We started out with good intentions. A simple project with a wide scope. A documentary that could illuminate a most brutal, sexist tradition. No, Meagan Colin wasn’t here to rage at the wage gap or call out ignorant abortion policies. Those were first-world problems. No, I wanted to explore a more primitive act… one somehow still in existence within the more extreme factions of Hinduism: sati. Modern-day widow burning.
I know the act itself is rare. Like literal witch hunts in America, most followers of Hinduism know sati is barbaric and backwards. But from my research, I found out the practice still happened with the more extreme fundamentalists. Albeit, rarely.
Okay, maybe I had no business criticizing their culture. After all, the last thing I wanted to be was an ugly American. I mean yeah, I can put up with other countries eating our cute pets as if they were delicacies, but we’re talking about human lives here. Innocent women coerced into burning themselves after their husbands died, what kind of shit was that!? Goddamn, I’d been single my whole life. The lifestyle ain’t that bad.
Call me a Feminazi, but the fact that people could still defend sati sickened me. Downright chilled me to the bone. And the more I did research, the more horrified I became. Even moreso once I found out sati was practiced by an extremely small sector of Indian Americans. Especially amongst the ones right here in Atlanta, Georgia.
The topic was ripe for today’s climate. Everything about sati was perfect for my senior project. And my team was good. Real good.
Laura had been my roommate since freshman year. From the Walters Hall dorm to our current city apartment. She was the creative artist to my academic warrior. And she was almost done with her internship at Inertia Films.
With long flowing blonde hair and a round face, Laura was pretty… even with her bright highlights and even brighter dresses. I wasn’t as tall as Laura. A little chubbier. But definitely more fiery.
Beneath the professionalism of pant suits and glasses, I wasn’t afraid to explore controversy. Both on paper and in person. Once I had my master’s in Women’s Studies, I planned to go into journalism and blogging, so it made sense to team up with Laura for this project. Especially since her boyfriend Jeff was an aspiring filmmaker. Sure, we were all amateurs… But this documentary wouldn’t just secure our future. This exposé on modern-day sati could change the world.
The three of us did our research. We explored Atlanta’s Hindu scene… particularly the fundamentalist sectors. We navigated the religion’s many local websites. Each successive interview revealed more and more… My blue eyes like lasers helping us coerce the darker rumors. Finally, we had a group suspected of still practicing widow burning: the Shekhawat family.
Immediately, I set my sights on their youngest son Mark. He was a bit older than me. Attractive and smart without being out of my league. On his Facebook picture, Mark’s big dark eyes drew me in. He was tall. Worked in IT. And let’s face it, I had a weakness for beards.
In our apartment living room, Jeff and Laura managed to convince me.
Jeff’s wiry frame trembled with excitement. “You gotta find him!” he said. His wild shoulder length hair matched a blonde scraggle Laura was somehow attracted to. “You hook him and this is it, Meagan.”
“He’s right,” Laura agreed.
So like an undercover cop, I infiltrated the weird world of dating apps. To my surprise, there were quite a few matching us basic Americans with the more interesting Indian Americans. And Mark was without a doubt one of the better matches.
Beneath Jeff’s unrelenting camera and Laura’s nosy gaze, I started talking to Mark on-line. Our conversations casual but flirtatious. To my relief, he was at least attracted to me. Always a welcome stroke for this girl’s ego. Mark didn’t even start sending me dick and ass pics until the second week. And only after he asked. So hey, score another one for Mark.
As we talked, I found out more about the Shekhawat family traditions. By all accounts, they were pretty strict. Pretty primitive. But Mark said he was the black sheep… He was Americanized all the way. Facebook pictures of his days spent partying at Georgia Tech frats and crazy office parties made that clear.
But still, I pressed on. We graduated to phone calls. FaceTime. Our relationship accelerating… even as I stayed at a clinical distance.
Soon, Jeff and Laura taped one of our phone calls in the living room. I leaned back on the couch. “How far back do your family’s traditions go?” I asked Mark.
“Way back,” Mark said through a perfect American accent. “My parents were the first to leave India. So some of those customs…” A nervous laugh escaped his lips. “Some of them are kinda weird. But I don’t really get into it too much.”
I sat up. Bracing myself for the next question. “Well, what about… widow burning? Sati?”
Mark gave me another uneasy chuckle. “You sure are curious. You sure you don’t want to go Hindu yourself?”
Always the undeterred interviewer, I sure as Hell wasn’t gonna back down now. “I mean is it true? The widow burning, does it still happen?”
For the first time in our relationship, an awkward silence came between us. Then I heard multiple voices. All in a language I didn’t understand…
“Mark?” I asked.
