The Prostitute


 The Prostitute

(A Short Story by M. Menonimus)

The Prostitute

The Prostitute


The Prostitute

The last evening, when I was busy with the proof sheet of my latest book, all of a sudden, I heard my cell phone to be ringing. It was a call from an unknown number. I received it and said, “Hello! Who are you?”

The caller responded, “Hello! I am a reader of yours. I wish to meet you, sir. Please allow me to have the grace of meeting you for a few minutes.”

It was the tone of a woman and I asked, “Where are you speaking from?”

She replied, “I am from Dibrugarh. I have come to your locality for a day and if you…”

I said, “You may meet me at any time you like.”

She replied, “Then I would like to meet you at 7 p.m. today evening.”

I said, “O. K.”

I was so busy with my proofreading that I forgot the time of that appointment. At 7’o clock in the evening, I suddenly came to hear a woman’s voice asking from my doorway, “May I come in, sir?”

I was startled and looked up from my proofreading and saw that a woman was standing in the doorway. I replied, “Come in.”

She came in straight. She was a woman of about twenty-five. As she came in I found my room to be enlightened with a bright glow. At first sight, she appeared to be the highest specimen of feminine beauty that I have ever seen. She was a woman of average height. She was wearing a rose-colored sari. Her nose was as sharp as a knife; her two cheeks were chubby and looked like two pieces of a ripe mango. Her two eyes were like that of a rabbit; her hair was as black as a piece of a summer cloud. Her thigh was as fleshy as the back of a butterfish. Her teeth were as white as a piece of smoothly cut coconut. Her face seemed to be slightly smiling like a half-bloomed tulip. Her limbs were decorated with costly ornaments. The sari that she wore showed her not to be a being of this mortal earth but a divine spirit. In brief, to say, she was the very incarnation of a heavenly nymph in human form. It seemed to me that the beauty of Helen would be a poor imitation of her backside only.

She sat down face to face with me on the sofa and said, “Sir, I have come to meet you because I like your stories.”

I asked, “Why do you like my stories?”

She gave a straight answer, “I like your stories because there is a realistic representation of life and a style characterized by simplicity and directness.”

I said, “Thank you for your comment.” And then I asked, “May I know your identity?”

She gave a straight reply, “Why not? I am Mrs Nashiketa Buragohain, a prostitute by profession.”

I became surprised because as far as I know, prostitution is not a legal business in India and I have never heard any prostitute be introduced herself as a prostitute. So I, with a little hesitation, asked for an explanation for her profession. 

Then she said, ‘If you have enough time to hear me I can give a brief explanation for it.”

I replied, “I am free till 8 p. m. You may begin.”

She moved a little to her left, lifted her elbow on the stand of the sofa and began to tell:

Sir, I was the daughter of a primary school teacher. Among the four children of my parents, I was the eldest. My father was able to manage the family with his limited salary. We were happy. My parents brought up us with much restriction and care. We- my other brothers and sisters- were all good students. I obtained the second stand in the H. S. L. C. Examination. I had a long hope of studying the Science stream. But my father, in fear of getting short of funds for my expenditure, compelled me to get admitted to the Arts stream. In my college life, I began to enjoy some freedom. Then I fell in love with a colleague of mine. He was a child of peasant parents. As a student, he was a good one. We became free frank within a few days of my college days. Though I fell in love, I was conscious of my career and continued my studies with attention. In the H. S. Examination, I obtained the first stand. But the boy I loved could hardly secure the first division. He began to be worse year by year. And after passing B. A. he put an end to his educational career. On the other hand, I obtained my M. A. from Delhi University. Our mutual love was so deep that we promised to get married after having got my postgraduate.

People often praised me to be a good-looking, charming girl and many philanderers used to ran after me seeking my favour. But none could approach me. I loved that boy- the only one.

My parents were anxious to marry me off. Many guardians sent proposals to make me their daughter-in-law. But my parents did not choose them. But once, a proposal came from a high family. The boy was a Director in the Public Service Department. The family was an influential one and it counted rupees neither in thousands nor in lacs but in millions. My parents choose the boy to be my worthy groom. I protested and expressed my opinion that I am unwilling to get married to him. I also told my parents that I love a boy. But when I gave an account of the boy I love all of my family got exasperated and seemed to be broken down. They thought that a bachelor belonging to a poor peasant family could never be a worthy match for a girl like Nashiketa.  It would be a disgrace upon the family. My parents began to bewail over my choice and became obstinate to give me in marriage with the millionaire. All my protests and persuasion proved futile. Eventually, I got married to a millionaire.

He gives me everything- a palace-like home, foreign car, line of servants, costly robes, and what not! And in turn, I have to surrender my beauty, my flesh and my entity but I cannot take back my heart from the boy whom I have sacrificed my all.

Then she looked at me and said, “Sir, in such a state, am I not a prostitute who in turn of food and lodging gives her flesh to a person whom I don’t love?” 

Saying so, she stood up from her seat and went out of my room without giving me a chance to express my opinion. I looked at my watch; it was 8 p. m. I came out up to my gateway and saw that a French-made royal car was waiting for her. She drove into it and the car ran away blowing the dust of the street to my eyes and face. 0 0 0


The Prostitute

N.B.  The short story ‘The Prostitute’ originally belongs to the book ‘The Prostitute and Other Stories‘ by Menonim Menonimus.

The Prostitute

Books of Composition by M. Menonimus:

  1. Advertisement Writing
  2. Amplification Writing
  3. Note Making
  4. Paragraph Writing
  5. Notice Writing
  6. Passage Comprehension
  7. The Art of Poster Writing
  8. The Art of Letter Writing
  9. Report Writing
  10. Story Writing
  11. Substance Writing
  12. School Essays Part-I
  13. School Essays Part-II
  14. School English Grammar Part-I
  15. School English Grammar Part-II..

Books of S. Story by M. Menonimus:

  1. The Fugitive Father and Other Stories
  2. The Prostitute and Other Stories
  3. Neha’s Confession

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I am Menonim Menonimus, a Philosopher & Writer.


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