As Darkness seeps into the vast evening sky, painting it a deep ebony, my mind can't help but wander back to that night—The very night when fate decided to strip me bare of my happiness , my sanity and my very will to live.
The sterile and almost clinical scent of my work place is a stark contrast to the stench of bl-
bzzz..! bzzz..!!
The sudden ringing of my phone jolted me from the haze. I stared at the caller ID with detachment, though rage and anguish keep bubbling inside my heart steadily, refusing to be extinguished.
My father's voice came from the other end, " Get home. Now."
and the call ended - No warmth, just a command. cold. Sharp.
I finished up my work and headed straight home. The entire Forty five minutes of the bus ride , I scrolled through my phone's gallery. Tears Pricked at the corner of my eyes as I look at the happier times, at the pictures of the person I loved , still love.
As I entered the house, the aroma of freshly made dinner filled my lungs. Instead of salivating, I felt nauseous. The flooring tiles were pristine and flawless as ever, though the blood stains on the ceiling screamed otherwise. My mother welcomed me in with her usual sweet smile, acting like that night never happened.
" I made your favorite dish today " , she said while arranging the dinner table.
My father is seated at the head of the table with a stern look on his face.
" I've found you a marriage partner from our distant relative's family. Unlike someone, they're one of us ." , my father finished.
the last part made me see red, I stood up from My seat and stormed back to my room, slamming the door shut.
Throughout the night, I tossed and turned in my bed , unable to sleep. the horrors of that night flooded my memories, keeping me awake. I could still taste the metallic stench of blood at the back of my throat, the cracking of jaw and bones, the sound of flesh and sinew tearing apart and their blood splattering across the porcelain ceiling, painting it a deep crimson.
The desperate pleas of my beloved keeps ringing in my ears, as vividly as ever. their blood-curdling screams of agony from the excruciating pain of being mutilated alive keeps echoing in the deepest caverns of my skull. My father drenched in their blood, pointed at me and said, " this is what happens when a low-caste scum tries to covet my child. Child of my flesh and blood" .
I was sobbing and tugging against the restrains of my bounded hands and legs, pleading him to stop.
I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the faint reminders of that night. I felt like the walls were staring at me, accusing, tormenting. The blood stained chandelier hung from the ceiling, flickering as if it wants to testify to the horrors of that night.
This gruesome nightmare is not mine alone, countless lives are forcefully taken in the name of honor killing. blatant, unapologetic.
A snap of fingers jolted me awake. I woke up-Shaken, mind hazy and heart still pounding from the visuals. As I slowly look up, my beloved is standing before me, with a soft smile on their face.
" had a bad dream? " , they asked.
I took a shuddering breath and then hugged them tighter, sighing in relief.
It might be just a gruesome dream in this story but it's a spine-chilling reality of someone else. Somewhere in the deepest parts of our country, murders are still committed in the name of " honor " . The echoes of their screams and the scent of their spilled blood linger in the air, in the shadows and highwalls of Classism and in the depths of forsaken caste discrimination—unseen, muted, but never forgotten.
Note : in remembrance of all the victims of caste-based violence and cruelty.
[ hello everyone! I'm just a novice writer from India. Thanks for your time, happy reading! ]