Holding the camera, Jeff stepped toward me.
Annoyed, I waved him back. “Leave me alone!” I said in a harsh whisper.
Laura gave Jeff a quick hit to the shoulder.
He cringed. “Ow!”
“Hey,” Mark’s voice returned.
I sifted on the couch. “Yeah, you there?”
“Yeah, sorry. I just had to… deal with something.”
I faked a laugh. “Oh, I understand. But what were you gonna say about-”
“Do you want to go out tomorrow?” Mark interrupted.
Our first date was a cloudy, ugly day. Only appropriate considering I didn’t have much interest in the guy… Okay, so he looked even better in person. The body was on fleek. This was Beefcake Millionaire. But still I had to be Meagan the investigative journalist, not Meagan the thirsty single bitch.
After binge-watching 90 Day Fiancé, I expected the date to be cringetopia city. But instead, Mark was charming. Even respectful… a byproduct of being raised in such a strict Hindu household, I figured. We spent the day at Piedmont Park. A beautiful place of many lakes… even without sunshine.
To stay safe, I texted Laura from time to time. But I never felt uncomfortable. The only time I ever got scared was when Laura’s texts made my phone convulse.
Mark stopped us near a gazebo. “You know you’re a beautiful girl.”
Those cheesy compliments worked every time. I couldn’t resist. We looked into one another’s eyes. Then the anticipation hit me once Mark placed his hand against my face. I exploded with excitement when he gave me that first kiss.
I tried to keep cool. Tried to battle those butterflies… All in the name of women’s lib, Meagan.
Cracking a smile, I struggled to look at him. “Well, uh. You’re not so bad yourself.”
All of sudden, rain poured down. The storm started.
“Oh God!” I cried. Embarrassment replaced my rising elation. My make-up was so fucked…
Laughing, Mark grabbed an empty cardboard box lying on the ground. In true survivalist fashion, he held it over us. Now I had protection from the storm. And so did my foundation.
Mark snatched my hand. “Come on!” he yelled.
Like crouching soldiers dodging gunfire, we ran to the parking lot. The box a decent cover against the bullets of rain.
We jumped into Mark’s Honda. He tossed the box outside before grabbing a hold of my hand. Our smiles only grew bigger. The two of us entombed there inside the vehicle for the time being.
Amidst the constant pitter-patter of rain, Mark pushed his long curly hair aside. His gaze matched mine. He leaned in close.
My phone vibrated with another dose of Laura but I ignored it. I was too lost in Mark’s eyes. And in our next kiss.
From there, our relationship grew stronger. Mark moved fast… but at Jeff and Laura’s insistence, I played along. Not that I was complaining. I still had all summer to finish the final project. Not to mention the sex was amazing…
But I wanted Mark to trust me. To really like me… Shit, was I falling in love? Not that I’d know. Twenty-five years of being single can really fuck with your mind.
I tried to convince myself romance wasn’t possible. Instead, I kept pretending to be Meagan the investigative journalist. Still told myself this wasn’t true love. That all I was doing was getting closer to Mark’s family for the sake of women’s rights. An honorable excuse, right?
The only problem was the Shekhawats weren’t telling me shit. They kept me at a comfortable distance. I saw no ceremonies. No customs. No signs of this supposed Hindu craziness. No signs of sati.
After a month, Mark proposed to me. At first, I panicked… until I thought of Laura and Jeff. How far we’d come in this project… and how I did like Mark. The ring was gorgeous, after all. Then there was the promise of more memories. The promise of more sex. More times kissing Mark, more times feeling along his arms and ass. Call me impulsive, but fuck it, I said yes.
We got married just as quick. At Mark’s insistence, we tied the knot at a secret ceremony. At one of those old, forgotten churches downtown. Honestly, I never told mom and dad. I couldn’t even accept the marriage myself… I mean yeah, I wanted to. But deep down, my mission compelled me. Here we were with hundreds and hundreds of hours of footage and even more hundreds of hours spent on research. I couldn’t let my parents’ protests or any other bullshit Colin family drama shatter what was shaping up to be my life’s work. The investigation just had to continue.
That being said, Mark and I’s situation was smooth. And slowly, I ingratiated myself to the Shekhawats. Soon, the ugly American inside of me died. I opened up more around Mark’s family.
Mark’s parents lived out in the country. Their two story house surrounded by woods rather than neighbors. And to my surprise, his family seemed completely… normal. Aside from a few religious books and drawings in his parents’ house, I saw nothing extreme. They watched football, they drank beer, they had cookouts. The Shekhawats were literal All-Americans.
