There is no Honor in Killing

Honor Killing: is the homicide of a member of a family or social group by other members, due to the perpetrators' belief that the victim has brought shame or dishonor upon the family or community, usually for reasons such as refusing to enter an arranged marriage, being in a relationship that is disapproved by their relatives, having sex outside marriage, becoming the victim of rape, dressing in ways which are deemed inappropriate, or engaging in homosexual relations. 

 

My dupatta flew in careless abandon behind my face, as one rainbow colored end clutched between my teeth secured it to my head. My arms were wrapped tightly around a cloth bag that contained my meager but precious belongings; my dead parents photograph, my mother's jewellery, a vanity mirror with a massive crack down the middle and an often read letter that contained words. Words that incited within me a fire that burned feverishly bright. The silver bangles around my wrists made their distinct clinking sound, matching in rhythm and tempo with the anklets at my legs. A month old henna tattoo still adorned the arch of my foot, a beautiful reminder of that one moment in time, when everything holding me to the ground suddenly, miraculously, disappeared. Because He said He loved me. 

And now I was free. 

Gloriously, O so free. 

My legs moved, frantically one in front of the other, fleeing, taking me away from this place. 

This place that held me back.

This place that suffocated me in the way it looked at people of my gender.

This place that suffocated me in the way it looked at people of my caste.

This place that suffocated me in the way it looked at people of my class.

And this place that suffocated me in the way it looked at HIM.

To say that He was wind beneath my sails would be to say that the moon was only a star. That the sun only gave light. To say that the ocean was only a water body.

Even though his hand wasn’t guiding me, even though his fingers were not entwined with mine, He led me. Towards the hopeful future.

Away from them.

Those that would judge me, censor me, and if need be put me soundly to death.

Like they did to Him.

A sob broke free, the hitch in my breath causing my legs to halt. Tears poured down my face, leaving clear tracks on my dirt streaked face. I looked half mad, I knew this even without checking the cracked vanity mirror. My hair was tangled, my clothes were disheveled and I’m pretty certain I’d lost weight in the past two weeks.

Two weeks of being locked in a dingy room, away from everyone. Away most especially from Him. The town elders didn’t want my delicate constitution to witness his fate and make me sick. They covered my eyes, but forgot about my ears.

My ears that heard his screams, his begs for mercy and ultimately his honest, loud and unapologetic declaration of love. His final, desperate declaration of love.

I hear sounds behind me, spurring me back into movement.

His sacrifice will not be in vain. Never. I would ensure that.

And so I ran, my cloth bag containing my meager belongings, my anklets making sweet music and my pallu flying in the wind.

Away from those who claimed to be law makers, law givers.

Away from those who were so afraid of change that they’d rather take human life.

Away from those that were supposed to be my elders, my wise elders, but ultimately were nothing but the murderers of the man I loved.

I ran, towards change. Change that He inspired in me.

I ran towards life. So what if it was one without him? He would always be with me. I would ensure it.

In the heavily crowded bus I opened that final letter, lovingly tracing his last letter to me. I sighed, his last declaration of love still echoing in my head.

The bus crossed the state border.

Years later, I narrated this story to my constituents. The murderers were long gone their legacy comprising of nothing but hate and violence.

I was back, at the place that stole Him from me. This time I was wiser, older and capable of ensuring that no other girl would have to run from here.

That evening, as I was sworn in, I pledged to end the slaughter. Or die trying.

Then finally, I’d see HIM again. Not a bad deal either way.