Black and Blue Sari
The woman sat trembling at the foot of her master. He despised her and tried to control every aspect of her life. She had inadvertently displeased him again, although she could never have anticipated beforehand what small violation would set him off. Grabbing the gallon container of kerosene, her tormentor stood menacingly over her. She knew what was coming by the icy look in his eyes.
She glanced at the sharp utility knife on the table behind the kerosene, her mind grasping for a possible way out. She quickly discarded the option of using the knife to protect herself, knowing that he would overpower her as he had done so many times before.
She knelt before him with clasped hands, as if praying to some deity, but found no mercy there. Her weak begging landed on deaf ears. The sight of the blood coming from her cut mouth and her pleading cries seemed only to fuel the man’s anger and heighten his sense of power over her.
He cunningly had her in a defenseless position, bowed in the corner of the kitchen. He slowly began to tip the container, watching with satisfaction as the caustic liquid soaked his victim. He took his time, savouring every moment of her indignity. After all the kerosene had been emptied over her drenched form, he shook the container for emphasis to make sure nothing was wasted.
She pictured scenes from an Indian movie where a young bride had been burned. The horror of ending her life through such a painful death engulfed her and made her weak with fear.
Her mind raced to thoughts of her four children, feigning sleep only a few feet away in the same room. Who would look after them if she was gone? Would they be left to the mercy of this monster?
His tobacco stained fingers fanned the matches before her face, taunting her, daring her to light them. The stench in the room was overpowering. The woman gagged as the volatile fumes of the kerosene swirled around her. The man was breathing fumes of his own frustration, as he grabbed her by the hair, lifted her off the ground and flung her into the shower. He muttered something about how filthy she was, about how much she stunk. Then he left the woman, her skin burning, not from kerosene or even the allergic rash that was spreading over her body... Her skin was burning from shame.
“That man was my husband. The woman was me.”
After a marriage into an influential and wealthy family, Kamal finds herself captivated by his looks and pleasant nature. The young bride tries to adapt not only into a new family but a new set of rules. In spite of his heavy drinking and extreme rage, she continues living with him fearing more for her family's lives than her own.
But nothing, not even the wealth and the charm could disguise the horror of his nature. For Kamal, there was nothing more horrific than the continual fury of her husband and the constant threats upon her life. She looked death in the face and lived to tell. This is the story of the painful scars in her marriage, hidden under a black and blue sari.....
She glanced at the sharp utility knife on the table behind the kerosene, her mind grasping for a possible way out. She quickly discarded the option of using the knife to protect herself, knowing that he would overpower her as he had done so many times before.
She knelt before him with clasped hands, as if praying to some deity, but found no mercy there. Her weak begging landed on deaf ears. The sight of the blood coming from her cut mouth and her pleading cries seemed only to fuel the man’s anger and heighten his sense of power over her.
He cunningly had her in a defenseless position, bowed in the corner of the kitchen. He slowly began to tip the container, watching with satisfaction as the caustic liquid soaked his victim. He took his time, savouring every moment of her indignity. After all the kerosene had been emptied over her drenched form, he shook the container for emphasis to make sure nothing was wasted.
She pictured scenes from an Indian movie where a young bride had been burned. The horror of ending her life through such a painful death engulfed her and made her weak with fear.
Her mind raced to thoughts of her four children, feigning sleep only a few feet away in the same room. Who would look after them if she was gone? Would they be left to the mercy of this monster?
His tobacco stained fingers fanned the matches before her face, taunting her, daring her to light them. The stench in the room was overpowering. The woman gagged as the volatile fumes of the kerosene swirled around her. The man was breathing fumes of his own frustration, as he grabbed her by the hair, lifted her off the ground and flung her into the shower. He muttered something about how filthy she was, about how much she stunk. Then he left the woman, her skin burning, not from kerosene or even the allergic rash that was spreading over her body... Her skin was burning from shame.
“That man was my husband. The woman was me.”
After a marriage into an influential and wealthy family, Kamal finds herself captivated by his looks and pleasant nature. The young bride tries to adapt not only into a new family but a new set of rules. In spite of his heavy drinking and extreme rage, she continues living with him fearing more for her family's lives than her own.
But nothing, not even the wealth and the charm could disguise the horror of his nature. For Kamal, there was nothing more horrific than the continual fury of her husband and the constant threats upon her life. She looked death in the face and lived to tell. This is the story of the painful scars in her marriage, hidden under a black and blue sari.....