That day was the day when I got to know that she is his lover and they still allowed her to cry on his chest when I was married to him and I was even made into a widow. The more I'm getting to know them the more I'm feeling scared of them. They are being unusually different. They are siding with his affair rather than a legal relationship. What am I even married into and what kind of in-laws I got myself for? I was right there dressed in white for my dead husband like a widow while she get to cry like his wife and lover. They were pitying her rather than me where I have to forever stay in this house like their daughter-in-law and his widow while she gets to live freely and independently. Everything was taken away from me. With the marriage, I lost my dance. With him, I lost my color.
(Widows are supposed to wear only white and do not celebrate any festival and no sweets, in an olden era or in conservative homes which are rare at present.)
I have nothing with me yet she was the one to get pitied. I don't care if their love is pure when I am being unjustified. I hate it. I lost my dance for what? To be some replacement?
On the next day while I was working in the kitchen she came in to take water and I took the opportunity to ask her.
"Why did you marry me to him"?
She looked at me with a questioning gaze and closed the lid of the bottle and put it away. I gulped as now she turned towards me while leaning to the kitchen with her hand on the kitchen stand.
"What do you mean"?
Taking deep breaths I stopped chopping the veggies and turned to her.
"I overheard that--that she is his lover".
My eyes fluttered as it became difficult to look into her eyes. I'm not good at facing people. That too makes serious talks., I'm a coward who couldn't even dare to take a proper stand for herself. Sensible people call me pathetic. But that's how I grew up.
•Never question the elders.
•Take every pain with a smile and show your kindness.
My friends said, that the listenable quotes are only for the ears. That doesn't practically apply to life. They said I will end up like my mom if I follow those. They said I should at least take a stand for myself in some situations. And I did.
"So"?
Was my mother-in-law's reply. And I'm tongue-tied about what to ask more.
"T-then why did you marry me to him".
"Because.....
She stretched as she took the bottle in her hand and bought a glass near the bottle.
" We want some Village dumb girl who sways according to our commands".
Her words came out mean and smug and the way she looked at me as if I was asking about some boring thing. She doesn't even consider my situation or question a serious one.
" And.... Wanted a breeder as well. She isn't ready for a child and we wanted a child within a year. So here you are. But I regret bringing you into this house".
Her words came out gritted as she looked at me murderously and her eyes glared at me like a dagger.
" Don't know what jinx you carried, the moment you became his wife, he was killed. My one and only son was dead".
Her voice little pain and anger as she stepped forward making me step back.
" I lost him forever because of you..... And you have to pay the price for it".
I gulped stepping back as she continued striding forward threateningly.
"Till now I was still buried in my grief of losing my son. But from now.... you'll be shown hell for taking away my son".
Tears jammed in my eyes as I shook my head to her.
"I-I d-didn't killed him. H-he..... H-he killed him".
"He would have killed him any time. But my son was killed right at the moment you married him. And that only points out that it is because of you. Because you married him. Pathetic filthy being ".
Her eyes turned red with anger as she caught my hand in a tight grip making me gasp in pain as the fat tears fell out of my eyes.
" I promise you .....
Her voice shook as her face trembled in anger and her eyes held promise frightening me.
"I promise you, you will pay for his life. You will not have a moment of peace in this house. You have swallowed my son. Beware of each step. Your every mistake will enrage me and I won't spare you. I'll take that as my only chance to punish you harder. You'll pay for my son's death".
Saying that she threw my hand harshly as she left the kitchen with long strides. A hiccup left my mouth as I cupped my mouth and sobbed as my tears streamed out. Sliding down I cuddled myself as I hiccuped more and cried harder.
Now I was being blamed for his death. I did nothing. I didn't want to marry him. I shouldn't have asked her about it. I shouldn't have taken a stand for myself. Things became worse now.
That day as she said she stood on her words. I was given lots of chores. But that isn't the real matter. They would pick on me for the smallest things. Let it be that the dishes aren't tasty or the clothes have the stain. Or I didn't clean the house well or didn't do as they said. Or my saree wasn't enough white or I have lipstick on my face when there wasn't at all. She is making up things deliberately. They are no exceptions for my mistakes but they are taking direct charge of me with slaps. They are being abusive to me and it is being worse. Once she "accidentally" threw hot boiling water on me. The lucky part is most of the content fell on my saree rather than the skin except for my hand. Still, it is slightly red on my hand now.
