Chapter 1: Visions
Khushi awoke, drenched in sweat. Her black hair fell stickily on her wet skin and her hands were cramped from the night-long grasp on the bedspread beneath. Khushi's head was spinning. It was the same dream. The very dream that had been haunting her nights. Yet again. The only difference was, with each passing time, the dream grew increasingly deadly. It took all the strength within her to convince her limp body to stand. Slowly, shakily, she moved to the white-washed wooden dressing table beside her bed. She gazed at herself in the mirror, wondering whether this was the same Khushi Kumari Gupta staring back at her that she had seen three years ago. She knew the answer of course. Since her marriage, nothing had been the same anymore, much less her. The eyes that gazed back at her were not hers. They were cold. Hard. Unforgiving. The twinkle that she had grown accustomed to seeing had long since disappeared. Her cheeks had lost the red glow that once lightened them. If anything, she looked paler than she had in the past two days. No improvement there. Her lips. The biggest change appeared here. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen them upturned into a smile. It was as if she had entirely forgotten how. She looked lifeless.
Her eyes fell on the dressing table, taking in the white medicine bottle by it. It helped to cure depression - the common disease that she had supposedly come down with. It remained untouched. The table was empty, save for this medicine bottle and a black mangalsutra lying in a heap. Mangalsutra. A sign of marriage. Of love. Of companionship for seven births, perhaps more. The promise of trust, faith and future. All of which she had lost with her husband. She closed her eyes as the memories washed over her. You left me. She whispered. Even after three years, the wound felt fresh. Everyone said that it would be alright. That time would heal it all. They were lying. With time, the pain only grew worse. As reality sank in, the scars became more and more real. Life became all the more unbearable. Khushi's hand slowly snaked across the dressing table to the black thread reminding her of the past. The mangalsutra. It felt cool to her fingertips. Almost comforting. Like ice on an injury. She had kept it as a reminder of him. Not that she needed one. The ache in her heart was enough of a reminder for decades to come.
She was just about to release her hold on the thread when all of a sudden, she felt herself tumbling into a pool of darkness. Oh god no. She thought ferverently. Not again. Not the visions. Despite having received the visions all her life, she had never gotten used to their startling appearances. It was the same sensation every time. A strong force, pulling her against her will into the depths of darkness. And then the voices would start. Just slow, rythmic noises at first, which would morph into voices with the progression of the vision. The images would appear sometimes diffused as a reflection in unstill water and other times as clear as pictures in a television. Usually it was the former, as it was this time. The noises were mixed at first, sounding almost staticy. There were multiple voices. Speaking at once. It was total confusion. Khushi couldn't make out one voice from another. She craned her neck, trying to listen, trying to concentrate. But it was no use. Slowly, the noises separated, become well-defined, voices. "It's good she's getting married." piped up a voice. It seemed so familiar. So...near. "She'll be able to forget the past and move on." I knew this voice. Think, Khushi think. Suddenly, it hit her. Jiji. The scene changed from her sister to the mandap. It was as if she was watching a movie. Except, the remote control was not in her hands. Visions would show as they pleased. Loud music blasted in the wedding hall. Shehnayis. Large containers of food sat lined up against the beige walls, holding everything from South Indian and North Indian to foreign delicacies which were unheard of. The constant echoe of laughter and chatter was present as people walked back and forth underneath the tall arches of the entrance. The hall was decorated lavishly. Flowers bordered the walls in every possible pattern. Her favourite flowers. Red roses. The symbol of love. Elegant chairs were placed in neat rows with white cloths strewn on top of them. And then she noticed it. The young girl. Sitting in the mandap, arms around her knees with a pallu covering her face. A man was beside her. The groom. "Please tie the mangalsutra around the girl's neck." Declared the pandit, momentarily pausing his prayers. The man obeyed. Khushi squinted, trying to get a proper look at the bride. But it was no use. The pallu was placed in such a way that her face was hidden entirely. "Please apply the vermilion at the parting of the bride's hair." Unquestioningly, the man obeyed. And then it happened. The groom, in an effort to put the sindoor on her head raised her pallu slightly upward. Her entire face could not be seen but what Khushi saw was enough. Her eyes. They were cold. Hard. Unforgiving. Her eyes. Khushi was staring at herself. She was the bride.
When she was jolted away, she found herself on her knees, her nails etching into the cold, wooden floor. No... She whispered. What she had seen could not have been the truth. It...It didn't make sense. I will never marry.... She thought. It doesn't make sense. Her heart leapt a mile in the air when she heard the shrill ringing of her cell. She pulled herself up, trying to gain composure. It will never happen. I won't let it happen. She whispered to herself before clicking the "answer" button on her phone. "Do you know how many times i've been trying to call you?!" Shrieked a voice on the opposite end. Payal - her jiji. Khushi winced, moving the phone away from her ear. "Where were you?! I was even about to try your boss's number!" Khushi sighed. Her sister. Her silly, concerned, irritating but lovely sister. "Sorry jiji.... it was just.... nothing." There was a brief pause. "You had the visions again," Payal whispered, making it seem more of a statement than a question. "Yes..." she replied, easing herself onto the bed. "Do you want to talk about it...?" Payal asked, hesitantly. She shook her head, forgetting for a moment that her sister couldn't see her actions. "No," Khushi mouthed quickly. "I'll be ok." She heard a soft sigh. "Sometimes I really worry about you Khushi...." murmured Payal. And that was that. She wasn't the only one who was worried. Khushi was too. But about problems entirely different. About what she had wittnessed in her vision. About her marriage. I'll never let it happen... She whispered. Never.
