The Shadows in my mind

India 2009 - Aanya

The little girl was a shadow of what she should have been in the physical sense.

Yet her spirit was strong, that of a lioness, despite it all.

She was brave, and headstrong; perhaps the traits that had kept her alive thus far.

Her clothes were soiled and ragged; her young skin rough and bruised.

The long rope tied to her wrist dragged a dirty water bucket, causing dust to swirl behind her like a cape.

Every move forward was an effort.

Her frame was slight. She was starving.

She wondered why her latest punishment had been far worse than any before.

What exactly had she done wrong?

Her dark eyes were wary, but glazed over.

At the tender age of just 10, she remembered nothing of her parents nor the village she was born into.

But she knew she would never forget the strangers.

For as long as she could remember, they had moved her from place to place, forcing her to work like a man.

She was unsure which town she resided in now, but knew she was trapped.

Captive in a life that was very different to the one in her dreams.

It was her imagination that kept her alive.

They could never take that from her.

Her fingers and toes were scorched and blistered. Her master’s tasks were brutal and endless, yet they were better than the alternative.

She hated the dark, damp cage he would throw her in as punishment.

The rats inside, tried to gnaw through her skin. Their vermillion eyes watched her from the shadows, until fatigue got the better of her. Then they would crawl silently onto her shivering body. It hurt when their bites penetrated.

Reaching the river’s edge now, she could see her reflection in the fast flowing, dirty water.

It made her cringe. A single tear slipped hesitantly down her cheek.

The cut on her neck was infected. She could smell it.

He never tired of leaving his mark.

What had she done to deserve a life like this?

If she slipped into the water, maybe God’s angels would save her.

If the swirling water engulfed her pain and fear, could its rush wash it all away?

She knew death was her only escape, but she also knew she needed to remain here. It was her job to protect the only thing that mattered.

Staring back at herself she wondered where her spirit would go if she died?

He had said it many times.

“You are nothing. Pure evil. Some people matter and some people don’t.”

India 2013- Rahul

The man stormed ahead, fuelled by his untamed rage. His fury clearly exposed by his blackened eyes and clenched jaw. Angry at himself for letting his guard down, he was even further enraged the girls had been daring enough to attempt escape.

He dragged one little girl behind him, unconscious and severely injured. Reality was, even if she died before he got her home, he cared little. Over the last couple of years, the girls had become more trouble than their worth. Her skin scraped along the jagged ground, yet she made not a sound. Oblivious to the further torture. Blood streamed from a cut above her left eye, covering most of the tiny ashen face.

Unlike the last time, now he returned with just one girl. Striding toward home, he was almost amused they had made it as far as they did. Through the darkened streets, like wild scared animals, they had scurried no doubt. Running for their lives. Desperate to escape the only life they knew.

But he had found them. Stupid little bitches. They could not even do that right. Did they really think they could ever outsmart him? His evil laugh penetrated through the blackness, becoming lost in the sounds of the traffic and chaos beyond. His rage again returned, magnified. Everyone in his home would pay the price for this latest episode. He knew he must regain his power, ensure no one else would dare try such an escape.

The other little girl, he had left behind. She was dead, he assumed. One less to cause him trouble now. Her twin would surely learn from witnessing his killing. He’s made sure she had stayed conscious just long enough to see her sisters last pitiful breath. The man had tossed her useless corpse into the bushes, beside the river. No one would ever trace her back to him if they found her anyway. She was scum, meant nothing to no one.

Some people mattered and some did not.

Australia 2018 - Aanya

I needed them to stop. The images racing through my mind, were making no sense. I couldn’t escape. It was like staring into an old-fashioned projector screen. The pictures were random, out of order.

Why were they coming in such rapid succession?

And the voice, I needed the deep raspy utterances, to get out of my head.

Had I known the man they belonged to? Or was this just an auditory hallucination?

I will find you again Aanya, and when I do, you will pay.

Confusion reigned. The images were making me dizzy. I felt like I was falling, swirling through time.

Yet from the outside looking in, I knew I had moved not a muscle.

Maybe it was the drugs they had given me.

Or maybe, this was how it felt to lose my mind.

I always sensed it was a strong possibility, that someday I would.

I didn’t want to wake up this time. I couldn’t face the pain, not again.

“Aanya, honey I need to take your vitals. Can you try to sit up for me a bit more”

I remained still under the cold sheet, pretending I hadn’t heard.

