Amidst A Thousand Suns

~a flicker in the flame~

Anamika's P.O.V.

~~~

'Burning.

No. Don't help me, for I refuse to be saved. Let me burn, please, because this is the only way I wish to live- by burning. Let me turn to ash, I beg you, because this is the only way I will be alive.
Here I will stand with welcoming hands, until every blaze of the fire licks every morsel in my body.
Burn.
Let every inch of my skin turn to ash.
Burn.
Like every bone in my body is a motherfucking halogen lamp.

Who says you die when you are set on fire?

As someone who is named after fire, I will stand true to my name.

Let me be, until this inferno no longer reaches out to me, for I wish to be a part of it.
I will be the surface of the hellfire and also the core of a flickering candle.
For this passion has found a home in me.

Let it consume me whole, because your millions of screams to save me, will be faced by billions of flames tasting me; my eternal burning is inevitable.

For I am amidst a thousand suns.'

Aaghyaa's words never made sense. At least never to me.

The only thing that made sense was the line where she said that her name was a synonym of fire.

Arun had uttered her name when he had first touched her newborn hands.

"Aaghyaa.", he had whispered when I passed her pink body from my frail, red hands, which had furiously gripped the white hospital bedsheets while I delivered Aaghyaa, to his strong, manly ones.

I closed my eyes at the memory, my eyes eventually giving away to the sadness and grief.

24 year-old Anamika had never anticipated the prospects of a life growing inside her, not even when she had held the pregnancy test which seemed to be mocking at her when it showed the two very positive straight lines.
Anamika had never anticipated that her own daughter would be someone whom she would always despise.
Nor did the 41 year-old Anamika, who sat with a journal containing her daughter's poems, weeping on the memories of her dead husband.

I had never loved Aaghyaa, not even when she was a mere child growing in my womb.
So un-motherly of me, haina?
A stain on womanhood and motherhood alike, ain't I?
Because that's what Arun had said to me.

But he had loved her so dearly, exactly like a father should.
He even became the mother to her, which I was never able to become.
Despite his harsh words on how am I supposed to feel for my own child, I had loved him, because that is what is demanded from a dutiful, loyal wife, isn't it?

I heard the doorknob open from behind me and quickly shut the journal and put it back in Aaghyaa's drawer.

"Maa? What are you even doing here?", Aaghyaa's angry voice boomed.

I wiped any traces of tears from my cheeks and turned around to face her.
"I was just looking for Arun's diary. I couldn't find it in my room. I thought you might have taken it.", I said, trying to sound uninterested.

It was the truth. I was finding Arun's journal but came across Aaghyaa's instead.

"I don't have it. And even if I had, what makes you think that I will hand it over to you?"

I winced internally at the coldness of her words, but I regained my composure.

"He was my husband, Aaghyaa! And I am your mother, so don't you dare talk to me like that!"
I made sure that my voice was twice as loud as hers.

She narrowed her eyes at me. Her's were exactly like Arun's; large and doe-like. It was as if he was looking straight at me.

"And don't you dare to enter my room and look through my things again.", she whispered and yet it sounded like a silent warning.

I could do nothing but stare at my daughter helplessly.
What else could I do?
I had no energy to start a fight with her yet again.
We have had enough of those to last for a century.

Her bosom fell suddenly as she let loose a breath.
"Let's not make it about us. Not today. Dad doesn't deserve this type of farewell."

I looked down at my fingers and nodded slowly.

"Just come down. Everyone's waiting for you.", she said rather rudely and disappeared; her white dupatta trailing behind.

I got from the hardwood floor, checked myself in the mirror, adjusted my hair in a tight bun and descended down the stairs to my living room.

At least a triple dozen of eyes looked at me while I came down, like how the crowd looks at a bride-to-be cladded in a white gown while her father walks her down the aisle.
I snorted at the irony.
Surely, the girl in white here was me, the only difference being me trapped in white saree meant for mourning a death. The bride was indeed me, the only difference being that I was now a widow.

Scared, my hands automatically flew to my neck to touch the locket.
My fingers wrapped around the warmth that it provided.
My safe haven.

I dutifully took my place on the ground just beside the photo frame which contained Arun's photo, decorated by a garland and a burning little bowl made out of mud which acts as a candle, traditionally called 'deepak', in front of it.

I don't want to be here.
I don't want to mourn someone, be it my own deceased life partner.
I just want to do what I have always done since I got married; wake up, get ready, go to work, return home and sleep- the mundane things that I usually did.

Because since his death 12 days ago, I had never felt true grief.
I waited and waited for the sadness to finally hit me right in the heart, but it never came. Just a little loneliness birthed by the fact that there once existed a presence inside this house other than my daughter, which was now gone.
Just that and nothing more.

But I had to sit here until everyone from the family expresses their fair share of loss, hugs me lightly while whispering 'it's going to be alright' or 'tell me if you need help with anything' and have finally left.
I would have to sit here unwillingly.

I looked straight ahead.
Aaghyaa's eyes were boring into mine.
No.
No, wait.
She wasn't looking at me, instead, she was staring at the flickering flame of the deepak placed just between us both, without ever blinking for once.

Her eyes were far beyond someone who had just lost their father. They no longer spoke of grief and sadness and remorse and guilt of spending a little more time with her dad.
They were just...vacant.
I guess she is the most affected by his demise.

Why wouldn't she be?
Arun seemed to be the only parent she had ever cared for.

Her eyes shifted as she noticed that I was staring at her. And she stared back.

And in that fleeting moment, I swear I saw her looking at me with helplessness and in a desperate need of motherly love.
But it was gone just as the flame of the deepak flickered.

...