The Day Before 'I' Die 3 Wrapping-Up The One Who Shouldn't Be Named

I have already started to read a lot by the age of seventeen. I used to read stories of Panchtantra, Mahabharata, Ramayana, Kalidasa, Chinese Folktale, tales from The Arabian Nights. When I got married to the person who shouldn't be named, I started to read the mind-boggling books like Origin of Species, Ars Poetica, Romeo and Juliet, and many other Shakespearean dramas. Nevertheless, my language remained as general in oral and script as it is now. I used to get highly exasperated by similar words with a different chain of alphabets trying to make me bewitched. I used to share this thing with him, but he used to laugh and say, "Just keep reading and look for the meanings in Oxford. You'll be able to learn quickly! Don't worry!" Then he used to firmly tap on my shoulder with a glare in his eyes.

I told you before that I never wanted to read any prescribed books. Books of a foreign language were even more disappointing. It was like moving away from all the creative tales of my world. It is not like I read those tales in my own language always. I used to try reading them in other voices too, although, I literally enjoyed them in my own mother-tongue.

My husband was into some business I never asked him about. When he first came back to the village to see me that he has to marry me within a month and fly back to Delhi. I believe that I belong to Bengal. This is absurd. I wonder why I never asked anyone about where do we live? Bengal? Orissa? Gujrat? I don't know.

Anyway, within a month, after our first night, we traveled back to Delhi. We reached Delhi at around 7 pm. We took a cab from the airport. It seemed to me at that time that this place is some alien world. I saw many girls in clothes of boys and some girls had a long beard! From there body, they seemed to be masculine. When my husband first pointed out his house to me, it seemed to me like a kingdom of some emperor. There were so many buildings, all so big and huge, standing firm like a mountain in front of my eyes.

After a few minutes, the cab stopped at one of those ma.s.sive buildings. My husband gave me the keys to open the house. I reached the porch only to find that the door was unbarred. I ran back to my husband anxiously and told him that there is a thief in the house. He calmed me down and asked me,

"How were you able to reach the third floor and come back down within ..." he looked at his watch, "not even a complete minute!"

I said, "Means?"

Later he told me that that wasn't his building but of someone else. He said that we will live on rent in this building on the third floor. That meant I was trying to unlock the door which was already open. Also, the person I confused with a thief was the landlady of the building. He laughed at this incident and put it off, but I was miserable, embarra.s.sed, and frightened like h.e.l.l after this. I almost called Peter Pan every night to take me away with him.

I just realized that you must be thinking that why I'm addressing my husband in the past tense and what happened to my ploy?
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Well, I did execute my ploy but after two years and also, now I'm dead. My husband died on the night when I was trying to contact him through telepathy. I don't remember the date as usual but the time and month. It happened in March 2017 and started around 5 pm. He told me that he is with his girlfriend and will come home by 10 pm. He also asked me to complete my study on Modernism. I replied with an ignorant okay.

I didn't tell him that I was watching on Youtube something related to telepathy instead. I sat down on my favorite spot in his room and clasped my eyes, focusing on him. As I was new in this profession, I wasn't sure that it'll happen or not. I was doing it for fun. After an hour someone banged on the main gate of the house and at the same time the phone ranged. I rushed towards the door first. There was no one. A little s.h.i.+vered, hastily yet steadily I closed the door and picked up the phone.

My husband said that he was a bit worried about me and coming home soon. He sounded drunk. Anyway, immediately, the doorbell rang again; it was the son of the landlord. He wanted something flowery, I can't recall what exactly. After disconnecting the call, an hour ago, my husband came back home. I started laughing as soon as he entered. He looked like a tomato. He immediately made it redder. I started asking him how was he doing so? Instead of answering me, he began to question me. My heart started banging on the door behind me. He was angry. I never saw him turning to a tomato when he glared. He mistook the son of the landlord as someone I dreamed of at night and played with; Peter Pan.

He started pouring out all his true intentions at that point and time in an uncontrollable rage. I tried to calm him down. When he didn't seem to hear me, I thought to try telepathic way. He saw me doing so and was even more angered. He held me by my pony and screamed,

"Aren't you listening to what I'm asking you? You s.l.u.t!"

As a reflex and in pain, I unconsciously uttered, "I will shoot you off the cliff, b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

When he left my hair, I screamed, "You got no right to treat me like that!"

He gave me an angry glare again. He remained silent for some time. He went to the other room and came back with a gun in his hand. Something absurd happened afterward when instead of killing me, he killed himself. Gunfire backfired him as it exploded in his hand. There was gunfire outside the house in the next few hours. Later, I was told, I just heard those shoots in my head.

My vision was blurred when this happened and remained so till his cremation. I saw a plant stems lurking at the corner of his hand. The red colored gloves suited his palms. When he died, he slept on the bed looking at me. I closed his eyes with my blurred vision. "I know you are tired. It's good you are resting", I said to myself.

I was just able to cover him with the blanket he brought a month before.

Then I walked out of the room and went to sleep in my room.

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