Meeting you was destiny

Meeting you was destiny, everyone keeps telling me. 

Forty years later, I am still not sure how to react to that comment. 

A perfect, lovely, 'I-wish-well-for-you' destiny wouldn't have left me to be a widow in the first place. 

An 'I-care-for-you-so-much' love-line on my palm wouldn't have wanted my yet-to-be-born daughter to become fatherless. 

If destiny wanted us to come together, well, there were plenty of ways to make us meet!

Did it really require the death of my childhood love?

Destiny. 

I preferred to call it bad luck then. 

I wanted to grieve. 

Just....shut myself in his room, in his scent, among his shirts, take out old photos of him, and let the tears flow free....

Did destiny allow that? Of course not. 

First came his military trunk, then came his body. 

Below the tricolor, below the white, I could still sense that blood. _His blood_. 

The last of which I was carrying in my womb. 

Why such a brutal end? 

What were his last moments like? 

Did he think of me one last time? Did he think of our baby? 

I'll never know. 

All I know is I had died. 

Partly because he had died. Partly because society had killed me. 

The enemy didn't matter anymore.

The war, the guns, the bullets.....

No, I had killed him. 

_You see, I was a Manglik. I was the murderer._

It had started with the wiping off of my Sindoor. 

The pulling off of my Mangalsutra. 

The muffled whispers. 

The not-so-subtle taunts. 

Then came family. 

The educated, caring, practical family. 

Family that knew what abortion was. 

Family that knew what manipulation was. 

Find a man who would want my child, or get the baby aborted. I had four months 'before it was too late'. 

The 'goal' was to get married. 

With or without the baby. 

My feelings didn't matter. 

My dead husband didn't matter. 

It was all for my 'best'. 

Looking back, I should have just walked away. 

That moment though, I had no guts. 

Destiny, they call it.

Thus began the 'hunt'. 

The meet-a-guy every-alternate-day routine. 

The ' You are just 28. You are too young for me' rejection in the second marriage market.

The 'I would have taken care of your child, but I am financially crunched right now' excuses in the first marriage markets. 

Those who had guts didn't bat an eye while pointing out that I was a Manglik who killed her husband. 

Those who were a bit more sensitive met me with a 'You are nice, but you are not my type'.

And then I met you. 

Did I like you? 

I wouldn't know. I was dead inside. 

I said yes because you said yes and you were willing to be a father to my baby.

I don't remember our wedding much. 

Just the ring. It felt....uncomfortable. 

And the Mangalsutra....every bead in it reminding me of _him_. 

I remember the taunts though. I remember them very well. 

"Killed the first one, now on her second hunt".

"Gold digger"

"Did she ever love her first husband?" 

"I mourned longer for the loss of my dog".

Remember that day? Our first wedding anniversary.

"So, tell me something about Rohan. How was he?", you had asked. 

"I...um...." I didn't know what to reply. 

Hearing his name felt....surreal. 

Someone asking me about him felt surreal. 

Someone genuinely caring felt surreal. 

I don't remember what I actually spoke. 

I don't remember why the tears started flowing. 

I don't remember why every memory, every thought I had buried deep inside my heart suddenly lay bare infront of you.

The only thing I remember is that I felt alive again. 

For the first time since he passed away. 

"Accha listen," you had said. "This....isn't exactly a gift, just something I wanted to give you since the last three months". 

It was a photo. 

_Rohan's photo_. 

"I know they took away all his photos from you. So....I....got you this on his death anniversary. Then chickened out when I had to actually give it to you." 

I loved Rohan so much, I never believed I would fall in love with anyone again. 

That moment, I realized, I might have been wrong.....

Today is our fifth wedding anniversary. 

I prefer to call it our fourth.

You see, five years ago, I had met a guy who was ready to father my daughter. 

Four years ago, though, I found my best friend. 

My family. 

My home. 

Five years ago, I found my second husband. 

Four years ago, I found love. The second time.