“This dushera Burn The Ravan of your life” ,The text read. And my best friend asked me to burn our photographs , of course with a wink. I didn’t say anything, she didn’t pester any further. We watched the Ravan Dahan in silence. She enjoying it, me burning in the flames hidden in the ashes of memories. 

When people talk about the Ramayan name their problems,the society as the Ravan, I often do wonder what you were to me!!? Yes, You had made me a prisoner of your will, a possessive intruder you were to my free spirited life. But I wish I could loath you as much as they loath their Ravan. May be you were the Ravan , May be you were The Ram, I don’t know. Many a times  I have  thought of that too, I have simmered in the agony of the public humiliations when you have failed to take stand for me. I have felt your character spinning towards Ram when you gave more importance to your pride than my virtue. Tell me now, tell me what should I do! Do they even consider burning the Image of Maryada Purusottam for a single time!? 

 In the retrospect of my life, when I think, was it the destiny or the karma which left me in such a state , where the person I thought , I knew everything about, could bear a hundred faces and I would be unable to distinguish the real one. I was the moth and you were the fire, our love story was destined to witness the havoc of loss, yet why do I have to face the fire?

 It was me who chose you over my self respect, over and over. It was me who burnt everytime to prove my innocence Everytime you doubted me. It was me who chose to believe you , to trust you over everything and everyone. It was me who used to seek the solace in tears while you indulged yourself in the royal affairs of yours. It was me who wrote long letters stained with tears, while you read some one else’s stories. Perhaps I was the Sita, now a days, every feminist hates. Perhaps I was the one who deserved to be burnt in the flames , perhaps I was the one who should be buried deep in the earth’s crust. 

But the story doesn’t end here , right. In their times Ram Remained loyal to Sita. But you, You turned into the Ravan again. I wish I were buried , if not in the crust of earth, may be some where deep in the ocean, may be burnt in the lava . I wish I were too dumb to miss those signs. I wish I were too numb to feel the ache of replacement. But I wasn’t. I was a human, a women precisely, I was designed to love more, to care more and to feel more, perhaps in the process to get hurt more often.

 Being in my arms, when you murmured her name, I wish I could stop loving you there. In our anniversary,when you went to visit her, I wish I could stop loving you there. You claimed , you had remain loyal to me, you claimed you had never touched her. Then tell me , honestly ,  Why had you had the necessity to abduct her and bring her to our house? What was she to you!? A ray of hope in the days of despair!? A way to gain the popularity you seek everywhere!? If not anything, tell me , why does she matters to you more than I do!!? 
 In the end I felt like the Mandadori. I was helpless , Even for Sita there was her Savior, in whatever armour he might be. For her at least there was her family, they could rescue her from you. May be like the Ravan, you got the thing you wanted from her. May be in the end you have got your much awaited popularity or whatever it was. But what was I supposed to do. I was  like that helpless lady, who in the end turns a slave to the situations. Who couldn’t un-love the man she had fallen irrecoverably in love with, just like that. She could neither stop him from disrespecting a woman nor she could made her elope. She loved him enough to trust him blindly, but had the good wit of knowing what he is up to. But crushed in between the dilemma of her lacking and her love for him,she burnt inside a thousand times. But no one had ever cared. 

Like that lady from the myth, some part of mine burns inside me every time I watch our old photographs. May be we are not together anymore. May be I am not the one you loved, may be I am now engaged to someone else, but you are still the one I love. The fire in me which burns me every moment, never could burn the memories of our time together. I don’t know who was wrong, you or me, I don’t even know what’s right and what’s wrong. If now someone asks me to burn my Ravan, I would rather burn a hundred times from inside, than letting the only strings of our togetherness turn into the ashes . For someone who has been burning for years, to protect her love from getting burnt, for some one who has been holding on to the fight not to let any one loose , for someone who has been dying every moment to keep her memories alive, this vijayadashmi or any other would never matter enough to celebrate the victory of ram over the Ravan. 



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