I am Sari and I am burning. To prepare the way into Paradise for my husband. Just like that new religion in which one man dies for our sins. Like the blood of one man will be able to atone for my sins. Or his sins. Or our sins. I don’t believe it works like that. I laugh at all the people who looked up to him. They didn’t know who he really was. That snake that enticed me with his wealth and withheld the wealth I so craved. Or the abusive beast that beat me every time I refused him. Or the prejudiced man who refused help to his own parents just because they converted to the new religion. The man who burned my children with hot coals for murmuring one of the hymns of the new religion. I could go on and on.

I killed him. He did not deserve to live. I was tired of his slimy attitude.

Because of that, I have asked to be burnt upside down. This story goes on till my brain is consumed by the flames, which will be soon. I love the pain of the flames and the smell of my hair burning. I do not feel any pain, because the pain of fire is nothing compared to the pain of losing three pregnancies consecutively, being violated over and over and being treated like a common servant in my husband’s house. It doesn’t compare to the pain of seeing your husband be unfaithful to you before your very eyes. No, the pain of the fire is like a warm caress, the warmth I never felt from him. It feels surreal.

As the flames consume me, I laugh because I have defeated them all. Their ritual did not succeed in stopping me from killing him. I shall go to prepare his way for a life of eternal misery in “paradise”.


This story was inspired by an article on the ancient Indian practice of self-immolation that I read on Wikipedia. I hope everyone’s enjoying the season.