That stormy night enveloped the small village in a cloak of darkness, as the rain pounded against the hay roofs of the cottages and the feeble cane windows rumbled from the thunder's bass. The winds howled like a mournful dirge, carrying with it the sorrows of the world. The villagers had huddled in their homes, listening to the symphony of nature's wrath, feeling as if they were trapped in a never-ending cycle of melancholy. No one would dare to tend thoughts of venturing out, except for the one with no fear of death.

The lightning had illuminated the sky like jagged spears, tearing through the black canvas and casting an eerie glow over the village. It was as if the heavens were in a rage, venting their anger and frustration upon the earth. The thunder roared like a beast, bellowing its defiance at the tempest below.

The storm mirrored Mira's life, as she too felt trapped in a cycle of never ending sorrow and strife. She felt as if all her life, she had dwelled in a world where the sun rarely shone and the menacing rain never seemed to cease. She had trudged through life, weighed down by troubles and burdened by grief...
But for how long?

In the midst of the lightning, she turned to look at Batakrishna's serene sleeping face, glowing like an angel. But instead of giving her hope, his worry less face made her heart wrench. Not just herself, she was dragging this angel to destruction alone with her doomed life.

Mira swallowed and stood up, slowly dragging herself to the shelf where a small tray was kept with writing equipment. Mira closed her eyes and gulped once... No... This needs to end... for amidst the chaos and destruction, there was a feeling of renewal and fresh beginnings. Just as the rain washed away the dirt and grime, she wanted the night to cleanse her agonizing soul, so that she too might have a chance to start anew, in another life.

For a moment, she sat alone in that mud hut, listening to the rain and thunder outside. Tears streamed down her face as she thought about her past and the burden she carried with her every day. She had always felt like a bad omen, like her mere presence was enough to bring harm and misfortune to those around her. Her only son had been taken away from her, and she was helpless. But now, she suddenly felt the power to right the wrong. She loved Batakrishna, and with her life she would ensure his safety.

"Batakrishna... " A soft whimper escaped her lips, and she wiped her tears slowly.

She felt helpless and alone once again, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was cursed. She didn't want to bring harm to Batakrishna, but she also couldn't bear the thought of living without him. It was a torment that she couldn't escape, and it weighed heavily on her heart.

As she sat there, she took out a piece of paper and a quill pen. She took a deep breath and started writing a letter, pouring out her heart to the only man she ever loved.

"My dearest
Take my regards at your feet," She started, and a big drop of tear fell on the letter, botching it a little.

"Pardon my spelling error." She smiled unknowingly.
"I am writing to you tonight because I need to tell you how I feel, or else, I might never...
I love you, Batakrishna babu, or shall I say My Krishna!" She signed.
"I love you more than anything in this world. But I'm scared... I know what you'll say, but I can't fight with my fears any longer... I'm too tired. I'm also scared that my love for you will only bring harm to you, and no matter what you say or do, you can't fight destiny. My tormented past isn't unknown to you as well, and I don't want the baggage of my cursed life to weigh you down. I can't live with this constant thought of bringing harm to you, and I don't want to see you suffer because of me."
She stopped, and dipped the quill in the ink pot carefully, spilling some ink on the mud floor. The lantern kept beside wasn't doing much justice either.

Mira took a deep breath and started to write again.
"I know that you love me too, and that you want to marry me. Trust me, Choto Jomidar Babu, Im eternally grateful for that. But I can't accept your proposal, not while I feel this way. I don't want to see you hurt, and I don't want to be the cause of your pain. I'm so torn, Batakrishna babu... I want to be with you, but I don't want to bring any harm to you. Yet when I compare my dilemma against your life, it all becomes clearer...

So, I must say goodbye, at least for now. Don't try to find me, for you may never. And in the name of our love, I implore you to not pine for me, never... I want you to live a happy life, and I'll be happy knowing that you've kept your words." She paused to think.
The love she had for Batakrishna only made her feel worse. She didn't want to drag him into her darkness, didn't want to be the reason for his pain. But try as she might, she couldn't shake off her love for him. It was a love that was both her curse and her salvation.
"But I promise you this, Choto Jomidar Babu, in the next life, we will be together again. I will find you, and we'll marry, and have children, and grandchildren... Promise." Tears rolled down uncontrollably from her eyes, and Mira sniffed again, focusing on the letters on the paper.

"Until then, I leave you with this promise: I will always love you, Batakrishna. I will love you in this life, and I will love you in the next.

