I woke up feeling dizzy, couldn't remember where I was or what was happening. Looking around I realized that I was in a small room probably of a hut with a broken window and muddy floor. Sunlight streamed in through the broken window showcasing the dusty walls. I went to check the doors but they were bolted from outside and did it even budge. Then it struck me, all my memories which were trapped somewhere in my mind came back to me like a brainstorm. It was then that I realized the cruciality of the situation. Every single detail of the past few days came back to me like a nightmare. The nightmare which was not supposed to become a reality was now a part of my life the same way it had come true for many women. I went to the window and looked outside only to see the pyre of my dead husband being set up for him to get burned engulfing me along with him. Tears were stinging my eyes threatening to come out any moment. I felt a cold breeze on my head and when I touched it I found my long jet black hair gone. They were shaved off after my husband took his last breath by the society, not even considering my opinion. I cried and tried my best to get out of their hands but they were too quick for me. When I protested the beat me till I was covered in blood and locked me inside this suffocating room. No, not even my family came to my rescue because they are woven in this mess of a society and feel that women have no rights. They gave me food which was not even fit for animals to eat.

A few hours later, I heard some noise outside the door, the lock was being opened and they were coming for me. The whole village stood in front of me, watching me with emotionless eyes. I scanned the crowd and spotted my family standing at one corner of the room, not caring to do anything. Relentlessly I had to go outside to say goodbye to my life. Why was I getting a punishment, was it my fault that my husband was dead? The person who had murdered him was roaming free and here I was getting sacrificed instead of him. They picked me up and put me on the pyre which was prepared for the rituals. I was dressed in the same red Saree which I had worn on my wedding. The person they called “ Their Goddess “ was about to be sacrificed. The pyre was set on fire and even though I screamed and shouted due to the burning sensation, nobody gave any head to that. Many people in the crowd were crying but not for me, only for their beloved son who was dead. Slowly and gradually my screams got lowered and everything became silent until only my ashes were left behind. That day I, 18 year old Sita was brutally killed just to fulfill the desires of the society.

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