Just a Woman, Not a Superwoman

It was a narrow alley behind the infamous slums of Mumbai. Four men surrounded a woman, blocking her path, after striking her male accomplice down with a steel rod. The young woman, who was a reporter in a leading news channel, was covering a story in the slums when she and her friend were falsely led by the four men into the alley.

The woman was shivering with fear but struggled to keep her wits around.

“I have my wallet with me, there’s money and my credit cards in it. Please take that and leave me.”, she said in a brave voice that belied the horror her heart felt.

“What do you think we are? We are not beggars after your money. See, that’s the problem with girls these days. They earn much more than men, so they think they are superior. Wearing short skirts and tight shirts”, said one of the men, spitting on the ground and showing his disapproval.

Two men had pinned the young lady’s hands and legs to the wall, the third man snaked up his arms around the lady’s shirt. The fourth was keeping a lookout on the entrances of the alley. It was this fourth man who felt the presence of a pair of baleful eyes on them. He turned his head to the left and saw someone in a cloak standing about twenty feet away. The figure had a black hood over its head and under the cloak, he could make out a red suit that fitted the body like second skin.

The curves underneath the cloak made the man realize that the figure was a woman, perhaps dressed for a fancy dress.  He was about to sneer and announce the presence of another woman to the remaining men, when suddenly a flash of pain seared through his guts and he fell backwards.

Source: istockphotos

The three ruffians were startled but before they could respond they felt a foot cracking their jaws. In a matter of seconds all the four men were down, injured. The reporter could only stare at the hooded figure in amazement.

“Who are you?” she asked still staring at the cloak and the red suit underneath.

“I’m just a woman, like you. But I’m also a woman who refuses to stand aside and see any wrong happening to another person. The important thing is that you are safe now. There’s a taxi in the next lane. Please take your friend and move from here.” The red suited woman replied in a voice that exuded command and power.

With a last look at the woman who had saved her life, the reporter lifted her friend using her shoulder for support and limped across to the waiting taxi.

One of the thugs, who had recovered slightly, fished out a knife from his pocket and swung at the hooded woman. But he had not accounted for the super powers of the woman. Every minute action of the man were amplified in her senses and even before the knife could come down, she had jumped over the opposite wall, did a complete turn and kicked the man in his groin.

The man fell down with a thud.

The woman then jumped over the building, easily scaling the tall sky scrapers in the still night.

She noticed that the man’s knife had caught her cloak and suit and torn it apart. She sighed imagining the mending work that would have to be done on her outfit. It was not easy being a superwoman. Apart from saving the world from danger and bashing up the bad boys, she also had to ensure that her identity remained undisclosed.

It had not been an easy night, the only solace being, the secret remained. She decided to retire for the night at the crack of dawn.

***

The next day when Ravi entered his house in the evening he saw his wife, Vinita, preparing dinner, washing the utensils and trying to teach their son the multiplication tables. He wondered for the umpteenth time how his wife managed to handle multiple tasks and still remained cool as a cucumber.

He circled his arms around her waist. “You truly are a superwoman”.

Upon hearing this Vinita could only wink and grin like a Cheshire cat!

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.