It was 12.10 a.m., and I was travelling towards Borivali on a local train from Churchgate.

As the train approached Mumbai Central, a young woman boarded and tried to hide, pushing herself under the seat. In that class, there were a few bartender girls and two to three other females like me in that class.

I was wondering what must have happened. On the other side, a man was leaning against the men's compartment, peering into the ladies' couch. That alarmed me. I called one of my friends and asked him to reach Borivali station with the cops. As Jogeshwari passed,  I asked the young lady to come out and sit, as I had called the cops, and she'd be safe. 

She started crying, glanced around, and questioned, “Why cops?”, “To save you, dear lady,” I exclaimed. She explained, “I ran away from the police station because the man I fled with and got married, leaving my family, has turned out to be a vulture. He's been raping me ever since I left the house. He is uncontrollable. When I informed the officers that my husband had raped me, they laughed at me. One of the police officers even accused me of being characterless; my so-called husband was sugar-quoting his words. He was pretending to be a kind soul in front of them. I could not explain the hell I was stuck in. Finally, I jumped out and caught the train. He is haunting me; he will grab me and will do the same thing.”

I immediately called my friend and told him to drop the idea of getting the cops along. That was the last train. I told her to breathe and hide behind me. As soon as we reached the Borivali station, her husband jumped into the compartment.

My eyes were wide; that lady was almost dead. I gathered all my courage and told him to get down.

His wife was hiding under the seat on the other side, so he failed to locate her. My friend jumped in, too, and I started making noise that the trains were not safe. “This man came on the train. I am scared. Call the cops.”

The man got hassled and got out of the train. Looking into the compartment from the window, the lights went off.

The announcement of a train going to the yard was made. He somehow went to another compartment in search. I told the lady we would meet in the yard. Me and my friend both got down and again climbed in another coach. When the train got parked in the yard, we rushed to ladies' first class and grabbed the young lady, who somehow contacted her parents and took them in confidence. 

An FIR was made for domestic violence. The case went on for a long time, and while the lady was empowered after three years of long battle, she finally divorced her husband.

We were about to leave court for a celebration when another lady came sprinting up to her, gripped her feet hard, and cried, asking for help.

She was narrating about marrying a sex maniac and living in hell with him. Suddenly, a man came chasing her, and to our surprise, he was none other than the same person with whom we had been battling all these years.

Marital rape is a grave issue in our society. We think marriage grants permission or a licence to have sex with his wife in any scenario without her consent. Her will is never taken into consideration.

Every hour, one such bride battles for her dignity—a battle against the man she chose to be with.

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