The animals of the wild are noble and fair
They only take lives when they need to eat or share
But man is the one who inflicts endless woe
 On his fellow beings, whom he treats as his foe
H tortures their bodies and minds with his tools

He laughs at their agony, he breaks all the rules

He claims to be superior, but he is the worse
For he is the only one who tortures for sport

In the quiet of the night, a troubling event, sarcastically named 'Suhagraat,' unfolded like a dark introduction.

It was a story of suffering that was beginning to shape her sadness. Her grief, still inactive after what she faced, was ready to emerge in the harsh reality of her life, much like a seed waiting for the cold of winter.Caught in this terrifying drama, Bondita fought back, her spirit filled with a strong objection to the disturbing occurrences of the previous night.

This brave woman, her spirit lit with resistance, was keenly aware of the hidden traps laid by Sampoorna and Dr. Somnath.     

Their sinister aim?

To turn her life into a living nightmare. Like puppet masters pulling strings, they intended to take control of her destiny, reducing her to a mere gear in their cruel machine. Her life, once filled with bright colors of joy and innocence, was now being covered with the dark shades of sadness and betrayal.
Under the irregular light of the moon, her world was becoming a maze of falsehoods, where every corner hid a deadly snake, ready to attack. This somber situation reflected the foreboding signs of her impending disaster.
The players in this grim drama wore masks of deception, their true selves hidden under layers of lies, creating a spectacle more terrifying than the scariest winter night.

Doesn't a snake hiss before it attacks?

Can anyone truly see under the mask?

The answers are lost in the maze of deception. The paradox of her life was that in her search for freedom, she found herself more trapped in the maze. In contrast to her past, her present was a discordant symphony of sorrow, a contradiction of a life full of joy. The peak of her life had led to an anticlimax, a sudden fall from innocent joy to a life filled with fear.

Here's the twist: the puppet master themselves were a puppet, tangled in the threads of their own destiny.

In this pastoral town of Tulsipur, Bondita had once envisioned a life as serene as a still lake, a kaleidoscope of joy and peace. Yet, her dreams now littered the landscape, akin to pieces of shattered glass, each shard a cruel mirror reflecting the broken fragments of her aspirations.

 Sampoorna, the erstwhile ally, had transformed, like a caterpillar into a moth, into a daunting adversary. A life marked by calamity had shaped Sampoorna into an adamantine force, as unyielding as a diamond forged in the earth's fiery belly.

Grief had been her constant companion, a shadow that never left her side, while Saurabh, the erstwhile beacon of her life, was snatched from her embrace all too soon.

The bitter barbs of Surmani during her widowhood were like venomous snakes, adding to her wounds. Stripped of everything, the mantle of being a mother and wife to a man battling his mental demons had eclipsed the memory of Bondita's warm welcome into the family, like a solar eclipse overshadows the sun.

Isn't it ironic, how life's cruel jest can turn tables?

In this tale, you hear the silent beats of despair echoing in the hollows of their hearts and see the ghost of joy that once inhabited Bondita's eyes The sweet symphony of their shared laughter is now but an echo in the wind, replaced by the dissonant notes of discord. And so, the wheel turns, the day surrenders to night, and life, with its myriad hues, continues its relentless march forward.

Yet, in the midst of this chaotic dance, the question lingers: will the dawn of hope ever break for Bondita and Sampoorna, or will they remain forever trapped in this endless nocturne of despair?

Only time, the eternal scribe, will tell.

In the consecrated arena of the aarti sthal, Sampoorna's words, as acute as a surgeon's scalpel, were a venomous provocation to Bondita,

"Maharani toh hamse bhi phle aagayi, dekho Dugga maa."
Her words, akin to a surgeon's blade, cleaved through Bondita's heart, leaving a wound that resonated with the agony of a myriad of cuts.As Sampoorna grasped the conch, its piercing cry reverberated through the air, heralding the initiation of the daily prayer. She kindled the incense, the smoke coiling skyward like a spectral entity, and with a veneer of hyperbolic piety, waved it at the monumental statue of Durga Maa. The deliberate abrasion against Bondita's wrist, feigned as an accident, sent a wave of pain cascading through her. Yet, Bondita remained taciturn, her eyes brimming with tears held in check. She endured her pain with an unflinching serenity, as stark as a desert landscape, as if pain was an integral element in the script of her life.Concealed behind her fortified facade, Sampoorna witnessed Bondita's torment, a burden more substantial than any mortal could shoulder. Following the aarti, Sampoorna dispensed prasad to kaka and the others, conspicuously omitting Bondita.
H

er derisive words,

"hum naukaron aur bhikhariyon ko prasad nahi deti hun,"

struck Bondita like a sledgehammer, a stark reminder of her dowry-less status.In the grand tapestry of existence, Sampoorna's words and actions were but a minuscule speck in the infinite ocean, a transient moment in the boundless expanse of time.
Yet, for Bondita, they were a tumultuous tempest, a tempest that raged within the confines of her heart.Indeed, Bondita's marriage to ARC was a mandate of the panchayat, a union devoid of the dowry's taint. Yet, within the confines of her own household, she was treated as less than the dust beneath a slipper. Sampoorna, in her self-deception, found no issue with her son working, but was averse to the notion of Bondita performing similar tasks. Yet, this could not be thwarted due to Anirudh's promise.

