I was back in Kolkata, India, in the red light district of Kalighat. The brothels, where daily sacrifice is offered on the altar of lust, surround the Kali temple where daily sacrifice is offered to Kali – the goddess of death.
I make my way along the busy, dusty street among people hurrying to work, stopping to shop at the many stalls selling trinkets to offer in idol worship, or making their way to school in old- fashioned uniforms from Empire days. Lunch money, given by trusting mothers, is often spent to feed desire by school boys who cannot resist temptation in this place. My friend, Monique, who has lived and worked in Kolkata for over 16 years, is my guide. We are greeted at the entrance to one of the “lanes” by the brothel manager. She steps aside and lets us enter her world – the darkest world I have ever been in.
Remarkably, we are welcomed to come in and befriend the girls who are her source of income. Does she realize our goal is to rescue them from under her very nose? As we pick our way along the lane we pass the most beautiful girls who are “put” out at the entrance, close to the street to attract customers, like the lush fruit shining at the front of a display at the green grocers, tempting the buyer to touch and buy. The fruit further back, just like the girls, is older, less attractive, and has obviously been there for some time.
I want to look into the face of every woman we pass…but I need to keep my eyes down to avoid stepping on rats, or waste thrown out from the cubby holes which line the path, always cleaned with disinfectant once a client has left. It may be a shelf, a tatty curtain, a hole in the wall where women have no choice but to serve the customer what he wants.
Some of the women meet my gaze with a blank expression and as I look longer and deeper into their eyes there seems to be no one at home. Some are young and giggling, they look away. Some are old, faded, and sick behind makeup, plastered on to extend their shelf-life well beyond their sell-by-date.
Men are entering the lane and walking down the line, taking their time to select their purchase for the day. I cannot look into the faces of these men. Suddenly there is a shout as a young man has just entered the lane and is in a heated conversation with a young woman, who has blocked his path. She shoves him backwards. A fight breaks out and she will not back down. Her anger has made her strong and he turns away with his friends’ encouragement and leaves with her words sweeping him out like a flood carrying flotsam down a river.
There is tension in the air and we later discover one of the yelling girl’s friends had poured petrol all over her body last night and set fire to herself. This morning she has died. She leaves a young daughter. Life had become unbearable in the brothels. Was this young man one of her regular clients? Was he responsible for the sacrifice of a life? Her friend certainly thought so. It is hard to move on, but we must. What we have seen has been extraordinary – an outpouring of grief, anger, frustration, and courage. A woman who usually has no voice and no power, finding her voice and raising it to defend her friend, as a standard for all to see, a voice screaming for dignity and for justice.
We have come to see Clara (not her real name) and we hope she will be in and not busy with a client. As we approach her door, it is closed and we turn away to call on Bashanti (not her real name) who lives just down the lane. Bashanti is also a brothel manager – she inherited the lane and the job from her husband when he died. Bashanti knows Jesus and her tiny home is a lighthouse in the brothels. She has two sons and a daughter. Her daughter makes her way in and out of the brothels every day in her school uniform and tells me she wants to be a lawyer. One of her sons has just married a beautiful young woman and they now also live in the tiny house. She is home, too.
Meditation: “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands”. – Psalm 19:1
Also Read:
- Understanding God: He is Quick and Dispassionate
- Nehemiah’s Leadership Playbook: Zeal
- He Was God Backed
- Saved from Idol Worship and Death
- An Easter Reflection
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