Any questions I had about their culture was greeted by warm calmness rather than shrill histrionics. These Hindus weren’t eating people or imprisoning children. No savage stereotypes were anywhere in sight. Nowhere except for the pages of some of his parents’ books.
I couldn’t help but read some of the sections on sati. One of the images made my heart race in fear and intrigue. The crude drawing showed a young Indian widow being burned alive… An illustration so close up you could see her skin getting charred, her face literally melting into a messy mush. All as a jovial family celebrated around the flaming pyre…
Several sentences stood out to me: The widow must sacrifice herself The sacrifice protects all women No single woman should roam alone
This shit was outdated. But then again, so was The Bible. Overall, Mark’s family showed no signs of being the savages social media branded them.
In May, I moved into Mark’s apartment. Laura and Jeff were getting impatient… and honestly, I felt pressure. Both from them and my own deadline. But I had no choice. Mark and I were now married, so I couldn’t just force the sati questions on him. How much of a racist asshole would that make me look? Not to mention the fact I actually liked the guy.
So I stayed the course. When the time was right, Meagan the investigative journalist would come bitching back. But right now, I just wanted to have fun. Not with Laura or Jeff. Not with anyone but my husband.
Friday night, Mark and I shut the bars down downtown. Both of us got smashed. We took an Uber back to the apartment. Each of us overcome in drunken laughter. I helped him up the long staircase to apartment twenty.
We staggered into our dark entryway. Mark closed the door.
Playful, he rubbed his temple. “Man, it’s hard to keep up with you!” he teased.
I stopped in the kitchen. My laughter faded to nervous silence. The lights were already on, showcasing Jeff standing by the counter. An eerie frown on his face… but those anxious eyes gave away his fake toughness. As always.
“What the Hell is this!” I shouted.
Mark came to an uneasy stop. “Jeff?” he said in drunken confusion.
Like a monster emerging from the ominous night, Laura charged in from our dark entryway. Her war cry shattered the tension. With startling strength, she swung Jeff’s baseball bat.
Mark didn’t have time to turn. No time to react.
The Louisville Slugger smashed straight into his head. Broken wood and blood fell to the floor. And so did Mark.
Blood coated across Laura, Jeff, and I. The heavy thud Mark’s body made on the tile repeated in my terrified mind. My conscience.
Mark was dead upon impact. His beautiful eyes still very much open. Much like the gaping wound spreading crimson through his hair and beard.
Horrified, I looked on at my best friend. Laura’s breaths stayed heavy. Her glare an expression of sheer madness. Her hands clinging to that broken bat.
“What the fuck…” was all I could say. Even as the tears rolled down. Even as the first man I found myself in love with was dead at my feet.
With cautious steps, Jeff approached me. “Look, it’s about the film, Meagan,” said his trembling tone. “That’s all.”
I glared at him. “The fucking film!”
Laura snatched my arm in a death grip. I looked on at her crazed gaze. Through the blood stains, her demented determination persevered. “We couldn’t wait any longer, Meagan!”
I pulled away from her. “No! Y’all are crazy!”
“They were never gonna tell us about sati! Don’t you get it!”
The hard truth held me hostage. But I didn’t feel any less slimy… Especially when I laid eyes on Mark’s body again. His sexy beard now reduced to a gory ginger shade.
“We have to start it ourselves,” Laura continued.
“It was the only way,” Jeff chimed in.
Laura grabbed me by the shoulders. Her attempt at comfort compromised by the busted murder weapon she still held. Blood still spilt off the bat’s many splinters.
“We couldn’t wait any longer, Meagan,” Laura said. ”I couldn’t wait any longer. The internship’s over. You’re almost out of school.” She leaned in closer, for once overpowering my piercing blue eyes. “Just think about it, Meagan. We had to do this. We can make money, help the world. This could launch our careers!”
Battling his own guilt, Jeff leaned back against the counter. Avoiding all contact with Mark’s corpse. “They’re the ones who are wrong, man… Not us.”
I flashed him a look of disgust.
“Exactly,” Laura said. She shook me in her violent grip. Pulling my worried gaze back toward her. “They’re the ones who still practice sati. You know they still do.”
The room grew more claustrophobic. More mad. My emotions swelled. The sadness sunk into my soul. “But we don’t…” I mumbled.
“I know they do!” Laura proclaimed. She leaned in closer. Her stare so focused and clinical. “And now we’re gonna get them.”
