DEAD OR ALIVE?

I wake up to the cruel rays of sun pouring in through the only ventilator in the dingy cell. My spine no longer feels as rigid as it did in my earlier days of imprisonment. I get up and make my way towards the earthen water pot, the only piece of evidence of some inhabitation, besides a blanket that lies crumpled on the floor. I drink the tasteless water by cupping my palms, because there is no glass. That is all I get for breakfast. Water and sunshine. I move to the only part of the cell that receives some light in all day, and sit there. Head bowed down, my eyes closed - as if in meditation. The pictures move in a reel, like a movie.. the same that I watch, everyday.. for the last twenty months.

26 November, 2012 - I was married to him. Chetan  Garg. Handsome, rich, powerful. To be marrying one of the most successful and established business tycoons was a matter of whooping pride for almost all I knew. Not that I wasn't ecstatic, who wouldn't be - with  a castle to rule, a ferry of cars to line up as soon as I step foot outside, all luxuries at the click of my fingers.. little did I know that my castle was a mere fragment of my fairytale imaginations.

Things seemed to be in a dream sequence when I moved into his house. With just the two of us in that gigantic house and all the time in the world, love and ecstasy achieved newer heights every day.  Every moment that brought me closer to him took me farther and farther from those that I had known, till a point where the only individual I recognized as 'own' was my husband. By the next month, things seemed to be finally falling  into place and we weren't out of breath all the time. As work pressure gravitated him more and more towards his office (or so I thought), he seemed colder every night. I thought I understood. The fire in the  beginning had given way to this strange emptiness and I didn't know what to do with it, and one day, the emptiness awoke the animal. He beat me all night till his hands became soar. I screamed and  begged, cried and yelled but nobody heard. That night, I thought this was the end of the world but this was only the beginning of the end. I couldn't move a limb in the morning when he kicked me hard to make him his morning coffee. Frustrated, he got up himself, kicked me thrice again before leaving the room. Just at the threshold, he turned back and said "I'm not done with you yet".

I tried contacting my family and friends but the Call for Help went in vain because all telephone lines had been cut off. All servants and house helps were indefinitely suspended. All doors and windows were bolted from outside. I was trapped. The days and nights merged into one another - I would be beaten, whipped, kicked around the house and Chetan said if I screamed, he would break my teeth.
I tried breaking free - but he said he would kill my family if I did. Powerful that he was, he could if he wanted.

 A part of me was dying every day. I was lying on the kitchen floor one morning.. a dozen cockroaches crawling near my face. I wanted to scream but did not open my mouth, scared Chetan was home. I laid motionless on the cold marble floor, with blood oozing out of the gashes on my body. The sunlight from the ventilator sparkled in the blood. When I was sure I was alone, I dragged myself up - staining as many surfaces as I stumbled on, for support. I caught my reflection on a broken mirror as I was making my way to the bathroom. A face- bruised beyond recognition, starred back at me through her hollow blood-shot eyes. Torn clothes clung to her at minimal places and bloody gashes all over the body screamed for help. That image was my turning point. The courage that had been extinguished by the first whip against my back, rekindled. My line of tolerance had been crossed long back but it was time to fight the war.  It was time for freedom. Time to overcome the broken bones and weeping bruises. Time to raise my voice. Time to save me. I had to be my own hero.

Five months of sharing the house with the devil had made me perfectly acquainted to his timings and habits. I knew that the front door would be unlatched at exactly nine thirty at night. That gave me ten hours of preparation time. I stood under the shower and let the water trickle down my pain. I put on fresh clothes, combed my hair and applied my favourite lipstick. By eight-thirty, I was ready. Ready for the final showdown. When the knob turned at exactly nine-thirty, the lights were off and it was dark. Chetan stepped into it, amused. He always left the lights on and I was not mobile enough to regulate the  light switches. As soon as he turned to flick the lights on, I struck him on the head with the heaviest vase in the house. He turned around - the shock in his eyes giving way to the cold animal anger that no longer intimidated me. He raised his hands to strike me but I was ready and before his fist made contact with my chest, I had plunged the butcher knife into his gut. Blood pooled down around our legs. But the monster wasn't deadyet. He pulled out the knife from his abdomen in one agonizing but swift motion and struck me on the face. I had no time to react to the pain. I grabbed the curtains on the door and pulled them over him in one rapid pull. He was confused for a few seconds and that was all the time I had in hand. I had no time to think or strategize. I picked up the heavy curtain rod and hit on the round protrusion under the fabric that I presumed to be the head. I hit and hit and hit till my hands felt sore. I screamed every time the rod hit a part of him, as if making up for all those times that I had shut up. When the rod fell out of my hands, I starred at the river of blood sipping out of the soaked curtain. I lifted it up without a flinch, looked at those hollow, bloodshot eyes and the lifeless limbs seemed to make me alive! I murdered him and I was not sorry. I had conquered the evil, and I was pleased with myself. After months, I felt alive.

I walked out of the doors, not looking back even once. I had earned my freedom.

I was charged against third degree murder. I did not deny it but put forth both sides of the coin. The court seemed to be in two minds about me. So they sentenced me to three years of imprisonment. I have already completed half my term in the jail (but, it doesn't seem as bad as the prison I have escaped from). A few months later, I shall be released.

I am waiting for the Life that lays ahead - for the dreams to realize, the smiles to spread and the courage to inspire. After all, I am alive again.