to your parents’ house.’ This was not the answer I was expecting from him that day. I was the mother of his five sons. Without any further word, he left the house again.
Soon, the children were awake. Leaving the children under the care of their granny and the eldest son,who was 12, I left home for the field work, which was about a mile away. It was already 1 pm and my son did not show up in the field today with lunch prepared by his granny. I wondered if the army raided the home again. I recalled the warning they had left yesterday. I ran towards the home. Children were crying in the courtyard, and a 70-year-old- granny, my mother-in-law, was lying unconscious on the floor with her hands tied back. I untied her and patted her forehead with a wet towel. I controlled myself and asked my son how this happened. In a sobbing voice he uttered, ‘Army came with several empty trucks, tied and beat grandma, loaded our cattle, rice, corn, and everything we had in our back room and left. They were looking for father and asked about you to us. They kicked us and left our house with the warning to kill you and father if they find us next week in this house. They gave us the ultimatum of a week to empty this house and leave for Nepal.’ My heart started pumping extremely fast. Without a word, I quickly jumped to the shed and found the cattle gone. I entered the storeroom; it was empty. My body froze, and tears fell from my eyes. I looked at granny’s face, pale and helpless. I felt lost in the jungle; I couldn’t imagine and think where I should go with five children and an elderly mother-in-law. The next day, I sent granny and my three elder children to their uncle’s house in India, which was about 3 miles away from my husband’s house and told them that I would be coming the next day. I needed to meet with my husband; a woman is not allowed to make a manly decision.
I was quite afraid that day; I had heard many rape cases in the village. Some girls ended their lives because they did not want to live ashamed. The most recent incident was a mother of two raped and killed and her babies drowned in the Suunkosh River, the biggest river of Bhutan. I murmured to myself, ‘I need not have to worry I am having still four ultimatum days. Early tomorrow I am leaving this village.’
Meanwhile, I heard some strange noises outside; somebody knocked my door. I did not open the door because I heard some nasty language and warnings. I hid myself and my children under the bed. The army forcibly entered the house. They dragged me out and told me, ‘We have heard your husband was here last night.’ I said, ‘I do not know where he is.’ Within seconds of my word dropping in their ear, they hit me with guns and kicked me. I struggled to standup; they kicked me back in my every effort. They pulled my children underneath the bed. One of them held my baby in his hand and warned me they would drop him unless I opened all my clothes myself. I cried and said, ‘Though I have still four more days left in the ultimatum, I would leave the country right now in this dark night,’ and urged to leave my children free. Nobody cared about my plea. They locked my children outside the house and tore my clothes. I heard the screaming of my children and struggled to rescue myself from their hands, but my entire struggle was in vain. I was helpless. They hit me in my mouth with the gun, leaving my tooth black now. They roared like hungry tigers and pulled my four limbs;two of them held my head. I was counting them until I finished my fingers and was conscious.”
The next day,I found myself lying in the bank of Laangkhar River surrounded by a crowd and my children in their hands. I closed my eyes to pretend I was unconscious and heard what they would say. Some of them were explaining to others how they found me. My son, who was four, was trying to explain to them what had happened to me. I think the cruel insurgents cleaned and dressed me in my own clothes after I fell unconscious and dropped me in the riverbank in Indian territory. The mass guessed that I was beaten to death and thrown in the river,but God saved me for my sons’ fate. Nobody said I was raped and thrown here. So I slowly opened my eyes again. I was thirsty. I tried to move my body, but I couldn’t. Some women helped me turn my body and sit and fetch water from nearby the river for me. They wanted to know what had happened to me. I had to lie to them. Otherwise, they might leave me alone in hatred. I said, ‘The Bhutanese army beat me and threw here.’ One of the men in a suspicious voice questioned me, ‘Didn’t they do more?’ I said, ‘I was beaten in the head, face, hands, and legs.’ I lied and said, ‘Thank god they did not put me in sin.’ Everybody went quite for a while, and one woman said that she knew my brother-in-law in Assam, and she wanted to take me there. I shook my head and denied her request. I thought it is better not to go to relative’s house in that condition because if they suspect me I was raped they would abandon me from my children. But she insisted again and again, the whole crowd advised me that it would be the only good choice for my children and me. I finally accepted them. Some women assisted me to my brother-in-law’s house.
Those women explained where and how they found me to my sister-in-law. She vowed to those women that she would take care of my sons and me. My sister-in-law said, ‘Last night the Indian CRP who raided our house sent granny and other children to Nepal.’ I closed my eyes and prayed to god for their wellness. My brother-in-law came home late night. They were talking about me in their room. It was quiet, I heard my sister-in- law requesting to let me stay in their house until I was cured. He denied and warned her to remain quiet. He roared as his brother used to whenever I tried to discuss about something. He said, ‘Women know nothing. Your job is to cook food, nourish kids and husband. You do not have any rights to tell man what’s right and what’s wrong. We could lie to the CRP about the children but she should not stay here. Those sons are our blood. We need to save them.’
I stayed in their house for three days and during my three days’ stay at their house, I did not hear anything good from my brother-in-law. He did not even enter my room and speak with me. I spent those three days with tearful eyes and cursing my fate. I did not remember how I came to Nepal and joined granny in the refugee camp. After four months, my husband came, and it was my luck he never tried to know how I came to Nepal.
Still my mind does not work well whenever I see people dressed like army or police. Since then, I am living for my children. My duties are over now. My children have their father and granny to live with. The youngest is six. He is also admitted to school. I do not want to live anymore, I am out of my responsibilities now…let me die for God sake…..let me die for God sake.”
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Devi Subedi
Junior undergrad Student (Batch of 2012)
Penn State University
Erie, Behrend College