From there, I let Laura and Jeff clean the crime scene. Thirsty Meagan had to let go. As did lovestruck Meagan. I had to withdraw back to being a cold, rebellious bitch…
Conflicted by my guilty conscience, I let my friends fake the fall. In the dead of night, they laid Mark’s corpse out at the bottom of the long and winding stairs. The police completely bought it. Mark’s death was ruled an accident. A fatal fall brought on by alcohol. I was cleared. But still, I had a painful wake to attend. One being held at my in-laws’ house.
Around three, Jeff, Laura, and I journeyed to the country. Wearing dark dresses and suits, we entered the lavish Shekhawat home. To my relief, the crowd wasn’t overwhelming. Not many of Mark’s relatives lived in the States after all. So there was a maybe a group of twenty in attendance.
With Mark’s parents’ permission, Jeff got to film the entire thing. The family’s traditional Hindu music a soundtrack for the scene. Everyone wore bright clothes. Psychedelic robes, loud coats. Their jewelery more lit and colorful than a Christmas tree… The family never cried either. Never showed sadness. Instead, they were all smiling. Somehow content with their son’s tragic death.
Most of us stayed around the wide living room. Several tables offered shrimp, apples, crackers… even alcohol. The closed casket stayed on display in the center of the room. And yet Mark’s family created a party atmosphere.
Like actors, Laura and Jeff wore their sad faces. Offered fake condolences to the relatives. All while Jeff kept the camera flowing.
The booze did little to ease my pain. I stumbled through my words and interactions with Mark’s family. The coffin giving me constant dread.
Laura pulled me to the side. “What the fuck are you doing?” she whispered.
Angry, I pulled away from her. “Well, this is what you wanted-”
“Just try to keep it together!”
“I can’t!” I fought back the tears. My eyes kept glancing around this homemade wake. At everyone smiling and chuckling… The Hindu music now hit a faster tempo. Further unnerving my anxious soul…
Laura leaned in closer. “Hey, if nothing happens, we’ll talk to his parents later, alright. We’ll interview his family.”
Doing my best to control Meagan the romantic, I nodded. Played along with my best friend. My favorite murderer.
Laura squeezed my shoulder. “It’s almost over, Meagan. This is what we wanted. Think about that.”
I stared into her excited eyes.
“Think about changing the world for the better,” Laura said.
“You ready, Meagan?” a calm Indian accent beckoned me.
Startled, both Laura and I turned to see Mark’s short, frail mother. Her sliver of a smile honed in on me as she grabbed my wrist. “It’s time, dear.” Mark’s mom put a glass of wine in my hand. Blood red wine.
“I’m sorry…” I said, confused.
“Time?” Laura asked.
“The ceremony,” Mark’s mother told us. With a delicate flourish, she pointed toward the hallway.
In a Shekhawat exodus, the relatives all headed toward the spot. Each of them with a drink and a grin. Enthusiasm spread amongst them.
Mark’s mom’s grip tightened. “We’re having it outside.”
Moments later, we entered the Shekhawats’ great, wide backyard. The manicured lawn perfect up until reaching the forest.
Hand-carved tables and benches were set up. More wine and snacks. Several speakers still played those same hypnotic Hindu tunes… The serene scene perfect for a wedding or reunion… But this felt different. This was tribal.
Together, everyone stopped and looked on. Laura and Mark’s mom right by my side. Jeff mesmerized behind the camera.
There was the shrine. What we’d been looking for all these months: a large wooden pyre. The circular structure stood surrounded by countless branches and sticks.
Next to it, a khanda was lodged into the ground. The long sword easily several centuries old. Fading sunlight illuminated a red S embedded into the shiny blade.
Through the pyre’s bars, I could see Mark’s corpse. Trapped in there like a helpless zoo animal. His body preserved… somehow still sexy beneath those red robes. His eyes were open, the fatal wound all sewed up. And best of all, Mark’s beard was completely clean.
Everyone gravitated to this homemade grave. Some chuckled. Some grinned with reverence. Jeff and Laura stayed enthralled. But me. I just cried.
“No, don’t cry, dear!” I heard Mark’s mother say. Her scrawny arm wrapped around me, pulling me down closer to her level. “There’s no need to. Not now.”
I saw Laura step toward Jeff. “You getting this?” she said in a not-so-quiet whisper.
Nodding, Jeff zoomed in on the pyre. “Yeah!”
“Mark’s in a better place,” Mark’s mom continued. She guided the glass to my lips. “Here, drink this, dear. It’ll help.”
Still weeping, I let his mom turn the glass up. Let the hollow wine enter my system.
“There, there,” the mom said. “This is a special ceremony for all of us, Meagan. Especially for Mark.” She caressed my dark hair. Those thin fingers scraping my scalp. “We know you loved him.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeff and Laura get closer to the pyre. I wanted to cry out to them but couldn’t… My body now drifting into a catatonic state.
