Kshitij got Kritika

CHAPTER ~ 50

POV :~ KRITIKA

I am at a place where warmth and love enveloped me like a soft blanket. It is our small, cozy home, filled with the comforting scent of my mother's cooking and the gentle hum of her favorite tunes playing on the radio.

The world around me is warm and bright, the air filled with the scent of fresh flowers. I am five years old again, running barefoot through our old garden, the grass cool and damp beneath my feet. The sky is a perfect blue, and the sun's rays are gentle, wrapping me in a comforting embrace.

"Maa, look!" I call out, my voice high and full of joy as I pick a handful of marigolds. My mother is there, sitting on a wooden bench under the shade of the mango tree, her smile radiant as she watches me.

She is wearing her favorite yellow saree, the one with the delicate embroidery along the edges. Her hair is tied back in a loose braid, and her eyes sparkle with warmth and love. She looks up from the book she's holding and waves at me, her laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes.

I run towards her, my little legs carrying me as fast as they can. She opens her arms wide, and I dive into them, burying my face in the softness of her saree. She smells of sandalwood and jasmine, a scent that is uniquely hers.

"My little butterfly," she whispers, kissing the top of my head. "What have you found today?"

I hold up the marigolds proudly. "I picked these for you, Maa. Do you like them?"

She takes the flowers from my hand, her eyes shining with tears of joy. "They're beautiful, Kri. Just like my beautiful daughter."

We sit together on the bench, and she starts to weave the marigolds into a garland. Her fingers move with practiced ease, and I watch in awe, mesmerized by the simple beauty of the moment. She hums a soft lullaby, the same one she used to sing to me every night before bed.

As she finishes the garland, she places it gently around my neck.

And suddenly something changes. That garland is no more around my neck. Instead it is around my Maa's neck. And she ...is lying....on her pyre...cold....

In a few minutes, I see her body ....burning...

I try to kick, I try to fight, I try to scream but no voice comes out of my mouth. Nothing. It's as if there's a big lump in my throat and it's stopping me from sleeping. It's killing me. The fact that I'm not able to speak and cry and sob loudly is slicing my throat.

I just want to remove that lump and scream upon the men who are taking my Maa away. I want to scream on the man who is lightening up her pyre. I want to shake the world by my screams. But I'm not able to do so.

"No...no...no...no"

"Don't leave me alone, Maa."

I suddenly realize I'm no more that five years old girl. There's vermillion on my head. I am wearing a nuptial chain and my wedding ring.

Strong and soft arms wrap around my waist, pulling me into a hug. And my mind analyses that it's my husband.

He is looking at me with a hope that I will speak out.

But the grief inside me is too big. It isn't letting me do anything except to beg my Maa again and again,

"Don't leave me alone, Maa."

My body burns. I'm not able to stand. And I see my Maa leaving me. Everyone's saying it's for her own good. But what about my good?

Why is God being so unfair with me to take her away from me? My only family since childhood.