I’ve seen a butterfly burn in fire.

When I was a small child, Mamma and I went to the woods all the time. My main objective would always be to catch as many butterflies as I could. Later, I displayed their dead bodies on my study; looked at them in admiration as I caressed the little textures and wondrous colors of nature, coming into life in the wings of the peculiar insect.

To some extent, I was jealous of them, for they had wings to fly away while I didn’t.

Mamma had a library, where she sat all day trying to decipher every word of the science books that she bought from the bookstore every month. No one noticed me sitting in my study, ever. They didn’t hear the cackling of the flames or the scent of smoke in the air as the wings burnt in all their glory; the colors slowly fading as I dozed off to the magnificent scent of the smoke.

If I could not have their wings, nor would they.

I might sound selfish. I sound selfish to a lot of people. Many have turned themselves away, labelling me as crazy. But what would even be life without my crazy? What is life without the intoxicating flavor of burning flesh, the scent which fills the room when the spark goes on in flames?

Have you ever experienced the drug of death? You may call me crazy- even my own people do. I don’t really care what they think of me, but there is one diamond in my life who’d turn away if by any chance, my darkness was brought to the light. And this time, I would care. So, I always had to act like I was okay. Like I was just a normal human being- hurried, confused. But I’d gotten what I ever could’ve had.

The taste of desire.

I never excelled in academics, nor was I interested in anything else. You know how it goes in Indian households; a girl is just only a burden on her family. The only people she’d known since the time she opened her eyes to the first light of the world are the people who are determined to cast her away. They have to be married off as early as possible, and what their dream was never holds any significance in others’ lives.

Mama’s other daughter, Nimmi, was married off young. I had to watch on, as her world came crumbling down. I could see the fire burn, but for once, I did not relish it. I could’ve saved her life. Maybe, if I tried – well, not that I cared to, anyway.

I never gave her the chance to ruin my life though. She was like an eagle, constantly in the lookout for the slightest implication of smoke. But I was the vulture, and I hid them well. Every piece of flesh or trail of blood was covered up; shrouded as if it never even existed.

But she knew, and I knew that she knew, although she had no means to prove it. The pages of the calendar were turning, and I knew that the closer I remained to her, the stronger was the possibility of my life turning out like my sister’s. For even though she had no proof, she had contacts. She had the power. She had everything that I feared the most.

The plan was set. And it was executed. I eloped with him just one night before her birthday. I can still hear the clatter of the jewels as I rampaged them on my bedroom floor. Then suddenly, something struck me, and I was led into my Mamma’s bedroom by a force quite unknown to me. I looked at her sleeping face, mumbling my name as she breathed out soft silent snores. I couldn’t let her win. I jumped out of the balcony in my wedding lehenga, devoid of any jewelry. The crimson lehenga held onto every fragment of my emotions as I ran. I ran out of her den. I ran out of my conscience.

That was possibly the best birthday gift I’d ever given her since I was born.

But life, even if you have achieved whatever you’ve ever wanted, can get pretty boring sometimes. I never wanted a job. I just needed some pleasure my in life, like the pleasure I used to have. But there was nothing here. Nothing except, sitting around at home doing absolutely nothing. My routine might seem relaxing from afar, but then, the field always seems greener on the other side.

I’d never felt lonely before. But now I was, and it was quite strange. It was not the first time that I was living on my own with a house full of objects both inanimate, and dead. Yet, the seclusion was killing me. The honking of the vehicles, the sound of the marketplace, the gawking of the street hawkers used to dig into my heart like a dagger and I would burn like the butterflies in my own fire, trying in vain to contain myself from seeing their blood on my skin.

Mamma never loved me, so I always had the habit of creating my pleasures since childhood. It had been a long time since a butterfly had entered my trap. Nostalgia hit me like a truck, as the scent from so long ago that I’d almost forgotten how to relish the joy, hit my senses.

So, I created my pleasure again.

"Would killing him avenge my trauma?"

The world seemed to have sucked me into a wide hula-hoop, and for a second, all I saw in front of me was smoke. Dense, thickening smoke with a flavor that made my throat burn in agony. Yet, there was no taste.

I flung my hands around, trying to make out my surroundings as my eyes lay there, a façade behind a curtain of smog. It was then that I touched it, the texture of a wooden surface on the floor; and all of a sudden, the entire universe seemed to call out to my question.

