And It Was All Red

Finally, the day had come. Last three weeks had been a nightmare.  With every passing hour, her heart was escalating to new heights of anxiety. She looked at herself in the mirror and tried to curve her lips but today, the mirror didn’t  smile back. Through the window, it looked like just another Diwali night with the sky dazzling with crackers.She saw a rocket shooting for the sky. For a few seconds, it spread light and then vanished in the dark. She was that rocket. She had illuminated the life of everyone around but today would be the night when she would disappear. Her dying aspirations were screaming out loud.  There were Bollywood numbers playing outside but she could hear only those screams.  All those big and small dreams that made her who she was would burn today in that “pious” fire.  Each vow that she would take today would kill a million others she made to herself.

It was three weeks back when she bumped into him amidst the crowd. Next day he proclaimed his love for her. And things turned ugly from that point onwards. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Every day a new drama unfolded.  It started with  red roses and moved on to red dupattas. And red was her favorite color.  Numerous people swarmed her house daily. He had started by requesting her but poor him! Such tantrums the woman had.  He tried all resort and finally got the answer on gun point.  And all of this happened inside closed doors. For the world outside it was just another wedding. A wedding that completes a woman. The sole reason behind her existence.

While lying in his bed she wondered how ironic was the society. Murder would have soaked her body in red blood. Marriage draped her body in red saree. And red was her favorite color. The red of the vermillion that adorned her head. The red dye that adorned her hands and feet. Everything red and rosy. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. With an iniquitous smile on his face and diabolic intentions in his heart, he entered the room. As his silhouette fell on her, she collected tiny fragments of the courage left in her. But should she fight against her husband? The answer was a no. How could a husband rape his wife?

She woke up in the morning with her bed sheet stained with red blood. And red was her favorite color.

Divya Thakur

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