Joram Yalam, Nabam, "His Name Was Yapi" 
Translated from Hindi with the assistance of ChatGPT
https://hindikahani.hindi-kavita.com/Uska-Naam-Yapi-Tha-Joram-Yalam.php

Keywords: patriarchy; marginalized women; village to city; sexual assault


The farmers were very happy that the Rain Queen had finally arrived on Earth. It was as if there was a race among everyone to finish planting in their fields first. The village had come alive with activity. One evening, Toko Yatar came to Yama’s house and said, “Yama, I need to transplant paddy in my field tomorrow. No matter what, please send Yapi. Her hands move like two women pounding rice quickly in a mortar—what a marvelous girl you've given birth to.”

“Sorry, Yatar. Rini came earlier and already asked Yapi to help in her field. The younger one will come to yours tomorrow,” Yama replied.

“Oh, what are you doing? This won’t do. Please send Yapi. Send the younger one to Rini’s,” Yatar pleaded.

“No, you know how quarrelsome Rini is. I can’t take that risk,” Yama said, waving her hands to signal refusal.

Whether it was digging with a hoe or transplanting rice, helping with rituals, or doing household work—Yapi moved like a swift deer in everything. In her free time, she loved knitting sweaters for her siblings. When she laughed, the whole village would know it was Yapi. With children, she would become a child herself. She was loved by all the village kids. Those who didn’t come to her, she would glare at them and make a funny face, saying, “When I have a baby, I won’t let them play with you.” When children cried, she laughed so loudly that even others couldn’t help but smile.

She was unmatched even in drinking liquor. Her special quality was that she never staggered or talked nonsense after drinking—she would just keep laughing. Drinking in the village was more of a necessity. Be it sun or rain, life was full of physical labor day and night. All the alcohol would sweat out of their bodies. Still, it brought moments of cheer and eased the pain. Villagers brewed their own liquor using crops grown in their own fields. Every home made liquor; guests were welcomed with it. Yes, sometimes unexpected things happened—but only rarely. In those cases, it was often the women who beat the men, and the way the men cried was rather tuneless.

That day, Taro also came to Rini’s field. The rain kept coming and going. In between, there was laughter and joking too. Villagers often made very crude jokes and thoroughly enjoyed them. Yapi was deeply disturbed by such talk. She didn’t even like laughing at them. That day too, people were cracking dirty jokes. Taro kept staring at Yapi all day. Everyone teased them. Yapi felt helpless. If she glared, it would create trouble; if she didn’t, it became unbearable. If she had her way, she would have returned all the wedding goods. But her parents were poor farmers—how could they return everything?

Anyway, her marriage had already been arranged. The whole village would condemn her if she broke it. Taro was someone she would have to endure. Even before she was born, it had been decided that if it was a girl, she would marry Taro. Taro was three years older than her. At her birth, Taro’s parents had sent five mithun (mountain cattle), some dried meat, four baskets of apong (rice beer), and two machetes to her parents as per their custom. She was considered a lucky girl by her family. She was Taro’s promised bride. She had to go to his house this year. The month wasn’t fixed yet, but she would definitely be sent off after the harvest. Taro’s family believed that the girl had come of age—how long should they wait? They had so many fields too. If she came early, it would ease the burden of her in-laws. After all, it was ancestral land. Taking care of it would please their ancestors. After death, they would meet them again. They would certainly question them then, so they must do everything right in life—otherwise, what answers would they give?

Slowly, the sun began to set. People in the surrounding fields began to prepare to go home. Birds were stirring, flying toward their nests. Suddenly, it began to rain heavily again. Everyone put their obios (traditional bamboo rain shields) on their heads. Rini handed out the remaining apong again. The liquor began to take effect. Everyone started running toward their homes. Thunder cracked so loudly, it seemed it would split the earth. The sky was covered with black clouds, like thick smoke. The atmosphere became a bit frightening. Yapi too was hurrying. No one was paying attention to anyone else. Suddenly, Taro grabbed Yapi’s hand tightly and started dragging her toward his house. Yapi said helplessly, “That day is not far when I’ll be your wife. Let me go today.” She began to cry.

