To me, my husband was my son’s murderer. He was also my daughter’s molester. A parasite nibbling on the Holy Book, he was Lucifer, holding me by the throat and driving me to sin every night. He was Bhai’s destroyer, Amma Sain’s tormentor, Ma’s humbler and the people’s exploiter. He was the rapist of orphans and the fiend that fed on the weak. But over and above all this, he was known to be the man closest to Allah, the one who could reach Him and save us.

I found an inner strength to fight for myself. It was clear that nobody else would.

My mind became a sanctuary for secret thoughts of escaping from this household.

There will be a great imbalance in our strengths if we fight, because I am prepared to die and you are desperate to live.

Looking back, I realized that we were being raised to be schizophrenic; an appearance of perfection was more important than genuine feelings

I obeyed, but my crime was that I did not look obedient.

...my mind was consumed with the idea of purdah. From behind it no call for help could be heard. An abandoned species was trapped in a forbidden world. Everything corrupt happened under the shroud, when it was off a faceless and nameless woman appeared.