Anita's POV
I entered the room to give them water, my eyes scanning the space and searching for him, but I found my brother-in-law alone there.
I whispered, "Where's he?"
He replied, equally hushed, "Gone to work." He rose from the mat, because there was no dining table, took the cup from my hand, and also left the house.
I drew in a shuddering breath, the air rasping against my dry throat, as the memory of his chilling words echoed through my mind like a death sentence, "Divorce." A fate worse than death in my family's eyes.
The air escaped my lungs, my chest constricting with the thought of being cast out, forever shunned by those I loved. My breath escaped in a heavy sigh, a futile attempt to expel the weight of despair that threatened to suffocate me.
My stomach growled in protest in a cry of desperation as the pangs of hunger clawed at my empty belly. The last meal I ate was yesterday's breakfast in the morning, before the wedding ceremony. But after, I didn't have even a drop of water to slake my thirst or a morsel of food to satiate my hunger again.
My eyes looked at the uneaten food on my husband's plate. I sat down, my hand reaching out like a starving animal, but just as my fingers were about to claim a morsel, my mother-in-law's voice shattered the silence like a whip crack.
"Daughter-in-law!" she barked, making me jump out of my skin.
I trembled, my voice barely audible as I stuttered, "Yes, Mother..."
"How can you have the audacity to eat while your husband goes out hungry?" Her voice seethed with anger. "Did your parents teach you to be so selfish, so ungrateful?"
The mention of them triggered the longing I have for them in my heart, and tears welled up in my eyes. I missed them dearly, and now the ache of their absence was amplified by her cruel words.
I shook my head, my tears threatening to spill over.
"'You can't eat that food," she spat. "Until he graciously leaves you his leftovers, you can't eat. And since he didn't touch the food, you can't either."
My stomach wailed in anguish, protesting the emptiness, but I nodded, my eyes cast down in a gesture of respect.
"Now, go and bathe. I hope it helps in making you lighter." She commanded, her voice reflecting her contempt. "And don't dare show your face. Keep hiding it. When you're out, there's laundry waiting for you."
I nodded and stood up, my feet heavy with the weight of my oppression. I trudged back to his room. After I closed the door behind me, the tears I'd held hostage flooded out, releasing the anguish that had been suffocating me.
This was not the life I had dreamed of after marriage.
****
I completed the laundry as instructed by her, washing and ironing my husband's clothes. I also prepared dinner, as they skip lunch when the men are away. Now, I waited in our bedroom, feeling weak and hungry, having gone without food since yesterday morning. My stomach growled louder and louder each moment, eager for his return and the chance to finally eat.
I had also organised my clothes in the drawer.
"What am I supposed to do now?" I whispered to myself, feeling restless. It was already 7 p.m. I pulled out my diary, a trusted companion since I learned to write at age nine. I began to write down all the events of the previous day and today, including my current hunger situation, as I waited for his return. The diary is my confidant, my safe space to process my thoughts and emotions.
After recording all the events, I added my personal thoughts and feelings, pouring out my emotions onto the page. "I will never forgive or forget this painful chapter in my life," I wrote, tears welling up in my eyes. "Every moment of cruelty from my husband and mother-in-law will stay with me forever. I wish they knew I didn't want this marriage either. I never even saw him or his picture before our wedding day." A tear dropped onto the paper as I continued, "He's threatened to divorce me soon, but until then, I'll fulfil my duties as a wife, not because I love him, but because my mother taught me to honour my commitments. Just as he believes I bring misfortune and darkness, I feel the same about him." I closed my diary, a sense of relief washing over me. Venting my anger and emotions had lifted a weight off my heart, making me feel slightly lighter and more at peace.
The door creaked open, and I hastily covered my face with my sari's pallu. My husband stormed in, his gaze piercing through me with hate. He marched to the drawer and yanked it open, and his anger erupted. He hurled my clothes to the floor; his words triggered by frustration. "Didn't I tell you I don't consider you my wife? Why did you then still put your clothes here?" he bellowed, his voice shaking the foundations of my being while my breath caught in my throat like a bird in a snare. I cringed, my head bowed in submission, and my soul cowered in fear.
"Let me serve you dinner." I attempted to speak, but my words were abruptly cut off by his harsh tone.
"I told you to stop behaving like my wife! Just stop it!" The venom in his voice dripped, and he grabbed a shirt and trousers, storming off towards the bathroom, leaving me standing there, feeling belittled and humiliated.
I blinked away the tears that threatened to fall, my hunger gnawing at my stomach while I clutched it tightly, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom. After he did, he strode towards the bed and laid down without sparing me a glance. Then, in an irritated tone, he exclaimed, "I won't sleep in the living room again. Henceforth, you will. Now, leave my room."
I exhaled heavily, my reality slapping me across the face again. Though I'd spent countless nights in the living room back home, the thought of reliving that fate here, in this marriage, filled me with unhappiness. I drew a deep breath again and whispered softly, "You haven't had your dinner yet."
He spoke in a sharp, harsh rebuke, "Is it not clear that I've already had my food elsewhere? Leave the room at once, woman." The firmness in his tone was a cold command, brooking me no words left as my spirit crumbled and I obediently turned and exited the room.
I made up my mind, deciding to prioritise my own needs for once. I entered the kitchen, ready to finally satiate my growling stomach with the food I had set aside for us. However, just as I was about to take a bite, my mother-in-law's voice pierced the air, reprimanding me. "Didn't I warn you earlier that you're not allowed to eat until your husband has finished and left his leftovers for you?"
A cold nervousness crept up my spine at being caught while I felt her words choking me, crushing my autonomy.
'"He doesn't want to eat." I whispered, trying to reason with her, but she cut me off abruptly.
"And so? If he doesn't want to eat, it's simple. You'll both starve together. You've taken an oath to be with him in everything, including starvation," she sneered, her eyes glinting with a cruel light. She snatched the plate from my hand, her grip cold, and kept it in the fridge, returning a cold, steely glare before she turned and left.
My stomach continued to roar.
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I struggled against my mind and the values instilled in me since childhood. A rebellious voice within me asked me to defy the rules and grab the food from the fridge to satisfy my hunger, but the values of obedience and self-control eventually succeeded, and with a heavy heart, I surrendered to my fate. I made my way to the living room, my stomach protesting with every step, and lay down to sleep on the mat because there were no chairs, my hunger and tears the only companions with me in the darkness.
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