The White Saree

Her white saree fluttered in the wind, as she stood far away, looking at the burning pyre. She wasn't wearing any ornaments or even any footwear. Just an hour ago, the woman in her neighbourhood had stripped her of everything. Someone had poured a pot full of cold water on her head. Some ladies had then undressed her and drapes these five yards of white fabric around her body. She had been too numb through it all. She has just accepted everything that was being done in the most resigned way possible. She was as limp as the dead person placed on the floor in the outer room. When all the rituals were completed, the dead person was carried on four shoulders and taken to the cremation ground. She followed bare feet far behind the procession, accompanied by some other women of the household. It was against the tradition for the women to enter the crematorium, so the women stood at a distance, folding their palms, watching as the last rites were carried out. Finally, the younger brother of the dead person took a lighted torch and set it on the pyre on which the dead person was placed. Soon the wooden pyre was ablaze, engulfing the body and reducing it to ashes, returning it to the soil from which it was formed. She stood there, holding her breath. When the fire died down, she finally relaxed, taking in a huge sigh of relief. Her captor, whom everyone called her husband, was finally taken away by death. Clad in white, she finally felt pure and pious once again. She was set free to live a simple, yet peaceful life!