Her tears burn the black of the night, resembling the darkness filled in her. Darkness of her past, of her life, of her existence. Whom was she to trust, whom was she to tell, the story of pessimism. A tale that defines her, makes her and breaks her. This was one thing she wanted to scream out aloud for an answer, why her? What had she ever done to deserve this, what grave mistake did she dare commit that, for which the punishment was so cruel, so very dark.
Who would want to be sold off by her husband, on their wedding the night, the man who vowed to keep her and comfort her, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, till death drew them apart?
The only man a girl trusts her life with after her father, a man who’d protect her and shield her from the eyes of every other man, who’d feed her and nurse her when she’s sick. Who’d give her all of him and in return she’d be his.
Instead, You’re sitting on you’re bridal bed, wearing a heavy red outfit and loaded with gold, heart bursting with blessings, love and fear.
Sound of distant footsteps, shuffling of the kurta, and the flower garland.
The bed got a bit lower, someone came and sat beside her. Her husband, That one being who;d love and protect her.
Sound of distant footsteps again.
First; muffled voices.
Now; “ Yeh larki ab tumhara “Maal” hai, tum nibto, rakhna hai rakho, warna raat ke baad, sarak pe phenk dena”
And then the man, who was suppose to the pillar of her dreams and her house, the foundation of her love, sold her off and vanished. Shattered the dreams even before they started to being dreamt, ran a bulldozer over the foundation, cement still wet.
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