Radhika was not used to deceit. She came from a background and community in

which the people were honest and simple and pretty much all shared common

aims and attitudes towards life. Her current experiences were outside of anything

she could have possibly imagined and, as such, it was some time before she was

able to piece together the chain of events that had brought her to the hospital bed in Chennai.

‘I stayed in hospital for two months without a single visitor except for Pariyar,

who would [go] back and forth bringing me food.’

Confused, Radhika continued to beg the doctor and nurses to tell her what had

happened to her. It was difficult as none of them spoke Nepali and Radhika

spoke no Tamil. They tried to communicate with her in a mixture of Hindi and

English, neither of which Radhika understood. This, of course, made it much

easier for the doctor, in particular, to often shrug his shoulders and pretend that

he didn’t understand what the young woman was asking.

Radhika’s movement was also restricted. She was taken for walks by the

nurses but she wasn’t allowed to move freely around the hospital. Alone and

afraid, all she could do was wait. Control of her life had been taken away from

her. She was a virtual prisoner and it soon became obvious that Pariyar was her

jailer.

Matters came to a head one November morning. She woke to feel the warm

winter sun beaming in through the window on to her face. The doctor began his

rounds by asking Radhika to prepare herself for having her bandages removed.

Without as much as a reassuring touch or glance, he peeled back the bulky

strips of gauze and revealed the skin beneath. Radhika stared in shock at the raw

scar now snaking its way around the left side of her abdomen and waist like a

ravenous python. It was about 12 inches (30.4cm) in length and the stitches were

red and angry.

She couldn’t fully comprehend what had happened to her yet. Or why. That

was yet to come.