I hugged myself into a tighter ball. I wanted the harsh lights, the unplaced white noise, to dissolve.

And them, I wished for all of them, whoever they were this time, to leave me be.

They couldn’t help me, no one could.

The pains, they just kept coming, different every time.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was gentle, warm, trying to coax me to respond.

I couldn’t, or maybe I just wouldn’t.

“Aanya, there is someone here to see you. Can you sit up for me please?”

Somewhere in the distance I heard the booming speaker interrupt the already loud room. It had been a constant disturbance throughout the night. This time a male voice, alerted the staff of a Code Blue in Ward 2.

Maybe now they would leave me alone. Let me sleep and disappear from this reality.

“Hi Aanya, I’m Doctor Belshar. You can call me Ruby if you like. I’m here to see if we can sort out these mystery pains of yours.”

Her voice was smooth, its tone calmed me, and momentarily the images ceased running through my addled brain. The pain however, remained, constant and throbbing. I gingerly rolled over, rubbing my eyes as I adjusted to the harsh lighting in this prison.

As I focused, I saw her smile. It was a kind and knowing gesture, and seemed to light up her whole face. She reached for my hand.

Could this finally be someone who would understand? Answer the mysteries which had eluded me for so long?

I stared into her imploring green eyes.

“Am I going crazy?”

My voice sounded weak, husky. Tears escaped without warning from the corners of my eyes, my body was exhausted.

She squeezed my hand tighter, and smiled again. Her eyes seemed to glisten as she intently focused on me, wiping a tear from my cheek.

“No Aanya, I promise you that, but will you let me help you?”

And there it was again; I’d been here so many times before. No one could help me.

You are not worth it Aanya, some people count, some don’t.

I grabbed at my head. Shut up. Stop talking to me. I screamed silently back at the intruder in my mind. He was becoming more frequent.

This time, I just wanted to die.

“How long are you going to feel sorry for yourself this time? You are stronger than this Aanya.”

I knew her sassy voice too well. Without any other movement under my covers, I smiled.

“Well? It’s not easy for me to get into this place you know. The least you can do is turn that pretty face of yours away from the wall, and look at me girl.”

How did she do it?

How did she always seem positive, when she had little to justify the emotion?

As Tilly always said, positivity was a choice.

“Hey Tilly. I just want to go home.”

"Well, did the docs say you could? Let’s go then, I need you to push this wheelchair for me anyway. I’m tired today.”

Without lifting my head, I rolled over and faced my best friend. I simply loved this girl more than life itself. She could always make sense of my disjointed reality.

As I looked at her smiling face, I felt a little ashamed of my self pity. After all, she was the one in a wheel chair, and her prognosis was not good. Memories of our first meeting flooded back. We were both 14, both in this same hospital, both so frightened. Yet our stories were far from similar.

“Finally, you awake! I won’t be bringing you a mirror, you simply look bloody awful Aanya....I’m Tilly, I am your roommate. You took your bloody time!”

They were her first words to me. The first conscious sounds I remember. Those and her laugh. The sound almost seemed too big to come from her small body.

This was how my induced coma had ended.

So there was Tilly, a complete stranger at the time. She sat casually on my hospital bed, prattling on, as I struggled to comprehend where in fact I was.

Nothing made sense.

Little did I know in that moment, it would be a long while before anything would be plausible.

I had arrived after a 10-hour flight only a week earlier, too injured to comprehend, or remember. That moment, when Tilly was suddenly in my face, was in fact my first conscious experience of Australia.

“You look pretty shit yourself”

I managed to whisper back in a husky tone, razer sharp pains dominated my throat. It was as if I hadn’t spoken for weeks. The effort to speak my words was enormous.

How long had I in fact been mute I wondered?

I will never forget the overwhelming confusion in that moment. To have no idea where I was, what day or even month I was in, was paralyzing to say the least. But mostly I remember feeling a kind of inner panic. Because, no matter how hard I searched the depths of my mind, I could not remember my life before now.

Inside my head, it was like everything had been erased. I was searching a blank canvas for answers, yet could see nothing but emptiness. I knew at that moment it was more than just forgetfulness. Something was blocking me from remembering, anything at all.

I was frightened. The physical injuries I would deal with. But what if my mind never recovered?

Trauma Amnesia they had called it.

