The Death Ritual

Srividya Subramanian posted under QuinTale-65 on 2024-07-22



I stood near the only window in the dreary room, straining my neck to see what was happening downstairs. As I expected, the cacophony rose and ebbed like a discordant storm preparing to gain a foothold on the city. The ladies dressed in erroneously matched ‘salwar-kameez’ and some in their nightwear with a casual shawl thrown around their necks were standing in groups and wailing their lungs(not hearts) out. Mother and Shobi, my sister, were sitting on the road doing the same.

Yuck! So unhygienic.

I called out to them but my voice drowned in the crass drum beats approaching us. One person in the group was tunelessly singing melancholic Tamil songs. His lack of rhythm would have sent many people to the grave. My husband, Ramesh had taken an early exit!

Still, I am sure this ignominious send-off would not have been his last wish.

I was a little relieved I was not down there at this moment. “Shalu, please stay here. I will send Shobi in periodically with some food. You can see Ramesh later.” Mother said tearfully.

I have been locked in here since then. Ramesh committed suicide early yesterday morning. It has been six months since we married, so I hardly know much about him.  He was thirty, a professor at RNM College, Guindy. Quite an amiable chap! Lately, he told me that the management was holding him guilty of abusing a female student. He swore on me that he was truthful. But before I could reassure him, he was gone.

Now, I was not allowed to meet anyone as my in-laws feared I might be provoked to say something that the family would regret all their lives. A few of my family members came to my room and enacted the crying scene for my benefit. I couldn’t reciprocate that so I sneaked in between the bed covers till they left.

The rising sound of the drums and cymbals brought me back to the present. Ramesh was about to begin his last journey. The wailing rose to a crescendo. I clutched the grills of the window tightly for support as I felt a black curtain fall before my eyes. A formal signal that a significant phase of my life had come to an end.

The cacophony diminished in structure and intensity as the crowd dispersed.

I slowly descended the stairs. The women were perhaps having a customary bath. The malodorous sweat permeated the sofas and curtains in the room. The petals fallen from the garlands retreated to a corner of the room as I walked in as if expressing their displeasure at my arrival.

Finally, I did weep in silence. It was more out of fear of facing the times ahead of me. The sun set as if on cue and long, menacing shadows covered me. I cowered further into the darkness. As I sat through the long night, I slowly realized that I would see a new dawn, which was longer and packed with numerous possibilities.

Maybe someday, I will change these death rituals. I chuckled. Peace reigned.