Rashmi

BEFORE ARRIVING AT PROJECT RESCUE, RASHMI HAD WALLOWED IN NEGLECT AND ABUSE. 

Her mother died when Rashmi was 7, leaving the child alone to beg in the streets and scavenge for food in garbage heaps. 

That was her life — until a woman with crooked teeth and a saggy throat adopted her into a brothel. There, Rashmi was forced to have sex with men old enough to be her father. 

Rashmi was adorned in a colorful skirt, earrings, and makeup — working for the brothel — when two of our team members saw her. After throwing their car into the park, our team approached the child. From nowhere, a brothel guard blocked their path.

“What do you want?” he demanded. 

Our team member looked into the child’s vacant eyes and said, “I want you to let her go.” 

“Her mother pays me to watch over her,” the man snapped. 

“She is coming with me,” he insisted. “I want you to take me to her mother.”

The brothel guard led them and Rashmi across the street. Moments later, Rashmi’s “mother” appeared.

Scowling at our team, she said, “What do you want with Rashmi?”

They told her they wanted to take Rashmi to a safe place, give her food and clothing, and provide her with an education. 

The woman clasped Rashmi’s arm and dragged her back inside the brothel. 

They waited patiently outside the brothel a few days later until Rashmi and her “mother” took to the streets. 

“We don’t want to cause you trouble,” one team member said. “We just want to help Rashmi. With an education, she will one day make much more money. She can still live with you and come to school for a few hours daily. Please come and see it for yourself.”

The woman nodded, but everyone knew she had no intention of letting Rashmi out of her sight. “I will consider it,” she said, “but you must leave now.”

So they did.

Our team learned long ago that prying children from the brothels was not easy and took time. 

And what was to be gained by backing the woman into a corner if they lost the fight for Rashmi’s freedom? Each week, the two of them paid a visit to the woman claiming to be Rashmi’s mother.

Finally, the woman — with Rashmi in tow — stepped through the door of Project Rescue. “She cannot return to the brothel, but I must return immediately.” 

Leaving no room for sentimental goodbyes, the woman darted out the door. Weeks passed, and, by all appearances, no one had earned a fleck of Rashmi’s trust. Her tantrums and breakaways were frequent, and her words were mean-spirited. 

Years of abuse had left deep emotional scars. 

Late one night, a knock at the door sounded like a battering ram and woke the residents. A sophisticated man with designer shoes and a silk suit stood at the entrance. 

“You are hurting our business,” the man said, his nostrils flaring. “You will stop taking our girls, or I will kill you.” 

Our team had faced this kind of threat before and knew exactly what to say: “Every child is here legally and with the government’s blessing.” 

The visitor’s eyes became like lasers. “I want the child, Rashmi, to come with me!” 

“Rashmi belongs here,” he replied forcefully. “She’s part of our family now.” 

Little did our team know, but Rashmi had snuck out of bed and watched the confrontation from overhead. She heard every word as the two men engaged in a tug-of-war for her life. The man left, leaving Rashmi safe with our team. Rashmi was overwhelmed. 

It was the first time anyone had loved her enough to fight for her. 

It was the first time she realized she was safe enough to consider this place home. 

Finally, she knew she had a family to call her own.

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