#21 Revenge of the Sati Bride

by Anjali Enjeti

My mouth, taped shut, silences internal screams. The wires cinching my wrists to the back of the chair leave grooves of oozing blood. When the tip of my braid catches fire, the smoke billows around my head like a halo. An angry flame desecrates the turquoise and green flowers of my sari.

Suffocating on my own fear, I am like a sati widow from years ago—who burned alive on her dead husband’s funeral pyre. Except, my husband stands nearby, fully alive, gripping a kerosene jug to hasten my punishment for a shameful dowry, my family’s poverty.

He will tell police there was a kitchen fire—the oil from the sizzling skillet jumped to my sari, and within seconds, engulfed me in flames. My husband’s family will fake-mourn and dutifully release my ashes into the Ganges River. Later, they will arrange a more profitable marriage for my husband.

But fate intervenes. Just before incineration, I am soaked then tackled with a heavy quilt. My sister drags me outside.

Through the window, my husband writhes while trying to dislodge the paring knife from his chest. Agony overtakes him when the flame ignites his feet.

In the reflection of my sister’s eyes, I watch our one room home burn to the ground.

After, I pull the knife from his charred remains and salvage the gold coins and diamonds from my disappointing dowry.

I will tell police there was a kitchen fire, and that my dear husband died while trying to rescue me.