I looked up at the freshly painted ceiling as if my eyes could see through it. They could see the willowy canvas of the night maiden, glittering in sophistication- with clouds of a rich scarlet red color. The sky was a scandalous woman, glorified in her glamour, hiding her scars of terror from the world.

That was when it struck me.

The green-painted walls had seemed quite familiar, but now, as the reddish tinge spread across the entire purple night sky, the faint thread of memory that I have been trying to bury deep inside, seemed to have floated to the surface.

I did not know how I ended up here. Maybe, it was him again. Maybe, tarnishing me once did not give him the utmost pleasure he wished to have had. So now he was back, to take whatever I had regained in these last three months. To take, the subtle amount of joy that our child had given me. No, he was back, just to seep all that away again.

But, when my hands reached down to touch my torso and felt nothing but thick air between my fingers, I had a feeling that perhaps, all was not as it seemed.

Was I not here...or was I? Was I still stuck in the haystack where he had left me that day, burning into my skin like rods of fire? Was I still in there…or was I here, like a glimpse of the past? Only my soul…the body, unturned.

My body crouched down beside a stool- a small infringement of wood, my hands trembling as the smell of a brand-new whiskey hit my nasal system. The man lay on the small bed, one hand hanging down from the quilt as another enamored his face.

Slowly, an uneasiness grabbed me and I felt like running away. The very look of satisfaction on his face seemed to be tightening the knot of terror that he had created, not many days ago. No one believed me then. Yet, I did not know why the astral forces had this sadistic plan to let me burn in agony while he slept in peace. What if he woke up? What if he saw me? Would he run to my body if he saw me? Would he run to my limp figure and destroy what was left of its glory? Would he-?

I had not given any attention to the shiny embossed window at the extreme right of the room. The metal knobs had been shining under the glow of the moonlight streaming from the windowpanes left wide open, but now, they moved, exposing the wooden texture to the colors of the moon.

The darkness filled the room like liquid to the brim, as the window panes flung open, slow music creaking out of its system, echoing through the length of the small room. Someone was holding onto the railings. I could see him. Or it…

The sound of leather, padding against the wooden floor inched closer but drove by my obvious existence as if it could not see me at all.

Was I...invisible to them?

True, I had to read something on the Astral projections for my exams last year but, I never paid much attention to it. The idea of an out-of-body experience seemed dumb. Illogical. Something which went against my morals, and the thorough research I had been conducting to glorify Science over superstitions all my life. No. The Astral Projections were a bogus idea, something that could never happen. Something, among the many things which I thought, could never happen. But one of them had already been crushed a while ago.

I squeezed myself against the furniture, trying my best to take a good look at the form which had come around the corner when I felt something stick to my sides. The spot burned as the fresh paint spilled into the already wounded territory. When I looked at it though, it was gone. Spotless, as if nothing had ever thrust its way inside.

I sat back with a jerk as my body rose in thin air, sprawling my hands to regain my lost balance.

It was a woman.

I could not make out her features as the darkness covered her, but even then, I could feel her lips stretched out into a maniacal smile. She was walking down to the bed where he lay, straight- with no distractions. Through the corner of my eyes, I saw him twist and turn around as her bloodshot eyes remained latched on him, not even blinking for a second. And that was when I caught it.

My eyes quivered as the shine of the broken glass in her hand brightened under the moonlight, covered in a reddish gleam. As if, the cloud of red had gathered at the tip of her weapon, taking in the blood of God knew how many other innocent souls. Her lips had sniveled into a sneer as her eyes shifted close, almost like a snake attacking its prey in the dead of the night.

I was torn into two halves. One half wanted to sit right there, floating in mid-air, and watch the spectacle that would occur in front of me in a second. I would feel myself squawk in joy, in relief, only to be intervened by the muffled sobs of the other side as the picture of the child flashed in front of my eyes.

The child, with his big blue eyes- aquamarine, as he used to call it, now filled to the brim with tears. He did not know the sins his father had committed. He was too small to, and the others would never believe me. They'd already cast me aside when I first reported on him. What if they cast him aside as well? He was only three. He would not be able to survive the pain of abandonment. He did not deserve this. He thought too highly of his dad. But if the man died before the image did, it would only attain utmost immortality.

I could not let him die like this.