Despite the presence of three full-time housemaids, Bondita was still expected to shoulder the burden of labor. Parvati, Bihari's wife and one of the maids, took a perverse delight in tormenting Bondita. The mental and physical torment Bondita endured when she was made to cook was like a relentless storm, leaving her drained and exhausted.The psychological torment inflicted by her mother-in-law and the bitter words of ksj were like a crown of thorns that Bondita wore atop her head, a constant reminder of her stupid work.

It was a paradox, a bitter irony that Bondita, despite being married into the household, was treated worse than a servant.This was a climax of sorts, the crescendo of a symphony of torment that Bondita had been subjected to. Yet, despite the pain and suffering, Bondita endured, her spirit unbroken, her resolve unbowed. It was a testament to her strength, a testament to her resilience.

On a sweltering mid-summer afternoon, Bondita, her pallu stained with tears, attracted the attention of Anirudh. His heart ached to provide solace, yet the impenetrable fortress of hostility, DUSHMANI, held him captive. He longed to break the chains of fate that bound them, to cross the bridge of fire that separated them, to melt the ice of hatred that chilled them.

But how could he, when she was the rose and he was the thorn, when she was the sun and he was the moon, when she was the sky and he was the earth?

How could he, when their love was a paradox, an oxymoron, a tragedy?

How could he, when every step he took towards her was a step away from his duty, his family, his honor?

How could he, when every word he spoke to her was a word of pain, of regret, of remorse?

How could he, when every breath he shared with her was a breath of danger, of fear, of death?

He looked at her with a mixture of tenderness and torment, of hope and despair, of love and hate.

He wanted to ask her, to beg her, to plead with her:
"Do you love me, Bondita? Do you love me as I love you? Do you love me enough to leave everything behind, to follow me to the ends of the earth, to live with me in the shadows, to die with me in the flames?"
But he knew he could not, he should not, he would not. He knew he had to let her go, to set her free. He knew he had to sacrifice his happiness, his dreams, his heart. He knew he had to be the barrister babu, the hero. He knew he had to be Anirudh.

And so he turned away, he walked away, he ran away. He left her alone, he left her in tears, he left her in the name of DUSHMANI. He left her without a word, without a glance, without a goodbye. He left her, and he never looked back but fate bound him to her.

Flashback

In the dimly-lit room, Bondita, a dutiful sister and subservient daughter-in-law, was humbly massaging Sampurna's legs in a silent song of respect and homage. Simultaneously, the specter of power and authority, Sampurna, armed with a stick, pursued Bondita, transforming the tranquil room into a stage of torment and fear.
You can  hear the mournful symphony of their chase through the hustling winds.

The relentless tattoo of their footsteps echoing in the frigid silence, the chilling whistle of the stick slicing through the air, the muffled cries of the pursued, and the harsh cackles of the pursuer?

Bondita's ordeal, a ghastly puppet show, unfolded beneath the watchful eyes of their mute spectator, the husband.
A living statue of indifference, he stood, his silence amplifying the cruelty of the spectacle.

And what was Bondita's crime?
A refusal to bear a male child, a demand that, though shocking to us, was commonplace in that era.
A paradox, isn't it?

How the joy of motherhood was twisted into a tool of torment and oppression.

The scene was a canvas painted with hues of irony and antithesis - the sisterly love marred by cruelty, the husband's silence in contrast to his wife's suffering, the home that should have been a haven turning into a battlefield.

In this grim theater of life, who was the true antagonist?
Sampurna, with her stick and laughter?

Or was it the silent husband, his inaction as loud as a war drum?

Or perhaps the real villain was the Dushmani that watched, indifferent and unchanging, as this tragic drama unfolded?

Such are the enigmatic riddles of life.

Perhaps, like a fragile daisy swaying under the tempestuous influence of a storm, Sampoorna had been impacted by Somnath.
Somnath, who once resided in the humble abode of sanity, had now become a resident of madness, desiring to sow seeds of torment in Bondita's life.

Despite the fact that she had nurtured him with a sister's affection, he seemed to have forgotten, as if his memory was a book that had lost its pages to the cruel winds of time.