What a helpless situation—she couldn’t even free her hand. Again and again, the faces of her poor parents flashed before her eyes. Sometimes she got angry—couldn’t they sell their land and repay their debt? They had taken a loan from Taro’s parents. Unable to repay it, they gave more goods and fixed their daughter’s marriage. She cried loudly. She felt utterly alone and powerless. She had now reached Taro’s house. His parents had not yet returned from the fields. Darkness had spread. The weather raged outside. She kept crying, but Taro didn’t stop. She kept screaming, but there was no one to hear. Nyishi houses are so far apart that no one can hear anyone else easily. She had been violated. Her clothes were torn to shreds. He was her future husband. Even if someone had heard her screams, they wouldn’t have done anything. A couple of villagers had seen him dragging her away—but this was their private matter. What could anyone do?

She tried to cover herself with her hands as if she could hide her whole body with just those two hands.

It was hard to believe how she had climbed the mountain slope so quickly that night. Her mother kept asking what had happened, but the flood of tears showed no signs of stopping. A dense cloud of sadness had begun to loom. Her lips seemed sealed. She didn’t step outside for a week. The laughter that once echoed through the house seemed to have gone silent. Everyone was puzzled and worried. Even the children couldn't make Yapi smile. Still, life went on as usual. Everyone had their own fields to tend to. The one who once spread joy to all, Yapi, was alone in her sorrow. She didn’t even know whether she should be grieving or not—but she was sad and distressed.

She wondered if Taro would always treat her like an animal. Fear quietly began to take over her mind and heart. She had heard that Taro always chased after girls. She felt as though she was trapped in a dense forest on a dark night, crawling with countless insects. Different kinds of leeches were sucking her blood. If she screamed, lions or elephants might come. Yet staying silent wasn't helping either. No one of her own was nearby. She was exhausted from the struggle to find a way out. In defeat, she just wanted to surrender herself to her circumstances. She wanted to put her pain to sleep. She closed her eyes. Whether she was asleep or awake—no one could tell.

Now, she remained distant even from herself. One day, the whole village was shocked. Taro brought home a girl. She was beautiful—delicate, like a touch-me-not plant. She tried to win everyone’s hearts. Whoever came to the house, she would quickly serve them apong (a local drink). She worked all day long. That day, the entire village gathered at Taro's house. Had he not brought her into the house, she could have been made to leave. But now that she was inside, she would have to stay. Except for three or four men, most men in the village had two or three wives. Besides, having multiple marriages was considered a sign of prosperity. Taro had only done what "real men" do. No one—not even Yapi’s parents—could refute such arguments. Taro had just one reason: Yapi was fat and ugly. Every man dreams of a beautiful woman. “Anyway, Yapi is still my first wife,” he said, looking deeply into Yapi’s eyes. Yapi felt like picking up a sickle and slashing him—but she remained completely silent. Her breathing grew heavy. She glanced briefly at Taro’s wife—she was indeed very beautiful. For the first time, Yapi disliked someone for being beautiful.

Everyone was drinking apong. Laughter and jokes had begun. Yapi’s mother thought to herself—if only they came from a wealthy family, maybe people would take them seriously. If only their son were older, maybe his sister wouldn’t have had to suffer so much. He could have protected her. But what could her helpless father do alone?

One day, Yapi nervously went to the village school. The teachers were unsure what class to place such an older girl in. Admission season was long over, and the term had already been running for three months. She began to cry, insisting that she must study at any cost. The teachers felt pity and allowed her in. She started living in the hostel. Strangely, neither Taro nor her parents objected. She kept wondering—was it her ugliness that saved her, or the new wife's beauty?

She began studying with full dedication. Sitting in class, she looked like a mother accompanying her child because of some tantrum or tears. Sometimes, she felt like running away. Other times, she thought getting married might be the solution. She was in first grade. Jamja, a boy she had played with as a child, was a few years older and in third grade. They became friends again. Both were somewhat odd for their classes. Without words, they began to understand each other's pain. Jamja was the boys’ hostel monitor. Yapi, amazed, asked how he managed boys older than him. Bashfully, Jamja said, "I'm the oldest in the hostel. I don’t want to spend my life farming. If I want something different, I have to study. Better to study with younger kids than waste my life in the fields."

