It was a struggle for me to write this piece. Not because it brings to mind the injustice that has been meted out to women through the ages. But because nothing much seems to have changed despite years of apparent progress.
I may not be physically able to participate in the Women’s March happening across the world on 21 January, but I stand in solidarity with the principles behind it.
I am her. Left to bear the pain of the sin that was not mine alone.
I am her. Burned, for my eyes could see what theirs were too blind to.
I am her. Cast aside for mine was the womb that could not bear the heir.
I am her. Slaughtered in battle as I fought to defend the lands I called home.
I am her. Maimed for speaking up against the rule of the land.
I am her. Murdered for choosing to live life on my terms.
I am her. The one that history tried to silence. My voice but a whisper barely heard. My life forsaken in the annals of time. Put asunder and left to wander the pages of legend. All but forgotten.
They might have forgotten. But I have not. How can I forget who I was and what I was born to be.
I, who was once revered, worshipped at the enlightened altar of wisdom.
Till darkness befell and ignorance bred hatred. Prejudice grew stronger and they could suffer my sagacity no longer. I had to be subdued, my brilliance snuffed out forever.
History bears testament to my struggles. I have fought long and hard at every turn. But I can never forego my destiny.
I will rise. And I will conquer.