Khushi awoke, drenched in sweat. Her black hair fell stickily on her wet skin and her hands were cramped from the night-long grasp on the bedspread beneath. Khushi's head was spinning. It was the same dream. The very dream that had been haunting her nights. Yet again. The only difference was, with each passing time, the dream grew increasingly deadly. It took all the strength within her to convince her limp body to stand. Slowly, shakily, she moved to the white-washed wooden dressing table beside her bed. She gazed at herself in the mirror, wondering whether this was the same Khushi Kumari Gupta staring back at her that she had seen three years ago. She knew the answer of course. Since her marriage, nothing had been the same anymore, much less her. The eyes that gazed back at her were not hers. They were cold. Hard. Unforgiving. The twinkle that she had grown accustomed to seeing had long since disappeared. Her cheeks had lost the red glow that once lightened them. If anything, she looked paler than she had in the past two days. No improvement there. Her lips. The biggest change appeared here. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen them upturned into a smile. It was as if she had entirely forgotten how. She looked lifeless.
Her eyes fell on the dressing table, taking in the white medicine bottle by it. It helped to cure depression - the common disease that she had supposedly come down with. It remained untouched. The table was empty, save for this medicine bottle and a black mangalsutra lying in a heap. Mangalsutra. A sign of marriage. Of love. Of companionship for seven births, perhaps more. The promise of trust, faith and future. All of which she had lost with her husband. She closed her eyes as the memories washed over her. You left me. She whispered. Even after three years, the wound felt fresh. Everyone said that it would be alright. That time would heal it all. They were lying. With time, the pain only grew worse. As reality sank in, the scars became more and more real. Life became all the more unbearable. Khushi's hand slowly snaked across the dressing table to the black thread reminding her of the past. The mangalsutra. It felt cool to her fingertips. Almost comforting. Like ice on an injury. She had kept it as a reminder of him. Not that she needed one. The ache in her heart was enough of a reminder for decades to come.
She was just about to release her hold on the thread when all of a sudden, she felt herself tumbling into a pool of darkness. Oh god no. She thought ferverently. Not again. Not the visions. Despite having received the visions all her life, she had never gotten used to their startling appearances. It was the same sensation every time. A strong force, pulling her against her will into the depths of darkness. And then the voices would start. Just slow, rythmic noises at first, which would morph into voices with the progression of the vision. The images would appear sometimes diffused as a reflection in unstill water and other times as clear as pictures in a television. Usually it was the former, as it was this time. The noises were mixed at first, sounding almost staticy. There were multiple voices. Speaking at once. It was total confusion. Khushi couldn't make out one voice from another. She craned her neck, trying to listen, trying to concentrate. But it was no use. Slowly, the noises separated, become well-defined, voices. "It's good she's getting married." piped up a voice. It seemed so familiar. So...near. "She'll be able to forget the past and move on." I knew this voice. Think, Khushi think. Suddenly, it hit her. Jiji. The scene changed from her sister to the mandap. It was as if she was watching a movie. Except, the remote control was not in her hands. Visions would show as they pleased. Loud music blasted in the wedding hall. Shehnayis. Large containers of food sat lined up against the beige walls, holding everything from South Indian and North Indian to foreign delicacies which were unheard of. The constant echoe of laughter and chatter was present as people walked back and forth underneath the tall arches of the entrance. The hall was decorated lavishly. Flowers bordered the walls in every possible pattern. Her favourite flowers. Red roses. The symbol of love. Elegant chairs were placed in neat rows with white cloths strewn on top of them. And then she noticed it. The young girl. Sitting in the mandap, arms around her knees with a pallu covering her face. A man was beside her. The groom. "Please tie the mangalsutra around the girl's neck." Declared the pandit, momentarily pausing his prayers. The man obeyed. Khushi squinted, trying to get a proper look at the bride. But it was no use. The pallu was placed in such a way that her face was hidden entirely. "Please apply the vermilion at the parting of the bride's hair." Unquestioningly, the man obeyed. And then it happened. The groom, in an effort to put the sindoor on her head raised her pallu slightly upward. Her entire face could not be seen but what Khushi saw was enough. Her eyes. They were cold. Hard. Unforgiving. Her eyes. Khushi was staring at herself. She was the bride.
When she was jolted away, she found herself on her knees, her nails etching into the cold, wooden floor. No... She whispered. What she had seen could not have been the truth. It...It didn't make sense. I will never marry.... She thought. It doesn't make sense. Her heart leapt a mile in the air when she heard the shrill ringing of her cell. She pulled herself up, trying to gain composure. It will never happen. I won't let it happen. She whispered to herself before clicking the "answer" button on her phone. "Do you know how many times i've been trying to call you?!" Shrieked a voice on the opposite end. Payal - her jiji. Khushi winced, moving the phone away from her ear. "Where were you?! I was even about to try your boss's number!" Khushi sighed. Her sister. Her silly, concerned, irritating but lovely sister. "Sorry jiji.... it was just.... nothing." There was a brief pause. "You had the visions again," Payal whispered, making it seem more of a statement than a question. "Yes..." she replied, easing herself onto the bed. "Do you want to talk about it...?" Payal asked, hesitantly. She shook her head, forgetting for a moment that her sister couldn't see her actions. "No," Khushi mouthed quickly. "I'll be ok." She heard a soft sigh. "Sometimes I really worry about you Khushi...." murmured Payal. And that was that. She wasn't the only one who was worried. Khushi was too. But about problems entirely different. About what she had wittnessed in her vision. About her marriage. I'll never let it happen... She whispered. Never.
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