Blood, Gore And The Fiery Sky

12th October 1995
3.15pm

Dear love

I cannot sleep this afternoon yet again. The pain has increased to such an extent that I cannot even rest anymore. Instead, let me narrate to you a wonderful story.

It was an afternoon on ‘Dashami’ a year back. She was yet again on the ghats of the holy Ganges. However unlike the other days at this hour, that day was special. Not only were there people all around her, but also the goddess of power, Goddess Durga in various attires and forms surrounded her. She stood amidst all those people chanting mantras and the sound of ‘ululus’ filled the air. The scent of flowers and incense seemed to grip her. She felt as if the goddess was calling out to her. The river seemed to hold thousands of bodies that were drowning but the only difference was that all those bodies were lifeless. The people around her however weren't agonists, nor were they atheists. They believed in that power, a supreme power that raised or drowned living beings, and the creator who dictated the cosmos. She was different, a lifeless, lost being. It did not seem as if she had even a bit of life left in her body. She was nineteen then and had suffered traumas which affected her to such an extent that she stopped believing in that ultimate power that could return back those things in life that she valued. The years had slowly drenched her clear of life. What had remained was a soulless body. Giving it up, wouldn’t have created much of a difference as well. It was ‘Dashami’, a perfect day to surrender, to give back and become one with the water and the soil she had come from. The skies were no more clear or blue. They had turned deep red, with all the vermillion, with blood. People gave each other ‘bijoya’ wishes and she wished her body a goodbye. She moved towards the deep blue waters which seemed to have turned muddy with the all the immersions and a smile came about her lips. She knew it was the time to depart. 
A week later when she moved about on a bed, she realized that the departure had all been a fallacy. The bed she lied on was tattered and the floor below it was muddy and filled with dirt and dust.

You must be wondering what happened then. It has been a year now and I know not of what has happened to her. She was really brave, ready to face death, but maybe, not so brave as to face life. I believe when certain things in life are ought to come, they do. Maybe, it wasn’t that ‘Dashami’ afternoon when she was supposed to leave the world. No, I am not her. I have seen much more than what she ever could.

A man saved her that ‘Dashami’ afternoon. That same man gave her a new life by keeping her in his house, and by giving her food to eat and clothes to wear. In return all she had to do was to accept him and all that he did. She was brave and was ready to accept him. More than that maybe somewhere she was grateful to him for saving her life as a result of which she could see all that she never would have, if she would have given up her life that afternoon. Then she felt that life was at its worst, but the worst was yet to come. I know she was strong enough to take him and all he did to her for a few more years because she was brave, brave enough to die. After losing her mother at the age of eleven, she had wanted to hold the hand of that man whom her mother had left her to. Till the time the woman had been alive, that man whom her mother had loved was a good man. He had taken care of her and her little girl and thus her mother taught her to call the man Baba, but soon after her death she slowly understood how difficult life was when there wasn’t anyone besides. She grew up all alone and came to be tortured every moment of her life. The marks on her body were still fresh when that afternoon of ‘Dashami’ she decided to give her tortured body up. Neither could she bear Baba and nor could she bear her own life anymore.Those same marks are still clear on her body even now. The only difference is that these aren’t the ones given by Baba but by a new man. This same new man had saved her life. She had wanted to leave Baba and run away from that gambler of a man. She did run away and was saved by a man. She had wanted to love him since that moment she had woken up on his broken bed but this man was a worse gambler.

I am not a part of your gambling deal love. I refuse to be a part of your home. All I had wanted was to be a part of you but if it was for this, I am only left with one question as to why you saved me. I had this question until yester night but now I know why. Baba had wanted to make me a part of his game of cards. He lost four out of seven days every week. I was tortured as a result, but you lose your game of cards six out of seven days every week and these six out of seven nights I am beaten, kissed, touched, scratched and seduced by six different men. If it would be you, I would accept you with every part of mine but I refuse to be the world’s anymore. I try to wash myself up every morning and clear every part of mine of every single mark but all I see is blood. I am scared of blood, of gore. I am brave enough to die, but not brave enough accept pain. However what seems to matter is that after a few days when my parts won't be there, when the whole body will be bruised and scabbed, when the whole face will be marked, when none will want to touch my body and humiliate my soul anymore, then you who had saved my life that afternoon on ‘Dashami’ would come forward with a pitcher of oil and burn me to ashes.

 I refuse to accept this means of death because I am brave enough to kill myself, but not brave enough to be killed by the man I love. I refuse to accept death from your hands and I refuse to accept the truth, that same truth which shows that you do not love me. It is the same truth that also shows how I am just a medium of bargain for you in your game of cards, for your friends in their state of drunkenness and for your acquaintances in their state of frustration. That afternoon on ‘Dashami’ I brought along with me a little piece of paper. I never wanted to show that to you because I wanted you to accept me into your life the way you had found me, in tatters without any name or fortune attached to my lifeless body.

After this afternoon I won't be seen anymore but you would not have to live unhappily ever after. This isn't a piece of paper talking about how cannibalistic you are. This paper is just a testimonial of my gratitude for you because you made me see life to its fullest. You made me see how people like me are never supposed to receive any happiness in life. It is because we are born out of nothingness, without an identity. My mother was a millionaire. She left me her estate, her heritage, her everything. What she failed to leave behind was a name, an identity. I never knew who my father was. ‘Baba’ was not my father and neither did he ever try to become one. Yes, I wasn't supposed to die that ‘Dashami’ afternoon because I was to see this ‘Dashami’. I hated Baba so I ran away leaving nothing to him, not a single penny or a piece of brick but I love you and thus I am leaving you whatever my mother left me. I am leaving behind my property worth a ten millions. Return back to the address enclosed behind this note in the evening and whatever was mine would be given to you. I know you would never make good use of it but I promise that it would last you forever.

In return I am taking away my child with me. No, it is not your child and I know not of whom is he formed. Thus, I do not want it to live in nothingness unlike me. I want it to have a father. The Goddess is calling me to herself now, and I will go because I am brave enough to die. It is ‘Dashami’ afternoon yet again. I can see the ghats from this bed of yours. I can see people celebrating happiness, giving each other blessings for a great year ahead. I can smell incense in the air. I can hear ‘ululus’ and chants outside. I can see flowers all around. I can hear strong gusts of wind and I can see blood. The sky is deep red with vermillion, with gore.

Your well-wisher
Kendra Chatterjee