My Australian parents had given up their roles as missionaries in India, to adopt me at 14. I had been a victim of child trafficking apparently.

Then, the room had become a frenzy of people, and noise, as nurses and doctors flooded in. I searched for Tilly, but could no longer see her. She had disappeared behind the sudden crowd. I felt like a little bird in a nest. Wild predators moved all around me, waiting for their moment to pounce.

My waking up was a big deal apparently.

Question was, what had I woken from?

Where had I been?

That was 5 years ago now. To this moment, I still do not know the ‘Aanya’ who existed before.

Surely someone did?

How could the years just be extinguished like a candle?

My light had become dark.

And here I was again, back in the same hospital.

My visits were becoming more frequent.

This time mum had called an ambulance.

“The pain came again Tilly. This time around my neck, like I was being choked. I swear I couldn’t breathe. I still have excruciating pain in my shoulder and my ribs, and one of my wrists. But there is nothing, no bruises, nothing to explain what the hell is happening.

Hot tears of frustration welled again.

“I believe you Aanya. I know it’s real. Maybe this can explain why. Your mum said it was delivered yesterday”

A letter. Tilly waved it in front of my face.

I felt my blood run cold. I willed my mind to stop racing.

It was from India.

Never in all my time in Australia, had I received such correspondence.

Why on earth now?

You are still a coward Aanya. That’s why you ran away.

The fleeting voice in my head was enough to spring me into action.

My hands were shaking slightly as I took the package.

Dr Belshar’s words swirled in my mind. ‘The subconscious always knows before the conscious mind does. Most people just don’t hear the whisper of warning.”

The first thing I saw were some photos.

The evidence was clear. Staring back at me, was my own face.

I must have been about 11 or 12. I felt an electric shock run through the length of my body.

Somebody had known me.

Why did they let me go?

Was I in India when this was taken? I had to assume so.

I silently traced the outline of the figure. The anticipation of what was to come was causing my pulse to pound not only in my chest, but throughout my body now.

The haunted expression dominating my fine features was unmistakable. I was skin and bones, my cheeks hollow. My dark hair was limp, cut short. The dress I wore was dirty and stained. My feet were bare.

Was that bruising around my ankles?

I searched for a background to try to site the photo. I could see I was in some sort of house, or shed maybe? A dirty apron was tied around my waist.

You were born to serve me Aanya, and you couldn’t even do that.

Like always, any memory of that time was completely dark to me. This photo made no sense at all.

Turning it over, I felt like all the air left my lungs and no breath would come.

“Jiera. 2010. India. What the hell? Did I have another name? So, I was 11, as this was taken 8 years ago. But where in India exactly?”

I ran my finger again over the image. Maybe this wasn’t me?

I felt sick even looking at the poverty-stricken child, this shadow of myself.

More photos remained in the envelope. I had to know, but at the same time, I was terrified.

For so long it’s been the hardest thing to come to terms with, not actually remembering my past. Right now, I sat in one of those moments that might just turn out to be the link that re connects me.

Was that a good thing or bad?

Bracing myself, I pulled out the remaining photos. The next image showed me sitting on the floor of a big building. It was quite a dark photo, but I could see once again I looked dirty and malnourished. I wore a blue oversized shirt and shorts. I could see the bruises up my legs and circling my wrists. It looked as though I also had a nasty gash under my left eye. I felt for the scar that still remained. It was one of many on my body. Tools and boxes surrounded me. Flipping the photo over, it too had writing on the back.

“Aanya 2011 India.12 years old. At least they got my name right this time. So, this was me. Two years before I lost my memory. Who did I live with? Surely I didn’t reside there by choice?”

When I pulled out the third photo, I didn't comprehend.

The pulsing in my body throbbed in my ears, drowning out any present sounds. My vision momentarily became a little blurry. I forced myself to focus.

Was this some sort of joke?

Grabbing at the envelope again, I searched for clues of its sender. The folded letter inside remained untouched. Maybe that would bring some clarity, yet I hesitated.

How could this be?

There were two of me?

Both girls looked exactly alike. They sat with their tiny frames entwined. One girl was slightly behind the other, resting her head on her companion’s shoulder. Both looked frightened and unsettled, their black eyes wide with terror.

The scrawled writing on the back of the photo had been blurred overtime, perhaps by moisture, but it was still readable.

“Aanya and Jiera 2011. India.”

