“Baijanthi!”
Baijanthi shrank deeper into her corner, pushing her eyes harder against her knees as her father, drunk on alcohol and rage screamed her name.
“Baijanthi!”
Looking up, Baijanthi took in the familiar scene surrounding her. Her mother, Sanjona, was crumpled on the dirt floor just across the room of their house, which was a ceiling of cloth, draped over wooden posts against which cardboard walls leaned. The right side of Sanjona’s face was red and purple, her eye swollen shut. The left side remained unseen as it lay burrowed against the ground. Blood wet Sanjona’s lips and speckled the floor as she coughed, clutching her abdomen. The meagre size of their dwelling stood in an almost comical contrast to the towering height and anger of her father, Aabesh, a man built atypically to the normal Nepali man with a stocky width that was menacing.
He strode across the room in one step and, now looming over Baijanthi, told her to get up.
“No.” She responded, talking into her own knees, her voice no louder than a whisper. The image of Aabesh striking her mother repeatedly, with no inhibitions was fresh and, although tonight was nothing she hadn’t experienced before, the shock of her father’s actions still made her cower in fear. Memories of nights just like this flooded into Baijanthi’s mind. Aabesh’s fury seemed to be always lurking just beneath his skin, skin which peeled away like an onion layer when he drank. Sanjona’s bruises never completely healed before he beat her again.
Aabesh was provoked by Baijanthi’s disobedience, and he quickly reached out and grabbed her. His large palm and thick fingers wrapped completely around Baijanthi’s thin upper arm, causing her to whimper in pain as his hand tightly gripped the prominent pattern of unhealed bruises. She shrieked protest, “NO father, please!”
Aabesh threw his daughter to the ground next to her mother, feeling a rush of pleasure even in his drunkenness at seeing the two helpless girls, his wife and his child, fallen at his feet. Sanjona had fallen unconscious, and as Aabesh climbed on top of Baijanthi, she only stared at her mother. Sanjona had once been beautiful, with high, delicate cheekbones, clear brown eyes, and full lips the shape of a crossbow. Now her face was swollen from beatings, and deformed from old fractures that never healed properly. Her lips were cracked and bloody. Tears of anger and of sorrow welled up in Baijanthi’s eyes, blurring the image of Sanjona until she was no longer recognizable; Baijanthi was left with only her thoughts and her tears as her father defiled her.
. . .
This is the story of one of the street children of Kathmandu whom Agape Ministries has ministered to. The circumstances surrounding her childhood are reflected in, but not exact to the narrative presented here. – (For privacy reasons, the name of the child has been changed)
Baijanthi was raised in the slums of Kathmandu Nepal. With a violent, alcoholic father, Baijanthi regularly witnessed and sustained physical and sexual abuse as a child, abuse that was administered by her father. Although Agape Ministries had an influence in Baijanthi’s life, they were unable to save her. Once in her teenage years, she began prostituting herself and quickly fell into the drug and alcohol culture of the community in which she submitted herself. Now 18 years old Baijanthi has been placed in a rehabilitation center for substance abuse. Agape Ministries continues to minister to her father, planting seeds in the hope that he may find salvation. Her mother has passed away.
Baijanthi’s story is not one of success, rather brokenness. However, Baijanthi’s story is one that tests the faith of those around her, that as believers we may trust God’s divine purpose and faithfulness, that he will nourish and cultivate the seeds planted by the Agape team. May Baijanthi’s story act to raise awareness of the impact poverty has on the livelihood of Nepali families, and be an encouragement to send prayers to the communities of impoverished individuals within Kathmandu and throughout all of Nepal.
