‘Don’t worry about me. You can take over the party as a grieving daughter-in-law. My father would love to have the mother of his grandchild take over the party. You are the touch of drama the family needs. You can take over as the wronged woman. You can be the mother of my child, you can keep my name – if you wish – but your punishment is you cannot have me.’

Upasana reached out to slap him as he grabbed her arm tightly and came very close to her ear, his breath on his cheek, like a lover’s caress.

‘And your atonement is you won’t come after me. If you look too close, I will rip you apart, bit by bit.’

She knew Harsh was a good man but she knew him well enough not to court his vengeance. She knew this time he truly planned to get away and this time he did not want anyone to find him.

‘How did you know?’Upasana asked in a defeated manner.

Harsh just smiled back.

Something was creeping up her back like an ant and then it started annoying her, it became a spider as it crawled over her lungs and she spat it out, her worst niggling suspicion, ‘Is she even dead?’

Harsh in his leather chappals, jeans, a white t-shirt, a mysterious smile – the smell of wood in monsoon, he was out of the door and he was gone. She ran after him, barefoot. ‘Just one last thing. I love you in my own way… I will keep your name. I will have the baby and I hope you feel guilty and rot in hell.’

Upasana turned around – happy that she had the last word. She was still victorious. Her father had taught her time and again that victory was everything. She was going to live and die for it.

She saw her husband sit in the white car and drive out of their home and life.

All she heard was an old woman’s cackle, lonely and bitter. She hung from the ceiling fan, looking down at her. She whispered from there – ‘We won.’

Shivering like an addict denied his dose of heroine, Upasana opened her laptop and uploaded Durga’s video again. She needed to see her burn one more time to breathe again.

The pyre burnt ferociously. The fires reached taller than the deodars in the forest behind. The angry flames were ready to eat her up. A faint smell of that ointment was nauseating. Her hair was wet. Her skin glistened with oil. She wore ornaments and trinkets. She wore a glistening red sari. She was a bride ready to meet her lover. The record button was switched on as the camera shook in Devi’s hand. She was saying goodbye to her mistress. Just Devi and Rajjo, together, alone in the world.