It felt as if I was under a trance, as I launched onto the woman, wrenching the weapon from her hand and let it across the room- the echoes of broken glass shuddering from a mile away. Looking into her eyes, I could not help but howl with laughter as a hoarse scream escaped her throat, her bloodshot eyes looking at nothingness in confusion. The man was sitting up on the bed, wide-eyed, his dark hair ruffled and messy. With a look at the woman, he started screaming, but alas, the woman's voice had reached the ceiling by then. With a click of a finger, I stripped her cloth, making it look like it had been ripped apart by a strong man.

It was ten minutes till the police arrived. Ten minutes, and yet it seemed like an hour.

The constables had put the metal over his wrists, dragging him over as she was pulled and comforted as if she was the victim. A small piece of the broken glass had remained, but it was his hand that held it when the police came in. It was his rough, patchy wrist, that had once groped my neck, and tarnished my skin; that was now inside two handsome metal-rimmed handcuffs.

The woman was shaking on the floor, and for once, it was not an act. Before the police arrived, she had felt an unearthly intrusion of air in her auditory passage.

"Do, as told."

I woke up to the sound of a fire alarm but knew it had to be a drill. The apartment which I'd rented with Ben kept doing these drills from time to time, but no one really cared to join nowadays.

My hand wiped off a patch of sweat from my forehead as small bits and pieces from my dream recoiled back to me.

"Mama?"

My lips stretched into a smile as the small figure came bobbing up to my form. I ruffled his dark satin hair, much like his father's, as he tried to engulf me in a hug, holding only my legs as tightly as he could.

"What is it, sweetheart?" I said softly, but he only drove his face deeper into my stomach.

And that was when my eyes fell on the light of the television. Someone had turned on the news channel, and on it, flashing in bold letters were the words:

'Serial killer psychopath arrested. Caught in an attempt to rape and murder a woman. Woman safe, and in therapy.'

I could not resist staring at his face- at his submissive eyes, looking straight into the camera, for something he knew he had not done, but something even he knew, he deserved.

"Da-dad..." came the words from the small lips attached to my body. I held his hands in mine, rubbing them - as if rubbing them would reduce the pain that oscillated inside his tiny heart.

My eyes strayed to the door. In an hour or so, the police would be here. I will have to give a thousand interviews, perhaps millions. I would be labeled as the wife of a murderer.

I would be believed as a victim.

As the light of the cameras bore into my skin, my mind drifted away to that night. It was not a dream. Most certainly, the killer laughed behind walls but right now, that was not my responsibility. Ben had dozed off in the living room, his cheeks soaked with tears. Calls, upon calls, had come and been received. When they released their astonishment at him going on a killing spree right before he was going to get his promotion, I smirked. I could not help it. If they looked through the case, they would see it. But they could…never catch me.

The Astral Projections had seen to that.

I laughed as I placed the full stop to my entry, then set it on fire.

They would never know.

As I looked out of the window sill to imbue the mesmerizing soft solid drizzling vividly from the scarlett coloured sky,  I found the dense droplets of water vapour staring back at me instead. This year...there was going to be no sign of snow in the country. Or so I've heard.

Frozen 2 had just hit the theatres on 22nd November... but there was still no sign of winter in India.

As my head rested on the violet cushion that Mumma had gifted to me for an early Christmas present, my eyes tentatively went back to the scene outside the window. Last year there had been a cluster of boys runnings about in the field, clearing up the snow. This year, it was just the smog. 

I remember riding  up to my uncle's house on the 25th of each and every December . The date held a special significance for us - not only because it was Christmas , but also because it was their anniversary date. I used to order the roasted turkey early in the morning - and in the evening, when aunty would start getting worried about the lunch, a big fat turkey would appear magically on the table. They were all habituated on this trick of mine- but still they went into fits of laughter . We had to stop those gatherings after uncle's car accident. The old man was crossing the road when a huge truck appeared out of nowhere in front of him. When questioned, the truck driver said that he could not see a single particle in the fog. My uncle died on the second day. They said it was extensive blood loss. I said ... It was the smog.  

I could paint those colours  in the sky- those crimson yellow shades with a touch of  scarlett. I could paint them in my canvas -replicate them exactly to the point. But the problem was that I had finished my grey paint.

Without that, how could I replicate the atmosphere outside??

  Mumma called for me this morning. Formerly, she had laughed at the idea of watching Frozen 2 in the theatres. "  Are you still a kid of five ?" she had said.  Maybe yes; along the  years, my height had grown- and so had my maturity. My eyes had now become accustomed to the vast blanket of smoke and water vapour in the sky every morning . You  call it pollution. I call it beauty. Mumma had  taught me to always find out some beauty in the ugliest things in the universe.  It  was the beauty that lay in the fog that mesmerized me now.

