We were married for two years now. We have a 6 month old daughter who is on my bed sleeping now. We live in the city of Karnataka in India. We live in a small 1 bedroom house down the road while my husband works as a security guard. I married when I was 19. That’s the culture here. Girls are not educated and are forced to marry young while boys are briefly educated and marry when they are near 27.
My husband was the choice of my father, Young, strong and lovely individual. But things turned out somewhat different. I got a child one year after marriage. My parents felt rejoiced to be grandparents but for me the child only brought me more grieve.
My husband beats me every third night, usually when he is drunk. He releases his anger and frustration on me. He also beats me to show me whose boss and just cause he thinks girls can’t take care of themselves. That is the way of thinking around here. Girls are not giving a say while boys are free to do what they want. Are parents make every decision for us and mostly end up ruining our lives.
I cry every day to God begging him to fix things, but even God seems to be ignoring us.
We women are not allowed to socialize. Going to the grocery to get items is the closest we get to the outside world. The whole day we women are expected to clean the house, cook food and take care of your young’s. We don’t even have a TV in our house. I tried to get my parents to help me out with this situation but they said that this is every girl’s life and we had to live with it.
One day as I was cleaning the house as usual, someone knocked at the door. This was unusual. No one knocks at anyone’s doors around here. I first thought it was a thief or someone who would kidnap me so I ran for the belt my husband uses to whip me.
As I was opening the door I wished we had a peep hole, it would make things much easier. When the door opened I was ready to strike but it was only my brother in law. I didn’t like him very much. I noticed that his eyes were red from crying and immediately asked him what happened. He said that my husband had been involved in a motorbike crash and that he was at the local hospital.
My heart skipped a beat, I felt as if a balloon had blown up inside me. There were tears in my eyes, I life was flashing past me and I told my brother in law to rush to the hospital and tell me what is happening.
As soon as he was out of sight I shut the door behind me and got down on my knees.
This was the best thing that could have happened to me! All my prayers had finally been answered. I was thanking God for this good news and begged him to take my husband down to hell. Tears came down my face as a waterfall and now I would be able to do all the things I had wished as a kid. I can finally be free to do what I want, I can marry someone I love, do my own job, be able to drive, live my life and most of all be happy.
But my happiness was short lived. There is always a down fall after every up lift.
I heard a series of knocks at the door. I rushed to it immediately hoping for the news that my husband was alive even though deep down I wish he suffered.
It was my father in law at the door, it seemed like he had just been crying and that made me broke into tears not giving my father in law a chance to break the bad news to me. They were real tears this time. My father in law came and pulled me in a tight hug whispering in my ears “Don’t worry… he will be in heaven now.” And other things like “You might be missing him but you shall soon be together.”
Those thoughts send a shiver through my spine. I couldn’t understand if my father in law was trying to comfort me or scare me.
My father in law then took me with him to the hospital to see my husband. My husband looked at peace, nothing to worry about and not a care in the world. He had a big scar going through the middle of his bare chest and a deep horizontal scar at his fore head. All my family members were there, half of them crying and the other half comforting them. Most people came to me to comfort me but that also send a chill through my spine.
The next day we had the funeral. Everyone were there from the day before and my husband lay in the middle of the cremation ground giving everyone a chance to have a last glimpse at him.
After everyone had a good look at my husband and giving a few prayers to the both of us, it was time to take my husband to his pyre. My father in law lit the fire and it combusted immediately. Everyone was staring at the fire and a few crying for what was to come. My mother was one of them. No one did anything for a while.
Then my father gave me a small nudge from the back indicating that it was my time now. All the eyes were on me, my mother was crying aloud and others were trying to comfort and hold her back.
As I took a step forward I thought to myself “What is this tradition based on? ““What is the point?” But I knew no one had the answer and all I could do was to do my last prayers and ask God to give my daughter a better life. I wonder what would happen to her, who would take care of her? , Probably my parents. I didn’t have much time so closed my eyes and did my last prayer which was “Thank you Baghwan for this life, take care of my daughter and please give me a better life in the next.”
As I opened my eyes it was like I was finally at peace. I was looking death in the eye, the fire burning high, people moaning, the fire calling, I jump into the fire and screaming I die.
