In an attempt to truly transport you into a different world, I would recommend that you play the music below as you go through the story. I have chosen music that fits the theme and time period of the story the best, to ensure a wholesome experience as you make your way through the world of the past.
Music – Until the Last Moment, Album – In My Time, Artist – Yanni
As the clopping of the hooves came to a gradual halt, the utter silence of the night suddenly seemed to engulf him. Jumping off the horse he straightened his sherwani, adjusted his head gear and walked towards the wooden door which had a very rudimentary set of carvings engraved upon it, hinting that it had been around for a good few decades. Pushing it open, the loud creak pierced through the silence. He shut the door, before turning around to look at the flower draped bed. A number of suspended garlands created a translucent layer, shielding the bed from him, but through it he could catch a glimpse of the veiled woman sitting in a red lehenga, squarely in the centre of the white mattress.
A smile dawning his face, he thought about how long he’d waited for his wedding night. This was surely to be special one. Moving towards the bed, he gently nudged the garlands away with his hands and settled on the mattress. Edging closer to the lady in red, he prepared to lift the veil when he suddenly noticed a large scar running down the back side of her right hand, just below her fingers. Her hands, which lay on top of one another, were bruised and shivering. A familiar chill went down his spine. Something about this struck him to the core – reminding him of a vision that he’d seen before multiple times. But this wasn’t a vision surely, was it? Pressed by a sudden urge to lift the veil, but warned by a distant siren to turn around and leave the room, he hesitated for a minute before caution gave way to a pressing urge. Could it possibly be… her?
Lifting the thin piece of cloth from over her head, his quivering hands jolted when he saw an awfully familiar face sitting quietly behind the red veil. A large wound marked the right-hand side of her forehead, made even worse by a gush of blood dripping from it. On the sides of her cheek and face, the blood clustered with sand to form a sticky composition. The left-hand side of her face bore scratch marks, while her chin was covered with cuts. A thin strip of blood slid down her chin from the lips. His gaze slipped down to her hands which clutched her folded legs with a ferocious grip. The nail beds were a dark brown in colour and her nails were marked by a brighter shade of blood which had crusted around the tips.
Horrified, a loud gasp escaping his mouth, he put his hands up as if to signal a surrender, and jumped off the bed. Who was this? Why was she here? His right hand moved to cover his parted lips, as he stared at the figure on the bed for another five minutes. It took a couple of minutes more for him to be able to form words.
“But I thought you were… dead”, the last word slipped out in a quiet whisper. “Didn’t we leave you in the field?” At this point he was just thinking out loud. How could she be here? It simply wasn’t possible! His brain was conjuring up images of the night, in fragments, as if trying to piece together a puzzle – one which completed into a horrifying image. Finally, as though tired with his scrambling mind, the figure rose from the bed, in a slow, tantalizing motion. The tinkling of her bangles and anklets were the only sounds that pierced the silence. Limping towards the edge, she halted when her legs dangled from the side of the bed. Lifting the veil from her head with tired hands, she looked him squarely in the eyes.
“So you do remember me. It’s nice to know that I haven’t completely been forgotten”, she let out a humourless laugh. “Do you remember the day too? For us, the day the riots raged through the city, our lives had begun just as any other day. We woke up going about our chores – Baba went to meet zamindar babu in a bid to reduce the rent, Ma and I worked on the fields and Dada had gone to the city for an interview. Since the angrezi sarkar partitioned our Bengal, riots had become a common occurrence in our mohulla. Which is why when the riots broke out that day, we did precisely what we did every other day – bolted the doors early on in the evening and switched off all lights except a small, dim candle burning in the rasoi. Ma and I cooked up a meal quickly and all of us finished dinner early. Keeping the axe and sickle close to our cots, the four of us blew out the candle and went to bed early. But everything that happened after that was anything but the usual.”
Her eyes which had trailed off from his face, went back to his eyes, glaring into them with a with burning tragedy. Her blood-crusty lips forming a wry smile, she said, “You would know happened then, wouldn’t you?” He hadn’t even realised it, but he was sitting right before her, his hands curled around his legs in a tight grasp. His skin was breaking into a sweat, and the terror in him was visible in his eyes which were stinging with unshed tears.
“Please don’t!”, he cried out in a strained voice. His body began to sway back and forth in an anxious rhythm. “Please don’t say it!”
“Suddenly, three men came banging on our door”, she continued in an unfazed voice, staring him down, beckoning him to look into her eyes. Halting his swaying body, he looked up as short gasps of breath broke through his sobs. Biting his nails, he continued to look into her piercing eyes, unable to break the terrorizing trance. It was as though she had a hold over him – controlling his every moves – simply with her eyes.
“They proceeded to break the door and forced themselves into our tiny house. Baba and Dada tried so hard to stop them”, the tears finally broke through her eyes, sobs escaping her lips as she uttered the last couple of words. “They tried so hard. But the three men were too much for just the two of them and their bodies finally gave up with the exhaustion of fighting. They then proceeded towards Ma and me. The two of us had managed to flee into the small tool shed in the field, blocking the door with whatever we could find.”
Scoffing, she continued, “It didn’t take them long to knock the feeble door down. The three of them approached us in a slow, tantalizing manner. Two of them dragged me out, while the taller man stayed in with Ma.” Trailing off for a few seconds, she then said, “It was you wasn’t it? The one who first made the move on me?”
His shuddering sobs and convulsing body had by now come to a slow halt. He just continued to stare at her, as soft, silent tears poured down his cheeks. Slowly, he nodded his head, responding in the affirmative.
She let out a wry chuckle, before continuing, “Well then you must surely remember everything that happened next.” Her broken lips straightened into a flat line, as the icy hatred returned to her eyes. He slowly nodded yet again as the entire image played out in front of him once again. As clear as the day it had occurred, the memory engrained itself deeper into his conscience.
He and his friend had proceeded to kick her into the muddy fields, almost beating her into submission. The slow and sudden tear of her clothes was followed by loud groans. Right before her body fell into a soft limp, giving up on any kind of resistance, he noticed her arch her head to look into the shed. He turned and saw the lady in the shed, lying limp on the ground looking into her daughter’s eyes. The women continued to look vacantly into each other’s eyes. A few minutes later, the three men picked up their clothes and ran off yelling into the distance, their torches ablaze, on the hunt for their next target.
“We never moved, Ma and I,” she softly let out. “We lay there, slack. The two of us never removed our gaze from each other. I saw the life drain out of my mother. Thankfully, He was kind enough, and it wasn’t long before I too gave up.” She finally lifted herself from the bed and limped towards him. Crouching down, she sat on her knees and grabbed his face between her fingers.
“How many more were there? How many lives did you go onto destroy after plundering us? You feel a terror inside you, don’t you? A bubbling ball of terror just waiting to engulf you. Let it, it’s the least the lot of you deserve. A wedding night was what you wanted? I grant you one last wish. But it won’t be long before your life becomes a living hell. Do you ever wonder why your memory beckoned me here on such a night? Your conscience, too, is humiliated by your deeds. Your karma begged a remembrance of the night you plundered through the lives of the innocent. And so, I leave you with this – one last vision of me.”
A knock sounded on the door and it opened with a loud creek. He snapped his head to look at the new entrant. A petite lady dressed in a red lehenga entered the room. Her bangles and anklets tinkling, she walked in with a large copper glass in her hands and slowly patted towards him. The convulsions coming back in a fit, he began to cower into the corner, rapidly shaking his head. His hands grasped his legs closer to his body, as he began to shout, “No! Please no! Not again!”