Days passed. They grew so close, they didn’t even notice. They spent most of their time together. Yapi always waited eagerly for Jamja. She was so happy to see him. She didn’t know what was happening to her—he felt so close, so dear. Her whole being began to dance. She would smile or hum without reason. She began to feel beautiful. Exams were nearing. Both wanted to study hard. The school was surrounded by forest. They could sit anywhere to study, and many students did so. That day, they picked a spot and went there. Yapi, singing and dancing, led the way. Behind her walked the sweet reason for her joy. They reached the spot they had picked the day before.

Suddenly, Jamja grabbed her forcefully and began assaulting her. She struggled with all her might but couldn’t escape. Oh, she had never imagined this. They had come together yesterday too—and everything was fine. It felt like Taro all over again. The force, the cruelty—it was unbearable. Jamja had no time to listen. She had been betrayed again. Violated again. It was too much. If she cried loudly, someone might hear—but then all hell would break loose. Why had she gone into the forest with him alone?

Gathering her scattered books, she fled. Her sandal was missing—she didn’t even feel the thorns piercing her feet. The bushes hadn’t spared her either—they tore her favorite shirt. She was in a daze. Under this vast sky, there seemed to be no place left for her. All night, she sobbed silently into a cloth. She couldn’t believe what had happened.

A few days later, she noticed her period hadn't come. She sold an old necklace her mother had given her and went to a clinic—a three-hour journey from the village. What she feared had come true. She had to get an abortion. Exams ended, and she failed. It felt like everything was over. She returned home. Jamja’s parents had found him a beautiful and well-mannered bride. The real shock came when Jamja appeared very happy with her—as though nothing had ever happened with Yapi. They were still neighbors. The house hadn’t changed.

But she could do one thing. One day, she went to Taro’s house. Sooner or later, his family would have dragged her back anyway. She had been bought—they weren’t going to let her go that easily. Taro’s family was happy: one less mouth to feed, one more hand for the fields. She returned to work in the fields. Taro and his wife were now constantly fighting. Taro wouldn’t even meet Yapi’s eyes. She slept alone—and she was glad. She had chosen this path to stay away from Jamja. Now, all troubles seemed trivial. She had put her pain to rest.

One day, she told Taro’s wife to stay calm, because she hadn’t come to sleep with her husband. She had her own compulsions. Her parents couldn’t repay their debt—so she had come to work. In the fields, her laughter returned. It seemed to challenge the whole world. She began drinking even more. Her strange new behavior began to worry everyone. She started pursuing any man in the village—but not Taro. That could never happen. She didn’t spare single or married men. She became the thorn in every woman’s side. But she laughed shamelessly. Taro said nothing—it didn’t matter to him. He was his wife’s puppet now.

One day, Taro’s family threw her out. That’s exactly what she wanted. She smiled slightly. Her eyes were a bit moist. Her steps felt light. Like a deer, she ran—leaping. Before reaching home, she screamed and laughed out loud. Her mother stood behind her, tears in her eyes. She knew her daughter. Yapi turned and the two of them embraced, crying together.

Yapi said, “Mom, now you’re free of your debt. I’m going to the city tomorrow to stay with my friend. She works there. I’ll ask her to help me find a job. I’ll buy you all new clothes.” Mother and daughter were one again—like she had returned to her mother’s womb. That night, her mother fed her with her own hands. Her father wept quietly. In the morning, her mother quickly prepared food. Yapi got ready too. The Itanagar bus was arriving. Everyone came out to say goodbye. Yapi boarded the bus with a pounding heart. Her mother gave her one last necklace to sell in case of emergency. It held years of savings. She counted—two hundred rupees. Enough to reach Itanagar.

