Seeta’s Escape

Seeta grew up in a family that had to conform to society’s expectations of womanhood – get married, have children, and do so as soon as it was legal. At twenty-eight, she was constantly reminded that time was running out. She needed to find a good dulaha and fast. “No man will marry a woman in her thirties,” her family warned. The pressure was relentless. Her parents, her twelve siblings, even distant relatives and neighbours had opinions about her future. So when a man came along, she said yes. She barely knew him – three months, to be exact – but that didn’t matter.

Her parents hesitated at first. He was a divorcee? It wasn’t ideal but they reasoned that ‘marriage was marriage’ and pushed forward with the grand three-day Hindu wedding in their small village in central Trinidad.

Seeta smiled through the ceremonies, through the gold jewelry and rich-colored saris, through the laughter of relatives and the sound of tassa drums. But deep inside, she felt something unsettling. Was this really what she wanted? It no longer mattered. The decision had been made.

By her thirtieth birthday, Seeta gave birth to her first daughter. By thirty-one, she suffered a miscarriage after a mysterious fall – one she never spoke about, though the weight of it hung heavy on her. At thirty-two, she was pregnant again and desperate to escape.

Her husband wasn’t just the man of the house – he was its ruler. His word was law, and questioning him was met with punishment. He was the embodiment of an old, rigid patriarchy, the kind that demanded submission from wives and silence from daughters. Seeta knew she had made a mistake. But mistakes, she had been taught, were things women had to live with.

She tried to leave. More than once. She packed her bags, took her daughters, and ran back to her parents’ home. And every time, she heard the same thing: “Go back to your husband. Make your marriage work.” It didn’t matter what she endured. Divorce wasn’t an option. What would people think? A failed marriage didn’t just reflect on her – it would bring shame to the entire family.
But what about her? What about her safety? Her happiness? No one asked, so she stayed, until one brave morning when she made what would become her final departure from the marital home.

It happened in a blur. Her husband had stepped out to go to the grocery. Seeta saw her chance. Heart pounding, she grabbed a garbage bag and stuffed it with whatever she could – money, documents, a handful of clothes. She moved quickly, shoving items into the bag with shaking hands. Her daughters, still groggy from sleep, clung to her as she hurried them outside. A taxi was already waiting. She climbed in, breathless. Go. Just go. She didn’t have a plan. She didn’t know what came next. All she knew was that she was never going back.

At first, her family didn’t know what to do with her. A woman leaving her husband – especially with children – was deeply disturbing. “What will people say? How will you survive alone? Think of your daughters.”

But Seeta had already decided. She would rather struggle alone than suffer in silence. Her family eventually relented. They weren’t exactly supportive, but they gave her a place to stay. It was a start. For the first time, she had control over her own life. She worked hard, raised her daughters, and ensured they would never grow up believing that suffering was a woman’s duty. She taught them something radical: they could choose their own paths.

Today, Seeta is no longer the timid girl who once followed the rules without question. She is sharp, witty, and unafraid to speak her mind. Seeta did not realize it but she was a woman ahead of her time because leaving a marriage back then, in a world where women had little agency, was an act of rebellion. But the truth? She was simply brave enough to claim the life that should have always been hers.

The system she fought against still lingers. It whispers the same old expectations in new ways. Women are often told, “You should settle down. You can’t raise children alone. Marriage is a woman’s duty.”

But every time a woman like Seeta walks away, every time she demands something better, the whisper grows fainter, and one day, maybe, it will be gone altogether.

dulaha – Hindi word for ‘husband’