Take care of my son if you ever find him. He too is probably safe being away from me, so I give up on the hopes of seeing him too."

Forever yours and only yours,
Your Unfortunate Bou, the one who could never wear sindoor in your name,
Mira."

Mira folded the letter and kept it by the tin trunk. She turned the flame of the lantern up and placed it at the threshold, lest Batakrishna might stumble in dark if he wakes up. She turned back once more. His slightly parted lips were tempting her to give up on her resolution, to jump in his arms once again... But she knew it was late. The emptiness inside her was clawing her soul.

"Dont be mad at me Batakrishna... I love you." She murmured.

The rain grew worse, and Mira walked out of the door stealthy. She went to the kitchen, and in the dark, she came out with an empty brass pitcher in hand. She then picked up the coconut rope from the empty cow shed, bruising her elbow on the sharp cane coverings.
A smile broke up on her lips.
"All pain ends tonight!" She murmured again.

The sky was a boiling cauldron, darkened by ominous clouds that churned and roiled overhead. Suddenly, a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a deafening peal of thunder that rumbled like the roar of a thousand lions. Mira trod through the stormy rain, feeling numb and detached from the world around her. She felt like a lifeless porcelain doll, her spirit was shattered beyond repair. Her past tormented experiences weighed heavily on her, and she felt like a burden to herself.
A thunder crashed somewhere near, but it couldn't affect her... Not any longer.
As she walked through the rain, she felt a deep emotional hurt. It was as if her heart was being torn apart, every step she took was a physical manifestation of her internal pain. She felt like she was already dead, like her soul had left her body, and the walk was simply the mechanical process of ending it all.

Her emotions were a whirlwind, and she felt like she was losing control. The stormy night seemed like a reflection of her inner turmoil, and she felt like she was being swept away by a tempest of her own making.

But despite all her pain, all her emotional hurt, she still loved Batakrishna. She loved him with a love that defied all logic, all reasons. And that was what ultimately brought her to the riverbank, ready to embrace death.
Nothing mattered any more. And there were no more tears left.

The pitch dark waves of Padma was soaring with rage, and Mira quietly sat down on the back, her trembling hands had picked up the strong rope. First, she would tie it to the neck of the pitcher, and then to her feet.

'Maa Padma never refuses anyone, does she?'
She recalled.

.....................................

'The sky was a boiling cauldron, darkened by ominous clouds that churned and roiled overhead. Suddenly, a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a deafening peal of thunder that rumbled like the roar of a thousand lions.'
The air shook and shuddered, vibrating with the force of the thunderous boom, which echoed and re-echoes across the landscape of the village. The sound was a thunderous clap, a concussive blast that was felt as much as heard, jolting the very earth beneath the feet. The onomatopoeic quality of the thunder was staggering, a percussive cacophony that battered the senses like a relentless drumbeat. It was a symphony of sound and fury, a chaotic crescendo that filled the air with its raw, elemental power.

Batakrishna stirred restlessly in his bed, alone, roused from a deep slumber by an unseen force. He rubbed his bleary eyes, trying to shake off the fog of sleep. It was pitch dark inside, and his heart was pounding, a sense of unease settled over him like a shroud. A strange fear gripped him, a nagging feeling that something was not right. He couldn't remember what had disturbed his sleep, but the feeling of dread lingered.

"Miraa... " He called out instinctively.

He sat up in bed, his mind racing with thoughts of the night. Mira was looking beautiful in her red saree, wearing those ornaments of flowers. He had cradled her all night in his sleep. Batakrishna felt confused, his thoughts muddled and unclear. He tried to shake the fear and calm himself, but the worry refused to abate.

"Miraa..." He called again, a little louder this time, but the silence made him think probably she had gone out to answer nature's call.
But, at this hour? In this rain?
And how long does it take?
The more he tried to reason with himself, the more his mind was consumed with an unknown fear. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was forgetting something important, something crucial.

"Are you in the kitchen? Miraa??" His voice was louder.

With a sense of rising panic, Batakrishna stumbled out of bed and began eyeing the room, trying to make sense of the strange fear that had awoken him. He felt like he was losing his grip on reality, like he was caught in a nightmare from which he could not escape. The fear was all-consuming, a pervasive presence that threatened to swallow him whole.
He pulled the grey shawl from the bedside and paced out of the door, but...

The flame of the lantern had died long back, and in the dark Batakrishna had stumbled on it, breaking it into a hundred pieces, and shattering small fragments of glass all around the mud floor.

"Fuck!"
A curse had escaped his mouth.