Such things were common in the Village, but the cause this time, was uncommon. As the newly widowed girl sat in the corner of a dimly lit room in her new robes of red, she poured oil into a lamp, which was to burn unceasingly for 13 days. It was the lamp of death. She cried, but only to show her in-laws that she cared, for in her heart of hearts there was a surge of happiness. Happy because henceforth, she would not be slapped, beaten and pulled by her hair; her monstrous husband was no more.
Everyone in the village thought it was due to the excessive drinking, but only she knew what she had put in those bottles he drank from everyday. The extract of the ‘kalihari’ killed like nothing else. For hours it tortured him the way he had tortured her and finally upon his death bed, she had whispered in his ears, “Now we’re equal.”
– Purujuit Potnis, 12C
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