TITLE: "Burning Dolls"
AUTHOR: Samridhi Narwade
ARTIST: Ara Djati
TRIGGER WARNINGS: BURNING PEOPLE ALIVE, OCCASIONAL MENTIONS OF DEATH
The little marigold appeared pale today. She was draped in a white saree, yet there wasn't any sign of grief in her eyes. Her hair wasn't tied into a bun; those women knew she wouldn't need it. With a shining smile like the crescent moon, how could such a young flower find such a tragic fate?
I looked back to the day of her wedding. It was the last day of Shravan. As the priest chanted sacred prayers, he offered ghee* to satiate my hunger. The little flower sat next to an old man, intimidated by my growing height. Innocence sparked in her, there were perhaps a thousand questions in her mind, waiting to be answered. Her tiny palms were painted vermillion with mehendi*, the enchanting smell of henna calming her. Scarlet attire and golden jewellery adorned on her but they couldn't hide the oblivion painted on her face. A doll, clad in a red saree, sat on her lap. The groom was as old as her father. Alas! Her parents thought she would be happy in the palace he owned. Are monetary gains all that is important in a marriage?
Today however, they learned a tragic lesson as the groom now became a memory. He was covered in a white cloth and placed on a pile of jungle logs. The eldest son took a round of the pyre, sacred water running down the earthen pot he carried on his shoulder. Someone called out, "Put her there too!" All eyes landed at the little life who was cowering behind her mother. If there weren’t enough tears rolling down, maybe this little marigold’s unsolicited sacrifice could invite further grief.
Two men picked her up by the arms. Struggling, the little flower resisted, crying out, “Maa!”. Her mother suppressed tears as an elderly woman consoled her, "She is Sati* now." However, she chose not to turn to her father for help, aware that he had already given up on her when he tossed her dearest friend - the doll - to me.
The flower refused to be pulled away from her plant. She kept jostling away and bawling louder with each step taken closer to me. Hence, they lifted her from the ground, afraid she might escape their holds.
As they threw her on the pyre, I caught her in my arms, unaware that I would be burning her skin and life. The old man had long turned to ashes, but she stopped fighting for herself. The little marigold turned black in my arms and her life extinguished.
ghee = clarified butter
Sati = virtuous or chaste woman; a woman of great devotion to Dharma
Mehendi = Intricate patterns drawn on palms and legs with henna
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