As Bondita was about to visit her maternal house for Dira Graman, a ritual that celebrates the first return of the bride to her parents' home after marriage, Chandrachur along with Praveen came to pick her up. For those who don't know, Dira Graman is a joyous occasion that strengthens the bond between the bride and her family.

But according to Dr. Fucking, they were not supposed to visit her parent's house as it was a dushman's house, though he knew that Bondita did not even get a proper biday, a farewell ceremony that marks the departure of the bride from her family.

How ironic, isn't it?

How the customs that were meant to honor the bride were twisted into weapons of humiliation and oppression.

Flashback

 Som was reading bahu ki vida to his boudi during the Monorama marriage track as Bondu was finding it difficult to sleep after the mighty act that Anirudh did in front of her. For the unversed it is a social drama that highlights the evil of dowry system in India. The main characters are Jeevanlal, a wealthy businessman, his wife Rajeshwari, his son Ramesh, his daughter Gauri, and his daughter-in-law Kamla. Jeevanlal refuses to send Kamla to her parents' house for the first monsoon, because he is not satisfied with the dowry they gave. He insults Kamla's brother Pramod, who comes to take her. Rajeshwari is a kind and sensible woman, who sympathizes with Kamla and wants to give Pramod some money to settle the dowry issue. Ramesh returns from his sister's in-laws, without taking her with him. He tells Jeevanlal that they are demanding more dowry and have mistreated Gauri. Jeevanlal realizes his mistake and feels ashamed of his greed and arrogance. He agrees to let Kamla go with Pramod and apologizes to them. Bondita says

"dada mujhe aise ghar lene ke liye dada bhi nahi h"

to which Som replies
"boudi mein hu na".

Ksj who hears the convo between the young folks feels guilty of not raising his eldest nephew to be a loyal man and says

" Arrey Som hum bahu ko kahi nahi jane denge"

to which Bondu replies

"kyu ksj aapko mujhe iss narak se nhi bachane he kya"
and ksj said

"nahi bahu humari grihlaxmi ko hum ek din bhi kaha bhi nahi jane dege"

Back to the story, to Somnath's refusal, ksj replied,
"jane do Som par dekho humare Anirudh nahi aayenge iske saath le jao iss apshaguni ko".

Bondu remembers these moments and gazes at Ksj and Somnath with tearful eyes, shining like stars in the dark night.

How cruel, isn't it?

How the bond of brotherhood was broken by the curse of enmity. How the home that was once a paradise became a prison of pain.

Yet she doesn't know the consequences of the mistake she made by visiting her maternal house. She doesn't know the storm that awaits her, the wrath that will be unleashed, the price that will be paid. She doesn't know that her innocent act of love will be twisted into a heinous act of betrayal. She doesn't know that her home will become a hell, her family will become her foes, her life will become a nightmare.

She doesn't know, and she won't know, until it's too late.

People, like clay, are moulded by the circumstances that surround them, yet it seemed that neither Das nor RC Bhari had delved into this truth, had explored the root cause of the crimson events that had unfolded.

Could it be that they, like shattered mirrors, were fragments, broken by the loss of those they held dear?

As Lord Shri Krishna elucidated in words as profound as the depth of an ocean:
"dhyāyato viṣhayān puṁsaḥ saṅgas teṣhūpajāyatesaṅgāt sañjāyate kāmaḥ kāmāt krodho 'bhijāyate"

(In the theatre of the mind, as one contemplates the objects of the senses, an attachment grows. This attachment, like a tiny spark, ignites the fire of desire, and from the flames of this desire, anger is born.)

But does this not lead us to the haunting question: are we mere puppets in the grand stage of the Ghor Kali Yug, the dark age of strife and suffering, where everything is preordained?

Kaka, with his intentions as pure as a lotus in a muddy pond, wanted these two naive souls to merely exercise some firmness with her. Yet, his plans, like a sandcastle before a wave, simply faded away.

In the harsh light of reality, no one wished to bestow this cruelty upon Bondita.
Yet, fate, like an unseen artist, had its own way of sketching out paths to brighter tomorrows.

Perhaps this was Bondita's path of thorns, her journey through a forest of agony, towards a meadow of roses, her future of serenity.

Would this serenity be realized when she would be amidst the warmth of a loving family, or would it be felt when she, exhausted by the pricking thorns of life, would choose to depart this world for the eternal realm of roses?

Would it be wrong to suggest that, sometimes, the path to paradise is paved with pain?

And if so, isn't it a perplexing paradox that joy can blossom from the seeds of sorrow?

An intriguing thought to ponder upon, isn't it?

Hey darlings
Hope you are all doing well.I am not keeping any target but I request you all to complete the remaining targets from previous chapter.
Until I meet you all in another update
Its me your author
Aahana