A thought crossed about why I couldn't run away and just join some classical dance and enjoy it dancing throughout my life. I've mastered many dances like Bharatanatyam, Kuchipudi, mohiniattam, and Kathak, and still have the urge to learn more and set up a school and teach dance to the students.
(Bharatanatyam, Kuchipudi, mohiniattam, kathak, oddhisi, and many more are the traditional/classical dance that prevailed in India. Almost every state contains each classical dance.)
But they were brutally shattered. But the injustice happening around me is encouraging me to take a stand for myself and just run away to the purpose of my life. Run away to achieve my dreams.
And I did. But I was caught and the consequences are very brutal. It involved dragging me by my hair from the bus stop to the home. My self-respect was tarnished as the bypassers gawked at me but none helped me. I remark on how unloyal and selfish I am.
The peak level was when they dragged me to the kitchen threatening to burn me. And I was afraid of my death. Flashes of a few ideas about being burnt crossed my mind and I was terrified to my core. They poured kerosene on me to make it look so real and almost bought a match stick near me. I pleaded and begged for my life and they gave me a chance to run before they throw this match stick on me. My first instinct was to run under the shower. I immediately got up from the floor and began to run upstairs to the room and glanced back only to see her stroking the match stick with the matchbox. I immediately ran fast though it is slippery and immediately went under the shower and stood under the water washing away the kerosene.
None of the days could match the amount of dread I felt that day. I was so frightened that I didn't leave the room for three days and I barely ate anything at night sneaking out of the room. On the fourth day, I was dragged out to do chores.
Going back to my father isn't an option. He is the one who put me here. I had no choice but accepted my fate. And I'm glad I did. That made things a little easier. It became a little easy to take in their punishments.
I'm prepared for any upcoming abuse. But most of the time I didn't did any mistakes by getting slaps on my face. I built myself into almost perfectionist to not receive any blows.
A year passed and I saw everything happening in front of my eyes. The world is running with celebrations. The neighbor's house just married off their daughter. They celebrated Diwali, Navratri Durga Pooja, Holi, and Ganesh Chaturthi and I couldn't celebrate anything at all for the rest of my life because I'm a widow. It isn't the same case with other widows. It is only applicable to me as I'm a daughter-in-law of this rich facade prestigious family.
Out of all karwa chauth bought tears in my eyes. Karwa Chauth is a festival where a wife follows fasting for her husband's long life span and vice versa. A festival dedicated to a wife and husband.
As a cultural woman, I dreamed about this day with my husband, and not for once I got this opportunity in my life and I guess I'm not going to get anymore in further.
The feminine urge I have to get ready and wife up by my husband is...... so much. But here I'm. Sitting by the window with tears in my eyes seeing them like a dream never come true.
How badly I wish to enjoy these all. How badly I wish to have a husband and live a happy life. But I'm struck here in the cage.
Time went by when it became the exact year that my husband died. And according to customs every year on the same day some rituals are to be followed in his remembrance and a small feast is to be arranged among the family members and clothes are to be distributed in his name.
Getting up early in the morning I took a bath and wore a usual white saree. Drying my hair with sambrani (benzoin resin) I set my saree properly and walked out of the room to the kitchen.
Done with the cooking I arranged all the dresses in a cotton box ready to distribute them and just then Samira, her mother-in-law, and her sister Laya walked out. They both are almost the same age. And the irony is Laya's mother-in-law is a widow as well and she gets to wear plain light color sarees while I have to wear only white sarees. Not that I complain. After what I lost just being 20 age and color don't matter at all. I lost my dancing freedom. What does this color have significance in my life anyway? And asking permission to dance is out of context. It will only make wit orse. What if they break my l? gs.
And recently got to know that mother-in-law's husband is in a hospital bed. In coma. Being Daughter-in-law for a year, I don't know about my family members.
They were busy with other things and the last time I checked there are less than 5 dresses in the box. Remembering it would be probably up in my room I was going up in my room to check the dresses when I heard a car screech sound and I found it unusual. But today being his shraddha (first death anniversary) it is common to expect someone to visit us.
Hurriedly I went up and collected the dresses in my arms and walked down the stairs. My steps slowed down as I heard some massive footsteps which weren't of our household. Reaching the staircase I looked at the invader and my eyes widen meeting his eyes.
The same man.....
On the same day a year ago........
Who had killed my husband.....
Was now here in front of me......
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