Mark’s father approached us. His body was muscular and toned. His white smile still electrifying. “Are you ready, Meagan?” he asked.
Now I felt all the Shekhawat eyes on me. Only a heavy migraine hindered my mind… The pressure was getting to me. So was the sadness.
Outside, more darkness crept in. The twilight haze further disoriented me. The glass slipped from my hand. Fresh redness hit the grass… but no one paid attention. Instead, Mark’s family waved toward me. Pointed me toward the pyre. Toward what they wanted to be a double headstone.
Both Mark’s mom and dad grabbed my arms. Together, they guided me down the aisle. To the grave.
“We need to hurry, dear,” Mark’s mom told her husband.
“I know,” he replied.
Feeling weaker and weaker, I let them lead me to the grave.
“Meagan!” I heard Laura scream. “Let go of her!” She charged after me. The first real emotion and empathy I’d seen from her in months.
Shivering, I struggled to lean forward. To escape the clutches of my in-laws. But the headache got worse. My eyes collapsed. Over the sitar strings, I heard shouting and footsteps. Heard a heavy camera hit the ground. The pull of a heavy sword.
“No! Meagan!” Laura screamed.
I awoke to see we were in further darkness. And now closer to the pyre.
A couple of Mark’s uncles cornered Laura and Jeff by a bench. My friends were terrified and in tears. Surrounded by Mark’s glaring relatives and their angry yells. Jeff’s broken camera lied at his trembling feet.
One of the uncles raised the khanda.
Helpless, Laura reached toward me. “Meagan!”
All I could do was watch through the haze. Unable to shed tears for my best friend. To even try to save her.
In one quick thrust, the uncle jammed the sword through my friends. His strength paranormal. His battle cry booming.
The blade shot through their chests, the very end piercing out Jeff’s back. The couple were now a human shish kabob. Complete with dangling ornaments of steaming organs and intestines. Laura’s stabbed stomach covering the Shekhawat family crest.
The couple’s bodies landed with a heavy thud. Their corpses now aligned. Their blood intertwined forever.
Like a statue, I couldn’t feel anything. Not even for my friends… There were no tears. No emotion.
In the increasing darkness, Mark’s mom waved toward the uncles. “Hurry! Start the fire!” she commanded, the panic making her voice stronger.
Fueled by fear, the men threw more branches on to the pyre. Using a lighter, they started the fire.
Flames immediately roared to life. A beaming glow here in this dying twilight.
I didn’t flinch when my in-laws parked me in front of the pyre. I barely felt sweat. And still I felt nothing.
Mark’s mom and dad backed away. The whole family continued watching me. Each of them full of anticipation.
“Do it, child!” the mother yelled. “Do it for Mark!”
But I didn’t move. I stared on at the flames. At this cozy cremation. The smell of charred flesh swept through me and I could see Mark’s handsome body roasting away… But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t cry.
“I thought you gave her the poppy flower!” I heard Mark’s mom shout at his dad.
“It was in the wine!” he cried.
The headache lingering, I swayed softly against the scent of sizzled flesh. Ever so closer to those ferocious flames…
“Then why won’t she go in!” his mom screamed. “She needs to before nighttime!”
Finally, I stopped myself from falling any further. Ashes floated toward me.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Mark’s father said in fear.
I stole a look up at a sky that was now a sea of black. There were no stars. No light at all save for the burning before me.
“It’s already too late…” Mark’s father finished.
I heard quick, sudden movement. Faced the fire.
Rising from the embers and ashes was my husband Mark. Only he wasn’t charred. My husband just stood there. His eyes glued to me. Mark perfect in those robes. The flames with no effect on his body or beard. Nor did they slow him down.
Flashing a smile, Mark walked right toward me. His steps so calm… Only his eyes were empty. Stoic.
Behind me, I heard the Shekhawat family’s collective cries. Their panicked screams. Their fear.
Mark stopped inches away from me. The two of us just stared at one another. As if we were at the altar again.
I could hear footsteps rushing toward the house. A table getting knocked over. The Hindu music cut off amongst the turmoil.
But I stayed right where I was.
“Run!” Mark’s mom shouted. “He’s not the same, Meagan! Run!”
But I didn’t care. Especially once Mark reached out and stroked my face. My husband now more flawless than ever. More perfect.
My tears finally fell. My heart grew warmer than the fire. I felt heat rise within me. Relief that Mark was here and our glorious romance was resurrected. Meagan the investigative journalist now gone for good.
Recent Comments