Frantically I searched the image for an explanation. Some evidence that these two little girls did not look exactly alike. I felt hot and cold all in the same moment. Clammy and unsteady.

How would there be someone identical to me? I couldn’t even tell which one I was.

I realised I still had another unseen photo.

Aanya you left her, you ran away to save yourself.

The voice made me sick with confusion.

The minute I looked at the last photo, its image blurred as tears filled my eyes. My breathing was rapid and shallow, yet it seemed beyond my control.

Then I was overcome with nausea.

Then confusion and fear, like I could never recall feeling.

“Aanya and Jiera. Nepal orphanage 2001. 2 years old. Parents deceased.”

What the hell was going on?

I tried to warn you Aanya. You will never escape me.

This time, without warning, the inner voice was partnered by an unsettling image in my mind. I saw a little girl staggering through a rubbish filled street. She tried to call out, but no one could hear her. Falling, she stilled on the rough ground, blood trickled from her head. Her arm reached out in front of her, as if willing someone to come. I could see the tattoo clearly on her forearm. It was the numeral 2. This reality I was not ready for, I felt the surge of adrenalin. I grabbed at my own forearm now. So many times, I had tried to scratch or rub this marking off. Never had I understood why or when I had been branded this way.

I had no choice, I had to know, and suddenly I felt anger rise. Then hate.

Gathering myself, I carefully opened the sharply folded paper. The same black writing greeted my eyes.

I knew this letter was going to change my life, whether I wanted it to or not.

I knew the shadows were being exposed.

Dear Aanya,

My name is Ami,

I am the housekeeper at the estate you were sold to in outer Eastern Delhi, India. You came here in the year 2008. You were just 9 years old. I did my very best to keep you safe from when you first arrived. Many times, I failed you. It saddens me deeply to think of the conditions in which you lived and the torture you endured. No child should be kept in the manner you were.

I was pleased to discover you found refuge in Australia.

After pleading my case, I was able to obtain your contact details through the missionary institution in which your parents worked. They were also able to update me on your present condition and well-being. I am so grateful you are alive. I learnt you have no memory of your time here, and perhaps that is for the best.

Your disappearance was a mystery and of great concern to me. Your master was not pleased and his anger was felt far and wide for many weeks. No one in the house was spared his wrath.

I ask you not to attempt to return mail to me, or contact me in any way. Our safety depends on it. However, I could not bear the pending situation. It is my last wish that I can try to help you understand.

Aanya, despite the shock my revelation will bring, you need the truth. You have a twin sister and time is running out for her. I understand both you and your adoptive parents have no knowledge of Jiera. I have provided the only photos I could find to try to prove my word. You were both sold to our master, into slavery. Bought and smuggled across the border from Nepal. On the night you disappeared, in 2013, you had been beaten within an inch of your life. Somehow you got away from him, and disappeared into the city streets. That was the last time we ever saw you. It is without doubt I know you would have returned for Jiera, had you known.

Your sister was told you were dead, that he had drowned you in the river. Jiera was told the same punishment would apply to her, should she try to escape. I regret to inform you; it has recently been arranged for Jiera to be sold on. She is to reside and work in a brothel. She will become a forced sex worker in Delhi. Jiera is very distressed and I fear will try to end her own life. If there is any way you can help your sister, I implore you to do so. She too, needs to be rescued from a very dark and dangerous world. I have not told her that you are still alive, as I do not want to give her false hope.

God speed my child. Please forgive me I could not protect you both.

With faith and gratitude,

Ami.

The letter dropped silently to the floor; I barely registered my body crashing down heavily soon after. The silence that had surrounded me shattered as I began to scream. My own sound was foreign, primal like. Curling into a ball, I began pulling at my hair, scratching at my face. Anything to keep me in the present.

My terror was real.

My confusion was all consuming.

More graphic images came, racing through my head. Were they memories? They remained clear despite jamming my eyes tightly shut, hitting my own head repetitively in an attempt to gain relief.

The images were lurking out from the dark place; the one I’d always refused existence.

The shadows of my mind were real.

I could smell their evil stench. Hear their wicked laughter.

They were coming and I couldn’t stop them.

I had a sister.

No longer could I block the unknown trauma of my past.

Now it was time to face it head on. Make right, what was so wrong.

My body pains had been those of my twin, they had to be.

I knew what I must do. My courage and determination was real, my vision clear.

“I am coming Jiera, your sister is coming.”