I was there for just two months. But each night, I had an eerie feeling when the 40-odd new students, like me, were packed into two rooms and the senior girls would head for what everyone there called “special training”.

We never saw any weapons. Nor did we hear gunshots. The seniors with the special training never spoke to us.

But there were rumours of a stockpile of firearms in the rooms we were not allowed to visit and training for a higher calling that we would find out about when we were ready.

The word ‘jihad’ was never mentioned and we did not think then that it had anything to do with the indoctrination that everyone is talking about now. But after spending 12 days outside and by joining the dots, I have managed to make sense of some things.

While there, we lived in fear and in silence. There was a veil of secrecy and an air of dread among the 55-odd girls, including me, who were restricted to two of the seven rooms in the complex.

We were told that in one of the restricted rooms, called bhaider ghor (room of the brothers), Yusuf and a group of 10-15 men stayed. His wife Ayesha used to teach us but we never saw him. We only heard male voices from that room.

After I was able to leave the madarsa, I found out from my neighbours that Kausar Ali and Sheikh Habibur (two of the prime accused) and their families used to visit the rooms that were out of bounds for us.

Most of us feared being harassed by the men. Thankfully, there was never any contact or communication with anybody but the female teachers of the institute. I read in papers that Razia Bibi and Alima Bibi (the two women arrested from the Burdwan flat after the blast) used to take classes there but I never attended their classes.

Now I realise that they might have taken the classes of senior girls, who used to have sessions with non-resident teachers who would come occasionally in vehicles.

All such classes used to take place in the evening.

Everyone was too scared to ask questions. There was always a tacit threat and a feeling that curiosity will not be tolerated. I had simply wanted to complete my course and go home. None of the girls I spent my time with ever dared to pry.

Our classes began early in the morning and continued till late in the afternoon. In between, we were given modest meals. Food wasn’t as big a problem as living with almost 30 girls in each of the two rooms meant for no more than 15.

As I was new, my studies were mostly in religious texts, besides a lot of prayer services and observances.

After my divorce — my husband was a debauch who tortured me — my father wanted me to go in for religious studies to go with my higher secondary-level education.

When I joined the madarsa, my family and I were told that I wouldn’t be allowed to leave the premises till the completion of my education. Not only were we not allowed to meet our families or any outsider during our stay, we were also prevented from talking over the phone unmonitored.

We were allowed one supervised phone call a week to tell our families that we were okay. That’s not something I was okay with, but I didn’t really have a choice. Especially after my father agreed to those terms.

Dalim Sheikh (one of the men who disappeared after the blast), who knew my father, had convinced him to send me there. He had told my father that it would be good for me and for the family. My father has been finding it difficult bringing up a younger sister and a brother since my marriage.

I later found out that most of the students there were handpicked, like I was. Girls who were from very poor families, who could not be married off or were divorced or widowed. An initial donation of Rs 1,000 from my father was all that was ever taken for a stay that could have lasted years.

Much to my anguish, some neighbours later said they had a fair idea of what was going on. They said people were scared to warn us.

I’m just relieved that I was able to come out of it alive and unscathed. God has been kind.