Dearest Mother and Father,
Blood ran down the corner of her lips, down
the deep gash at the side of her abdomen where his boot had connected with her flesh.
She was gasping for breath, her vision swam. She would have cried, would have screamed,
but for the fact that doing so sent a splintering pain through her bruised
ribs.
I love you, and I always will.
They had been married exactly three years
ago, to the day. Lakshmi still remembered the first time she had seen him,
shyly looking up at her prospective groom from under her lashes in the drawing
room of her parents’ rather rundown flat in Bankura. He had been exquisitely
dressed in a cream-coloured sherwani
with silver buttons. If asked, she would have sworn right then that she was
head over heels in love with Jaivardhan.
Of course, no one asked.
No matter where I am, however far away.
Her father owned a tiny watch-repair shop
that hadn’t turned much of a profit for a few years now. She had two younger
sisters, but no brother; nobody to supplement the family’s meagre income. Her
parents hadn’t been able to educate her beyond high school. While reasonably
good-looking, Lakshmi was no remarkable beauty, and she knew it. That a young
man from a family as prosperous as Jaivardhan’s would be willing to marry her
was almost a miracle. His family had even offered to invest in her father’s
shop. There had never been any question of turning down the offer.
I’m hurting all over, nothing feels good anymore.
The honeymoon had been spectacular. Lakshmi
had never seen anything half so beautiful or splendid as the view of the vast
sea from their room in the resort. The bed was as soft as the clouds, the
sheets warm and luxurious. When he’d touched her for the first time, it was as
if a world of new possibilities had opened up before her eyes, as if her world
had been forever and irrevocably changed.
If only she’d known then, how right she
was.
It’s as if my whole world has been swallowed up by a
darkness I can’t escape.
The final night of their stay at the resort
in Puri, she had seen Jaivardhan drink for the first time. She came from a conservative home, and had
never actually seen liquor before outside of television ads. She did not like
to see her handsome, wonderful husband swirling the dark liquid in his hand,
his eyes red-rimmed and lips parted in careless laughter, at something one of
the ladies from the party lodging with them had said. But she was just a
small-town girl, she told herself. What did she know? Perhaps this was what all
city people did.
I want to end this, once and for all.
That night he had been rough with her, for
the first time since their wedding. Had held her down forcefully, wouldn’t let
up even when she had told him, gasping, that she couldn’t breathe under his
greater weight. She had had to wear a full-sleeved blouse on the journey back
home, for the bruises still showed on her wrists, dark and angry.
Want to be happy again, free of this all-encompassing
darkness.
He had apologised profusely, had bought her
beautiful silver bangles for their one-month anniversary. He had dressed up in
a striking lilac shirt with gold cufflinks, had taken her hand and gently
slipped the pretty bangles up her wrists.
They had had dinner at one of the fanciest restaurants Lakshmi had ever
laid eyes on. Those were some of the happiest memories of her life. By the end
of the evening, they had run across Jaivardhan’s old school friend and his wife
at the restaurant. His friend invited them both for a drink. Jaivardhan drank, just a little bit.
It is not your fault Mummy; or yours Dad. Please
believe me.
That was the first night he had drawn
blood. She had spent the entire ride back home begging him not to drink
anymore. He had said nothing, had barely managed to keep control of the
vehicle. It was a miracle they hadn’t been stopped by the traffic police. When
finally they had reached home, he had waited for her to enter the flat, had
stepped in after her, and locked the door. Then he had taken off his belt...
You have raised me to the best of your ability; have
given me all the love in the world.
He always apologised, bought her pretty
gifts afterwards. But she was running out of full sleeved blouses. The bruises
and gashes hardly had time to heal anymore, before new ones appeared to take
their place. She had cried herself hoarse, but there was no one to listen. If
she told her parents, the funds for the shop would stop. They would be ruined;
her sisters’ education would have to be stopped. And she could not, would not abandon them to a fate such as
her own. She could not live with herself if they ever lay bleeding on the floor
because of her selfishness.
And for that I will be forever grateful.
She finally dragged herself off the floor.
Gasping for breath, tears blurring her vision, she made her way slowly towards
the writing table, blood dripping in her wake. Wiping her blood and tearstained
fingers on her housecoat, she pulled out a clean sheet of paper from the pile
on the desk. Taking a deep breath to calm the incessant shaking of her hands,
she finally touched pen to paper.
No one is responsible for my death.
Folding the letter carefully into an
envelope and sealing it, Lakshmi slowly got off the table. Reaching into an
alcove under the little shrine beside the huge, glittering bar in the drawing
room, she recovered a small, sharp knife she had bought at one of Bankura’s
fairs before her marriage, as a curiosity. She ran her fingers gently along its
sharp edge, drawing a small pinprick of blood.
With lots of love,
She walked slowly, quietly into the bedroom,
locking the door behind her. Her husband slept peacefully, spread-eagled on the
huge bed, his head lolling off the pillow. Blissfully unaware of his wife’s
agony.
Jaivardhan.
She raised the knife to the soft flesh of his exposed wrist.
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