I have always prayed that my son will never find out the truth about his father. The moment the young Ajay asked me about his father, I started painting a tapestry of lies. Convincingly, I told him that his father was a warrior ... a real hero ... a soldier who died while protecting his country from the enemy. But, in reality, his father was a man who had committed the most hideous crime. However, I didn’t want Ajay to be ashamed of his father, so I lied to him.

The truth nearly broke me. The truth brought unspeakable misery into my life. Even now, I have a hard time coming to terms with it. I didn’t want my son to go through what I’d experienced. I decided that, at whatever cost, he must be protected from the truth. He must not be made to suffer for the sins of his father.

It wasn’t difficult painting this picture of lies. My son has never met his father as he died before I gave birth to Ajay. Nor has anybody in this town ever met Ajay’s father. When I arrived here, I was a four-month-pregnant widow looking for a job and a new life.

I created for myself an entirely different identity. I had to. You see, if they had known the truth, my son and I would have been outcasts.

My husband and I were teachers in a small town. Ours was a love marriage. The first time I met Ashok was at the teacher training college. Slowly, we became more than friends. The moment we graduated, we tied the knot. I thought I knew him well, but it appeared I was wrong. After two years of marriage, I discovered his terrible dark secret.

It appeared he had been molesting some of his male students in the pretext of giving them extra free tuition. His secret was exposed when Bala, one of his students, complained to the headmaster as well as to the police. My husband was arrested immediately.

At first, I doubted the charges against him. Later, it became too difficult to believe in his innocence as Bala revealed some intimate details about Ashok’s body.

Bala’s confession gave other children the courage to came forward and speak out. In the two years of my husband’s teaching career, he had molested several children.

Out of shame, my husband committed suicide between the four walls of his prison cell.

The townsfolk felt cheated. They felt that he had escaped punishment too easily. In their eyes, justice had been denied them. They were furious and frustrated beyond words, so they directed their anger at me. They considered, being his wife, I should pay for his sins.

Wherever I went, they hurled insults and curses at me. Shopkeepers refused to serve me. I was not allowed to enter the temple. Suddenly, none of my friends wanted to have anything to do with me. The headmaster hinted that it would be best if I resigned. Apparently, parents had been threatening not to send the children to school if I still taught there.

When I discovered I was pregnant, I decided to leave town and find somewhere else to make a fresh start. I didn’t want my unborn child to suffer too.

So I relocated to a new town with a fake new identity.

It has now been thirty years since the incident. My son is a successful lawyer, and is happily married with two children.

To this day, Ajay doesn't know that I have been lying to him all these years. Looking back, I have no regrets at all. For the sake of my son's happiness, the lies were necessary. I shall never tell Ajay the truth about his father. I will carry his father’s crime to my grave.

- Bissme   
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.