Love

It was the silence that brought her back. Consciousness brought the smell with it and she retched. She twitched her hands and legs, stiffened by the duct-tape digging in her flesh. No one had bothered to unbind her. The door of her bedroom was still locked from outside. Her hair were all over her face, glued to it with dried tears. The screams were still floating around her, settling in the room like dust. She knew the pain in her heart will never subside. It was unbearable, clenching her heart like a hook.

Silence.

She tried to move her hands, her legs, tried to cut the tape at the edge of the bed. She had to get out of the room. Maybe there was still time. She tried for almost half an hour before she groaned and gave up. If somehow she could get it off her mouth. She looked at the light coming from below the door. The inverted flames dancing on the pale tiles were not there any more. That was the last thing she could remember before she fainted. And the screams. Oh Yes! The screams.

Then she heard voices.

Someone opened the door and a gush of air brought another sharp smell of burnt flesh in the room. A police inspector stood there holding a handkerchief to his nose. He looked at her. His eyes were blank. He ordered his subordinate to go in and unbind her.

Blood rushed back to her hands and legs. She was able to get up after sometime. There still were needles of pain in her legs and hands but what were they compared to what she had lost? She clenched and unclenched her hands as she stood at the door of the bedroom and looked out. He was lying there. A black, unrecognisable mass of a man who was her husband an hour ago. She did not avert her eyes. How could she? He had kissed her in the morning. She had looked into his eyes and thanked God for sending him.

There were people in the room taking pictures, samples, fingerprints, going about their work as if her shattered life had blended effortlessly in their routine. She sat down at the foot of the door. Someone asked if she would like to drink some water. She mumbled something. She was still staring. The ambulance arrived. The inspector was asking  her something. They were taking the body away.

She was surprised by the wail that rose from her throat.

Her father and two brothers were arrested the next day. There was no remorse. They were proud that they saved the dignity of their family.

2017-11-11T00:38:51+00:00 Tags: , , , , |

About the Author:

Amit Sharma is the Author of fiction novel False Ceilings published by Lifi Publications in January 2016.
Amit always keeps a book and a portable reading light in his bag (much to the amusement of his fellow travellers). His other hobbies include watching world cinema, travelling, staring at hills, digging into various cuisines, cooking, listening to music, painting, blogging, making his daughter laugh and helping his wife with her unnecessary and prolonged shopping.
He is currently working on his Second novel which is a thriller.

18 Comments

  1. Indian Homemaker March 10, 2012 at 3:51 pm - Reply

    Shared. We really need such writing to show just how identifiable the pain is, even if it always happens to other people.

    • Amit March 11, 2012 at 2:56 pm - Reply

      Thanks IMH. Whenever I read something like this in newspapers, it affects me deeply.

  2. scorpria March 10, 2012 at 11:31 pm - Reply

    I’m really at a loss for words. This is just so powerful.

  3. Mysoul March 11, 2012 at 3:04 am - Reply

    Came here through IHM’s share…I was all there as I read this.

    • Amit March 11, 2012 at 2:57 pm - Reply

      Thanks Mysoul. I am glad that you like it.

  4. Apar March 11, 2012 at 3:09 pm - Reply

    Powerful!

  5. Ashwathy March 11, 2012 at 4:24 pm - Reply

    OMG 😐
    Awesomely written. Brought a lot of visuals to my head.

    For a sec I thought robbers killed the husband, and then wondered why she wasn’t killed in the process. Had to get till the end to realize it wasn’t “robbers”….

    • Amit March 11, 2012 at 8:05 pm - Reply

      Thanks Ashwathy. Well, the story was supposed to disturb you in the end. It was mentally difficult and disturbing to write this because worse has happened to people.

  6. Reema March 30, 2012 at 5:03 am - Reply

    powerful and sad 🙁

    • Amit March 30, 2012 at 1:34 pm - Reply

      Yeah, This was one post which was difficult to write.

  7. Destination Infinity April 3, 2012 at 11:20 pm - Reply

    Shocking. I would like to believe that honour killings have become lesser these days, or at least I don’t see many news items about them in the news papers. Somehow, our civilization has come to believe that forcing one’s views/opinions on others is the best way to go forward. Sad.

    Destination Infinity

    • Amit April 6, 2012 at 6:56 pm - Reply

      No, they have not become less. They are quiet frequent.
      I think its sad that we are developed enough to impose our opinions on others.

  8. Wanderer June 27, 2012 at 5:31 pm - Reply

    A short power packed punch in the gut!

    • Amit June 28, 2012 at 12:48 pm - Reply

      Thanks Wanderer. This story was in my head since a long time.

  9. The Girl Next Door July 30, 2012 at 4:27 pm - Reply

    This hit me really hard. Powerful writing.

    I have been thinking about honour killing and inter-caste marriages for a while now. Thought of doing a post on my blog too, but then decided to give it time. It is sad that even today, in a supposedly new-age world, such people exist.

    • Amit July 30, 2012 at 4:49 pm - Reply

      Thanks The Girl Next Door.
      There are plenty of such crazy people around and the sad part is that they are not going anywhere soon.

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