Understanding My Father - Part IV

The Plot To Kill Me 

~ A New Level to My Father’s Sadistic Acts

Having read through the previous parts on “understanding my father”, you would have come to understand various psychological findings that have stayed hidden in my father over the years and how they have manifested into absolute hatred for my living being. In this part I am going to narrate an incident that wrecked havoc in our lives….and as always thanks to my father for not only hurting me emotionally but also physically.

If you are wondering if a person is capable of hurting his own son physically, then lay your question to rest since I shall be your living proof. Since I was a small kid my father has not only hurt me emotionally, but also physically. Such physical abuse took place with a belt at most times, his rugged handed hand at sometimes and whatever else the hand could throw…few times. All of this was done with the justification “he who spares the rod, hates his son”, quite twisted a verse from The Book of Proverbs in The Holy Bible!

Thinking in retrospect I really wonder if there had been a single night when I did not shudder in my bed when the clock announced the time of my father’s arrival. I also wonder if I ever had waited happily to jump on my father with glee and receive him home.

All that I remember is forcing myself to sleep early or at least pretend to be asleep so that I would not have to cross his path, for even my shadow gave my father infinite reasons to wield the belt, stick or just the rugged water-buffalo palms to leave many marks on my over-sensitive skin. Such marks were well covered cuz all the thrashings were on my upper back, hence being conveniently covered the next day underneath my clothes.

Wow, never felt that just thinking about all that happened in the past could possibly give me the shudders again! Either ways, such physical abuse continued unquestioned cuz my “father” was stronger than everyone else in the family and such “not-sparing-the-rod” act was perfectly accepted in our society and most importantly by his sibling. However, thinking in retrospect, there were times even his siblings were scared that my father’s thrashings could put an end to my life, hence they intervened which brought about an even stronger wrath of my father.

Such abuse reached its pinnacle when I entered college. My father had and still is having an affair with a girl, whose father died in our house…enter the underage girl who wrecks havoc in my family (hitherto, referred as the bitch). This bitch's had been an epitome of love, honesty and fidelity whilst his daughters could not be seen under the same light. We were under the impression that my father was actually providing for them monetarily since their father died in our house and that such an act was out of guilt and a sense of responsibility towards those girls.

Least did we know that my father was actually grooming the bitch to become his “ho, ho, ho”. She was 15 when this affair started and I was 21. Neither mom nor I had any inkling about this clandestine affair, however people in the neighborhood and the church started talking, thus we heard about it. As you could have guessed by now, my father created hell at home when his shit hit the fan. His verbal and physical abuse got a lot worse (if such a level could have existed).

One fine day, my mom instigated me to confront the bitch and end their shameful relationship. We went to her house, confronted her and the bitch actually had the gall to say that she was having an affair with my father and she asked “what can you possibly do about it?” When this happened, the bitch was actually 16. During the confrontation, my father turned up at her house (possibly a booty call), came across the two of us and created more hell for both of us.

Few days later when things started going absolutely overboard at home, I told my father that I would go to the police about his affair with an underage girl, which slightly shook him up. There was li’l bit of peace after that. Least did we know that the surprising calm could actually lead to a tornado!

Here is the tornado!

During September 2005, I was travelling to work on a cute little moped. My shift started at 2:00 hours so I had to leave the house at 00:00 hours to get to a common pickup point, which was 10 kms from the house and take a cab at 00:30. One day (after the confrontation episode) I took my usual route cuz I didn’t suspect anything. On the way I was stopped by a stranger who wanted a lift till the bus depot. While the stranger was asking me for the lift, three more men appeared from behind the bushes (quite a deserted area and has no public transportation past 22:00 hours) , took away my cell phone, wallet, my moped’s keys, my gold ornaments and started beating me with everything they could possibly find.

One man kept dialing my mom’s cell phone number at that hour and kept disconnecting. Mom panicked and called back. The man who had my phone answered the call but didn’t speak to her, rather he let her listen to all that was happening. Thankfully my mom had the presence of mind to call people from our church and sent them in search of me. By the time my cavalry could come, these strangers were done beating me up. They returned all that belonged to me, including the gold, looked at me and said “don’t ever mess with your father again” and left in a tuk-tuk that was hidden behind the bushes.

I was bleeding all over when they were done with me but I still had the strength to try and start my moped. Well, even my moped had a grudge against me I suppose that it just won’t start. I missed my cab to work, was bleeding all over hence parked my ass on the side-walk since I didn’t know what else to do. Then came the cavalry sent by my mom, but t’was all too late. If you were wondering where my father was when all of this happened” well, he was conveniently “out of town” so the blame won’t stick.

This led me to quitting my job, since I was tattered both physically and mentally, made me contemplate suicide for long, on figuring out that I did not have the courage to kill myself, I found another job and left the house under the pretext of distance. Many relatives had a lot of things to say but I wanted to live and I could survive only if I left the house.

After almost eight years of “living my life” I am now living at my parents’. Why? Cuz, I have a li’l brother and I don’t want my father wasting his life or him just the way he tried with me. I shall wait till the time my brother finds a job after college (he has just entered his tenth grade now) and then, I shall either kill myself cuz of my “loving father” or perhaps leave home once again to “go live my life”.

This is not a story, rather a painful narrative of my past. And yes there are people like my father who would not hesitate to threaten the lives of their own sons if their interests were threatened.

If you have a father like mine, leave your house now and go live elsewhere. Your life is worth more if you aren’t buried in a concrete wall or in the backyard whilst your relatives and friends think that you had just upped and left.

In the words of my erudite friend “go live elsewhere for you will be able to do more good for your mom and your brother from far than being six feet underground in your yard”. 

GO LIVE YOUR LIFE....