Saturday, November 27

The Bride

the yellow sunflowers stand gazing at the sun, their back towards her, the lillies and lotuses stand still in the sweltering sun … wilting a little, battling the sun a little. the hot afternoon sun is high up on the sky and she stares at him from the cool confines of her room. like a picture painted, everything stands still, everything is silent. the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional drone of the dragon fly are all that can be heard to the outside world. Inside though, her heart beats like a thousand conch shells being blown all at the same time, the stifled sobs within rankle her breath, and it comes out in long sighs everytime she breathes. bedecked in bridal finery … she sits still. her legs have caked blood on them, her clothes have been discarded in a hurry, some are torn some are crumpled. she sits still, because every movement hurts, the bruises on her breasts and stomach have turned black and the scratch marks show on her arms. her mehandi cannot hide her shame. She sits alone on the bed, scared to make even the tiniest noise, scared to breathe even.
One man humiliated her soul and her love, one man humiliated her body and pride.

One would have already forgotten about her, and moved on in life, her name erased from his memory. He would have found another « soul mate » another « with you I dont need to try to be happy, I know I will » another « with you, life is, what it should be, I will not shirk my responsibilities with you » another « I trust you, you know me » another « I will talk to my mother about you » her love for him would be a forgotten moment, like that two rupee coin you forgot after you gave it into the grubby hands of a beggar with disgust on your face; A lifetime worth of love, erased in less than a week.

The other man, she does not know his definition of happiness. She does not know what he wants, what he needs or even who he is. He has broken her sense of self, killed her pride and humiliated her body. She cannot face the mirror with the smell of his breath on her. He has achieved whatever it was he wanted to. He has her, his constant mute companion, a rag doll whom he can brutually rape whenever he wants, and she will lay under him, thinking of when it will all end as he does what he wants to.

When she finally moves, nursing the bruises and stepping out of the puddle of blood that has oozed out of her insides, she realises that all this while, she wondered about life and its meaning, and today, existence is a burden.

Har mulaaqat ka anjaam kyon hain judaai
ab to har waqt yahi baat sataati hain hume
Zindagi ke har mod pe zillat kyon hain
subah ki halki dhoop bhi shaam kyon nazar aati hain hume


Divesh said...

very very sad... I hope, this really is fiction..

Kanupriya said...

I was already feeling gloomy, and this post almost makes me feel like crying. too painful :(

Kanupriya said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Kanupriya said...

*made me