Her childhood friend, Ami, was still beautiful—now a mother of three, yet still slim. Yapi, in contrast, was so overweight. She felt a little embarrassed. They talked endlessly. She became the children’s beloved aunt. There was a school nearby that needed a matron for the hostel. The next morning, the two friends went together. They met the principal, who liked Yapi a lot. For two or three months, Yapi would have to live outside, as her room was still under construction. Ami was happy—they could spend more time together.

Yapi, strangely, wanted to move into the hostel immediately—but said nothing. She had no choice anyway. One month flew by. Ami’s house echoed with laughter. Her husband, a senior officer in Ziro3, returned home for ten or fifteen days. Yapi didn’t like him at all. The way he stared at her chest disgusted her. One day, he took the opportunity to tell her that he knew what she had done in the village. She didn’t want to share her fears with Ami, so she remained silent. She counted the days, waiting for her hostel call. She was happy during the day—but evenings filled her with dread, knowing she would have to face Ami’s husband again. Ami always praised him and seemed so happy with him.

One day, while going to the hostel, Yapi forgot her purse. She had to buy vegetables on her way back in the evening. There was some money in the purse, so she returned home. The children had already left for school, and Ami had gone to the office. She saw the door to the house slightly open. As she entered, suddenly Ami’s husband grabbed her in his arms. She tried hard to resist, but once again, she was helpless. Her body was violated again. She couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. Was there no corner of the world left for her? Her entire body burned with rage. She picked up a chair and hurled it at him with all her strength, but it didn’t hit him. That demon just tilted his head and laughed. Darkness began to engulf her again. How would she face Ami now? What if Ami’s home was ruined? She would be blamed as the destroyer of Ami’s trust. That day, for the first time, she wanted to end her own life. She cried a lot.

Ami’s husband had said, “I’m not the only man in your life. You’re good at this. What’s there to cry about? Be smart. We can have fun together.” She became lifeless. Strangely, she no longer fought him. This fat and unattractive girl seemed to attract all men. But none of them wanted to make her their life partner. She was hungry for love. Since childhood, she had dreamed of a home, a family, a husband, and many children. If she got upset, her husband would console her lovingly. But now her body was being repeatedly disrespected. She kept getting upset, but no one tried to comfort her. She was becoming a living corpse. That day she didn’t speak to anyone at the hostel. She couldn’t hear anyone’s voice. She was completely lost. Not even in herself. Her mind was completely blank. She couldn’t even cry anymore. When she had to go somewhere, she ended up somewhere else. Her eyes had turned stony. Everyone wondered what had happened to her. Night fell. She was still sitting there. When the warden shook her and reminded her that the gate would close soon, she snapped back. She remembered Ami’s smiling, loving face. No, she had to smile for her. She had to go back. She had no right to trouble those who had supported her in her time of need. She ran back home at double the speed. Truly, Ami was waiting for her at dinner. She seemed a little worried. As soon as she saw Yapi, she said, “Come on, change quickly. I’m hungry. I thought you might stay at the hostel today. Honestly, I wait all day just for the evening, when we can sit together and laugh our hearts out. I always tell my office friends how much you make me laugh.” Everyone else was watching TV after dinner. Yapi laughed and tried her best to hide her sadness. She didn’t want to become the reason for her dear friend’s sorrow under any circumstance.

Ami’s husband went back to zero. A few days later, a call came from the hostel too. Yapi and Ami bid farewell to each other with heavy hearts. The children insisted on going with their aunt. Yapi promised she would spend every Sunday with them. It felt like Yapi was going far away. There were tears in Ami’s eyes too. Yapi started living in the hostel. She was safe here. But again, her period didn’t come. Being among little, adorable children, a new desire began to quietly grow in her heart. She decided she would never tell Ami whose child she was carrying. That child was only and entirely hers. Even Mother Mary hadn’t escaped the world’s accusations—who was she to be any different? But this time, she had decided she would give birth to the child. She had to. She couldn’t keep becoming the murderer of some innocent life growing inside her. The sin was of the men, not hers. And the child was part of her body. She would decide what to do. She would endure every pain. Then why should she worry about others? The only person she cared about was Ami. But she would never tell her the truth. Just the thought of tiny little feet made her hum again. Her eyes now reflected even more love and warmth for all the children. She had become a mother to everyone. Children were always clinging to her. All the teachers were pleased with her work too.

