The story of a young girl locked up behind the doors of a brothel.Read to know if the key to unlock the door was found.
Amidst the darkness of the night, the massive house that stands like a giant on the dead end of the road is all lit up. Seems like a celebration going on in the house. People flooding in and women decked up with makeup and glitter. The huge house is the shelter for many. Giving them a place to live, food to eat and a profession to work. The house dwellers are used to the culture of the place.
But Reena, the fourteen years old feels uneasy in this crowded house. Tears stream down her face as she thinks about the horrific day. Memories still flash in her mind of her hair being pulled, of being dragged through the dirt streets after a failed escape. Even though she cried, screamed for someone to help her, people just stood by watching, without even a look of sympathy. But this was a usual sight for the people of the brothel who are now accustomed to the cries and pain of the women who were forced into the big house.
The practice of deal and bidding started as the place dazzled in lights and with women wearing colorful sarees and red lip color. Hari and Manoj indulged in a quick chat with Ramesh. A few gestures exchanged with a little sum of money and they climbed the step to enter the zone of pleasure.
Reena saw someone entering the dark room through a corner. Their footsteps echoed in the room. One of the men lit up his lighter and the candles through it. The youngest dweller of the brothel was hiding her in another corner of the room. “We have paid extra for you, you cannot run away from us”, Manoj said with a wickedness on his face. They held her tight and threw her on the bed and the light faded to hide the brutal act in it. Reena’s heart pumped fast as the men left the room after a few hours and disappeared in the darkness of night. She couldn’t help but think over about what the men just did.
The next morning wasn’t the same. The house was crowded but the faces were different. The doors of the room were knocked like before, but the knock was different. The women were called, but this time it was a call of freedom. Police caught hold of the brothel owners and the people involved in human trafficking. The women narrated their untold stories with their eyes soaked in tears recalling the painful memories they had.
Reema sat in a corner rewinding last night, which wasn’t different from the other nights. She could not forget the men who entered her room. They came not for pleasure, but for a purpose secretly carrying a pen. Her cries, pain, tears and story were all captured in the little pen they had. Her story captured to be shown to the world and to free them from the chains of prostitution and slavery. They were the angels disguised in black. The camera disguised in a pen.