You do not get to tell me that she was clothed vulgar.
That her purple dress did not cover her milky skin full, that her breasts are maturing like mango seeds.
That her thighs crossed were a feast to the eyes or that your hands could cup her butt.
That she ASKED to be brutally violated, because an eight-year old would never have imagined to be ripped of a modesty she never knew existed.
A CHILD who was unaware that her body will be fit to reproduce in time to come,
that her hips expand, her breasts grow, and she expels her uterus lining monthly when she reaches puberty,
was shredded of her clothes and sexually feasted upon with no mercy – you DO not get to tell me that she asked for that when her eyes speak of innocence and who was still on the lap of her childhood.
You tell me now, if her physical appearance was not the motivation to the heinous crime committed against her, what was?
Is being Muslim a larger crime compared to the lack of humanity ?
Was that why she was defiled within the walls of a temple, because you know Allah wouldn’t enter the threshold ?
Or that He couldn’t hear her wails because He wasn’t an embodiment of figure, he didn’t carry a chakra or rode a bull ?
You heard Paanjali cry for you when she was dragged by her hair.
You reached out to her before the final yards of her saree was being tugged away from her body, and YOU tell me Kanna – was it because she didn’t know your name that you didn’t run to her rescue ?
For if I were to plea every mother who lives in fear of begetting a girl, I plead them to destroy her themselves in their wombs than to bring her up as prey to grisly beasts of the society – demons drunk in power, greed and toxic masculinity.
Demons who can possibly never tell the difference between their mothers, sisters or their wives.
You do NOT get to tell me that this is God’s own country when they plunder the dignity of goddesses themselves.