Days passed. Her belly had started to show. At first, everyone thought she was just gaining more weight. But how long could this be hidden? Yapi didn’t seem to care about anything. Her face was always full of joy. She was ready for any situation. She had long stopped worrying. But for a school, it became a matter of disgrace when it became known that an unmarried girl working in the hostel had suddenly become pregnant. Everyone strained their minds to remember whom she talked to the most. No one seemed suspicious. Yapi wasn’t ready to tell anyone. Now it was certain—she was a characterless woman. She had returned with flowers from outside. Her departure from the school was decided. Even Ami couldn’t believe it. When she asked, Yapi just laughed loudly and said it was a miracle of nature. She advised Ami not to worry but instead help her find a new job. When she left the hostel, she didn’t meet any of the children. She quietly walked away.

Just yesterday, she had gotten a job knitting clothes at someone’s place. In two or three days, she was going to leave Ami’s house too. Lately, Ami seemed a little disturbed by Yapi’s silence. She wanted to help her. She told Yapi to terminate the pregnancy. But Yapi wouldn’t agree. When asked about the father, she would laugh and say, “At least it’s not your husband. Don’t worry.” Ami went to the office looking sad that morning. The kids had gone to school too. Yapi was alone. Without any notice, Ami’s husband came again. He suddenly showed up. This time, Yapi wasn’t afraid at all. She firmly grabbed the knife in front of her but remained silent. He started trying to convince her that she was being foolish. She should get an abortion, or he would tell Ami that Yapi had forced herself on him. He would say he was just a man who got carried away. He even said that if she got the abortion, he would make her his second wife. If Ami found out, she would end her own life. If not for herself, Yapi should at least think about Ami, who loved her so much. At seven months, abortion was risky, but with enough money, anything was possible in a clinic in Assam. That day, Yapi wandered the streets all day until everyone had returned home.

Evening came. As usual, the house became lively again. That night, Yapi cooked dinner. She lovingly served everyone and ate heartily herself, laughing all the while. She gave Ami a necklace that her mother had given her and said, “Give this to your daughter at her wedding. Tell her that her aunt was a good woman who loved her very much. She’s too little now. Life is uncertain.” Ami felt something strange. Everyone went to sleep. Yapi couldn’t close her eyes. She was worried about Ami. But she didn’t want to part from her children either. Just two days ago, she had seen the ultrasound. There were two babies. She was going to be the mother of twins. The doctor had shown her on the computer. One of them had even put his finger in his mouth and started sucking it. Even in the womb, the baby was searching for food. What a beautiful feeling. Oh, he’s going to be such a foodie—just like his mother. The doctor had laughed at Yapi’s comment. Her eyes sparkled with countless pearls of joy. And now, once again, a dreadful demon was blocking her path. Ami’s face appeared again and again. One by one, the faces of her loved ones began flashing before her eyes like a movie. In the end, the shadow of a small child sucking its finger hovered around her. The other shadow laughed and swung from her shoulder or ran away. She got up from bed. Went to Ami’s room. Opened the door softly. Everyone was sleeping peacefully. She gazed at Ami’s face one last time and turned away quickly. Somewhere in the distance, she heard a tiny voice calling. She ran. She kept running toward that voice. Then she saw that tiny shadow sucking its finger again. The other shadow came near her ear and whispered, “Mama.” She ran, frantic and weeping. Strangely, even while crying, she burst into laughter. Those two voices came from the river flowing beneath the bridge. She opened her arms toward the little shadows, and the river seemed to welcome her.

By morning, a crowd had gathered on the riverbank. The police were doing their work. The next day, the newspaper reported: "Unwed pregnant woman jumps off bridge to her death." Ami wept, clutching the necklace her beloved friend had given her. The children ran around in confusion.