But still sometimes- a part of my soul, which was perhaps still immature, would nag  me to go find a part of my childhood winter. Those foggy  mornings with faint droplets of water replicating numerous pearls on the soft lush green grass. Elsa's hand swirling in the air...........Anna singing ' For the first time in forever' .........the ride to my uncle's......Kristoff singing "Reindeers are better than people" to Sven......those droplets of dew touching the surface of the grass.....but now- now it was just the smog....

I was skipping up and down the broken lane. Today....today would be the day....

I could already hear his wonderful musical voice from there. His gentle warm hands, touching my blonde hair , rechristening all those memories that we had left years before. But now, it was time to give them a new name.

My happiness knew no bounds , when I found out his address from Sarah. Tears had welled up my eyes, as I thanked her profusely and set out to surprise him. I could already see his blue eyes gaping at me in wonder and excitement.

Today I  would tell what I could not tell five years earlier.

My heart began fluttering when I reached the iron gate of his house. The moment...the moment....

Trring !!Trring!!!

I looked up hopefully to see his awestruck eyes looking at me in wonder and excitement, but saw a sickly looking woman looking down at me curiously.

"What do you want??"

"Can i see Mr. Thomas Pattinson??"

Suddenly a shadow of grief came over her already sickly face as she said ,

"Oh...but I am so sorry to say ...he 's no more madam. Yes....died suddenly ....used to mumble about not able to tell a girl something all his life......"

The sky was streaked with gentle stokes of light blue,  with a few dark shades here and there. The soft white snow  that lay on the leaves of the pine tree, added a majestic charisma to the whole scenery outside the window. The lady sitting on the armchair had barely finished passing the thread through the needle, when the doorbell rang.

" Not now!!!" She said indignantly. "Not when I had finally managed to put it in!! "

Grumbling angrily, she strutted to the door . " Good Morning, Mrs Reddy!!" 

The young lady gave a weak smile on seeing the lad. What was he doing here at this time of the day? "Your uncle is not here right now. He is currently posted in -"

"Pulwama ...in Kashmir. Yes I know Aunty. I just..."

The boy looked troubled,  his brown eyes  fidgeting around a certain point above the lady's head. "...I just wanted to tell you something-"

"Oh yes!!" She whispered cheerfully. " He called me right now .....told me what a beautiful  place Kashmir is. Rajesh has caught a cold by the way...I told him if he could ask his captain to give him leave ....but He was indignant...

.told me  ' Why would  this mere cold of mine stop my Mother from getting protection?' ...and I won't complain either... who is first, oneself or Motherland?? So at present all I have to do is finish this needlework and-"

She turned towards the window , where the sky had turned a faint hue of violet.

"-and wait for his return." She completed with a smile that seemed to slash through the boy's heart like a dagger prepared to kill. 

" I....just wanted to-"

"No sit here now , you've got time, haven't you?" 

"Yes-but-"

"No  buts dear. I know what you're going to tell me."

The boy almost fell off his chair. " What??!!"

"Yes." 

The boy looked at her face for the first time. Slowly, her smile evaporated  in thin air , while the light faded out of her eyes. It seemed as if she was trying to hold herself in....to Not let her true emotions show up before the world.

"He'll be coming today." she said quietly, as a single tear flowed down those rosy cheeks. "They told me....told me I could see him one last time."

"And your son?"

Her eyes pierced into the brown ones, and the lad had a feeling that he was being x-rayed. "Oh yes!" she said , her lips curving slightly to form a small smile. "He ''ll be giving his name for the Indian National Army this December...I... I will be proud of him if he does."

"But, how can you send your son to face the same fate as your-"

"My husband hasn't put down his arm and stayed back at home." she said fiercely, her eyes red. " He has fought....fought for a hero... and for whom? Not for himself...not for his family....He has fought for his Motherland. "

" But you'll have to live as a wido-"

"My dear," she smiled sarcastically. "Staying as the widow of the man who has sacrificed his life for his mother land is definitely better than living with a person who can only sit around at home. And I think...I have made my decision, you are absolutely free to make yours."

As the young  boy turned to leave, he caught a last glimpse of the woman, her tearstained face overcome with pride...

shoning against the backdrop of  the dark hueless  sky. He smiled, as his lips muttered silently,

"Vande  Mataram."