P r o l o g u e

     Imprisoned! That is what women were, Khushboo frowned and braked as the traffic lights turned red and sat, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel and looked out of the window, thinking of how her experience of being a lawyer had shown that half of the world’s population, mainly women and children, were not only trapped in webs of either superstition, tradition and racism, but were also vulnerable to being groomed and trafficked by predators.

   She tried to think of Dhruv for that always made her smile, but today his face seemed distant, as if it was at the bottom of the sea and was a manifestation which, she thought, might disappear if the tide changed.

    Her day had been spent in trying to find solutions to women’s problems, only for them to be dismissed by the relevant authorities. As the lights turned green and she drove off, concluded the reason had to be because there was a male structure to society, which was why women were constantly trying to get their identities recognised and accepted; a statement that was reinforced by the recent video of women cutting their hair and burning their hijabs which had gone viral.

   Khushboo was alarmed that Kavita, her pregnant client was being forced to abort her baby because she was a girl. Shocked, she had delved deep into the issue and discovered that most cultures, including Indian society, frowned upon a female foetus and passed a silent death sentence on a girl, a daughter who was waiting like a furled leaf in the womb of her mother, unaware that her parents felt that it was their social obligation to reproduce a son only, a belief that was jeopardising her very existence.

  Khushboo drove fast for she was eager to find out about the war in Ukraine, for a few years earlier she had helped Olga, a Ukrainian girl to escape from her hometown. She had been from East Ukraine and was married to a man from Donbas, a man who considered himself to be a superior Russian which had resulted in tension and violence in the marriage. But although Khushboo had helped Olga settle in London, he had followed and consequently murdered her in Khushboo’s presence.

  Khushboo parked her car outside her house then walked up the short path leading to her house which was surrounded by trees whose leaves glittered with droplets of rain that had fallen the previous night,

  She had bright almond brown eyes that were set in skin that was rich and golden brown. Her shoulder length auburn hair framed her heart shaped face and swirled as she walked and the hue and shade of each strand of hair changed as it swung in the evening light and gentle breeze.  

   She inhaled deeply for COVID 19 had subsided as had people’s anger when they had seen the video of George Floyd being cruelly killed by a police officer. There had been global protests by people who soon realised that, however much they protested, injustice was going to remain an integral part of their lives.

    However, there were some people who were raising their voice against injustice and international matches had become a platform for human rights issues. But although taking ‘the knee’ was now allowed, some teams had been warned not to wear the human rights armband, a rainbow heart designed to be worn as part of anti-discrimination campaign.

   But although the panic of the pandemic had ended, the safety of the people of Ukraine was to be uprooted yet again, not because of a health crisis but a war between 2 countries. An illegal invasion of their country in which war crimes would be perpetrated and the Ukrainian people would plead for their lives.

   Khushboo opened the door of her house and entered the hall, and as soon as she closed it behind her, Bella, her friend’s cat that she was temporarily looking after, arched her body, yawned, and came to rub her head against Khushboo’s legs. As Khushboo stooped to run her fingers through her fur, she noticed there was some letters on the floor, so stroking Bella with one hand, with the other she picked up the mail, noticing one was from Katrina, Olga’s sister.

   Taking off her jacket, she placed it on the banister, went into the kitchen, put on the kettle and making sure that Bella had water and food, went to her room to change into jeans sweater and loafers. After tying her hair into a ponytail, she went back to the kitchen.

    Taking her mug of coffee and Katrina’s letter to the lounge, she sat on the sofa, placing the mug on the table beside it. Bella curled herself into a ball beside her with a contented purr, and as Khushboo opened the envelope, a photo fell on her lap. Looking at it closely, she saw that it was of Katrina, dressed in camouflage attire which indicated that she was one of the many Ukrainians who had bravely picked up arms, ready to fight and die for their country.

   In the letter, Katrina described the war, how mothers watched helplessly as their children were either injured or killed, the faces of men who were left without their family because they had either been killed or fled to neighbouring countries. Katrina went on to explain a gruesome incident she had seen, how the soldiers shot innocent people and raped women. After experiencing that incident, she had vowed she would not let her children or Natasha, her sister, be traumatised by witnessing similar instances.

  She was also worried because not only was Alexei looking for revenge on Olga’s family members, but there were men hovering over the war zone to entangle children and women either into sex rings or kidnap them to Russia. So, to keep them safe, she was arranging to send her children to Poland and Natasha to London, where she hoped Khushboo would help settle her as she had with Olga.

   Khushboo admired Katrina and how she and other Ukrainians were willing to fight for their country, for Katrina said they saw rivers of blood, and everyone felt as if the earth, having tasted the blood of the innocent spilt on it, was asking justice for them. Khusboo however, felt there to be a blurring distinction between civilians and combatants.

  She sighed as she put the letter away and switched on the TV which was giving an update on the Ukraine war.

  There were families who fought to board trains amongst chaotic crowds and fathers kissing their children through the train windows, not knowing when and if they would see them again. There was shock and exhaustion on the faces of those who had made it safely to the train that would take them away from bombs, sirens, and death.

  The people who could not get on the trains were fleeing on foot, walking barefoot with bowed heads, holding the hand of children and the elderly. Some with a bedding or bags, most with only the clothes they wore, but in everybody’s eyes, Khushboo saw despair and a haunted traumatised look for they had seen their loved ones and people being either wounded or dying. The city they loved was in flames, the green foliage of the trees under whose shade they had once sat replaced by blackened stumps.

   And as they walked, they pressed their feet onto the leaves that lay on the ground, picturing them to be those of the soldiers who had stepped on the flesh of the bodies of their people. The cries of their loved ones still resounded in the air along with the roar of planes, as the earth on which they walked vibrated under their feet as tanks thundered over it. They had looked in horror at the scenes of death, the wounded on stretchers and the ruins of bombed buildings whilst others had gone through the ordeal of identifying their loved ones.

   These images would surely, Khushboo thought, be stamped in the minds of the people, so much so that their emotions would crystallise around them like an aura, whose glow took its brilliance from the unshed tears of their grief for they were too numb to weep,

   They felt betrayed that the world watched silently as thousands were killed and displaced, but Khushboo was certain that the cries of the innocent would one day resound in the universe, for she believed that nothing generated in or of nature is ever lost and that every sound or word orbits around the galaxy.

   Ukrainians and volunteers from various countries were helping, some by fighting, others working on various projects making sure the vulnerable safely crossed the borders, Men erected a tent for shelter while women stirred pots, then poured the food into plastic containers to be distributed among the people.    Khushboo was amazed at their dedication, for although some of them must have sustained losses of their own, family members or friends, they still had the courage and determination to put their emotions aside to serve their Ukrainian people and country.

    Khushboo switched off the television but could not rid herself of the suffering of the people which would make them vulnerable to sex traffickers who loomed like vultures around the war zone. They hunted defenceless women and children, waiting to lure them with promises of security, love, and opportunities, and if that failed would use violence.

   Children of war zones and dysfunctional families were targeted for they were vulnerable and could be coerced or threatened into accepting the future that the predator out for them. The focus of their attention was both girls and boys, some even under the age of 13, then after forcibly assaulting them, would record the rape and went so far as to download it on to the internet.

   Such a man was George, who kept the company of men who thought it was normal to find comfort amongst the thighs of delicate children and bruise them by their adult hips. They were men who did not understand the meaning of the word ‘defiled, whose minds were twisted and warped and who ruthlessly wove a web of depravity around innocent children.