My first short story..."The Sacrifice"

Encouraging Word: Can anything ever separate us from Christ's love? Does it mean he no longer loves us if we have trouble or calamity?.....I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from his love. Romans 8:35, 38 NLT

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I remember staring down at my feet as I circled the flame. "Keep your eyes low," I reminded myself. My hand felt as if it was cuffed to the stranger who held it, as he guided me along. I could feel the bright red cloth that was wrapped around me tug, as the cloth that was tied from his body to mine, pulled me around the circle.
"Keep your eyes low," I told myself again. "You can't let anyone see your tears." I walked around the flame three more times as he chanted a vow for a fruitful union. Then, he stopped and lifted my hand to his forehead as a symbol of his acceptance of me as his wife. I still hesitated to look up and meet my new husband's eyes. Suddenly I felt the arms of my mother around me. I could hear her whispering in my ear. "I'm so proud of you, Rekha beti."

Her words took me back to my childhood. I felt as if I was ten years old again and had just performed in another dance recital, leaving my mother well pleased. As a child, I spent most of my summer days in the home of my dance instructor. My mother had insisted that I go to Mrs. Aswandar's house twice a week for two hours to learn the classical Indian dance, bharatanatyam. As I tried to balance myself gracefully on the edges of my feet and turn my wrists wistfully to the twang of the citar, I imagined myself diving into in the neighborhood pool with all of my friends surrounding me. As soon as Mrs. Aswandar excused me, I would run all the way home, peel off my clothing, which reeked of the scents of masala and cardamom, which lingered from Mrs. Aswandar's cooking, and throw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. "Now I'm back to being an American girl," I thought, as I tied back my long, black hair into a ponytail. Even at such a young age, I could feel the conflict between the two cultures wrestle inside of me. "Rekha, never forget that you are an Indian first," my mother would remind before my dance recitals, as she carefully placed the colorful bindi on the center of my forehead. Yet, being an "Indian first" was something that always seemed inconvenient in my mind. It meant trying to contort my body into impossible positions, waking up at dawn to sit before a scary looking statue that my mother vowed was a deity, and spending my Saturday evenings with my mom and dad, watching films, which required me to read subtitles in order to understand the plot.

As she hugged me, I wiped my cheek against her bright, royal blue and gold sari, and I could see the damp spot left by my tears. She looked at me as she pulled away, and said, "See Rekha, I told you this would be a happy day." I smiled weakly. Finally, I looked up at my new husband. I felt nothing. He was smiling proudly back at me, ushering me through the crowd of family and friends, introducing me to all as his wife. I felt as if I was out of my body, as if I was merely watching another Hindi film with my parents, where the heroine was sacrificing her happiness for that of her family's. But this was not a dream at all. This was my life.

I remembered the days when I had waited impatiently in our sitting room while Dadima studied my astronomy chart. "Grandmother! Please, I have to go, or I'll be late to meet my friends." "Your friends are more important than your future?" she hissed. I tried to explain to her that I was only sixteen and completely unconcerned with who I was going to marry and when. My life had more pressing matters to deal with, like what I would buy from the mall.. "You're a disobedient girl," my grandmother yelled after me. "You will never marry if you keep up this behavior!" I wondered if grandmother was watching me from Heaven now. My mother swore that Dadima's soul was not resting in a place like Heaven. She firmly believed that grandmother had led such a good life, she would probably return to earth in the form of a man the next time around. As I stared at my new husband, I wondered why being a man was such a privileged honor. Although there were so many times that I, myself, had longed to be born a man. My best friend, Anjali would always tell me tales of her older brother. "He gets all the freedom in the world," she whined. It was true. He was able to stay out late and do as he pleased, but his sisters were always to be home early under the careful eye of their parents. Anjali had gotten married two years prior. "Rekha, it's easier to accept your fate than fight it," she advised.

I looked at her now, among the crowd of people that danced around us at the reception, and wondered if she still believed that. She was not dancing, but sitting in a quiet corner with her baby napping on her lap. Her face was dark and sullen. I could not even catch a glimpse of happiness in her eyes. I scanned the crowd of guests to see if her husband had come. Finally I spotted him dancing with a beautiful, younger woman. He looked a bit drunk. Fear came over me, and I could barely breathe. Would this be the fate of my life also? Was this why I had remained obedient to my parents for all these years? Or was this my punishment for not fighting for my wants? I didn't fight because the pressure and the guilt were so strong. When my mother saw my disinterest in marriage, she pleaded with my favorite aunt to talk some sense into me. "Rekha beti, why are you waiting?" My aunt questioned. "Do you not see how much of a burden you are becoming to your mother?"
I wondered why everyone was now classifying me as a "burden." I had gone to school, made good grades, and graduated with honors. These were the things my parents wanted me to do. I had received a good job after college, and I was supporting myself. I didn't depend on them for anything, so how could I be a burden? I certainly didn't request any support from them. I knew that was something they could never give me. When I brought home A's, they asked me why I didn't make higher A's. When I won scholarships, they asked me why I didn't qualify for better scholarships. Nothing was ever good enough, so I found myself striving for more, with out any encouragement from them, only disapproval. Marriage was the one thing I had refused to do in order to please them. I was looking for love. I didn't want to settle for what was right for them this time. "Aunty, I want to find a man who I can actually love." My aunt laughed. "Silly girl!" she exclaimed. "Life is not like those wishy-washy films you watch with your parents. You will be lucky to find a man that will take care of you, and that you can tolerate. Love is not everything." Her words constantly replayed themselves in my mind. Even, as I sat beside my new husband, I could hear her say, "Love is not everything." Was that true?

One by one people began coming towards the stage, where we sat as king and queen of the evening, in order to congratulate us. "What a beautiful wife you have," his friends said, as they gave him a congratulatory slap on his shoulder. "See," my friends assured me. "He seems as if he will be good to you." With all the people around me, I didn't even notice the tall, blonde making his way through the crowd. Suddenly I saw people begin to make a way for the white stranger who was obviously lost or confused. I became panic stricken when I saw Michael, and my chest tightened as he came nearer. He had a look of sadness in his eyes. It was the same look I had seen the day I had broken up with him. I was so cold to him that day. "I can't be with you anymore," I said cruelly. "Love is not everything. I have obligations to my family. I am an Indian first." I know my mother would have been proud of me in that moment. I blindly regurgitated everything that she had instilled in my head from the time I was a child. "How could you say this?" he had asked sadly. "I'm to marry someone else, " I explained. "He will be suitable for me, and fulfill my parent's expectations." "Rekha," he pleaded. "This isn't you. Please think about you are saying. Forget me if you want, but don't marry someone out of obligation. Marry for love. It has been what you have been fighting for." I felt that odd feeling in the pit of my stomach again. I felt the two cultures wrestling inside of me. A part of me wanted to reach out to him and vow that I would never let anyone come between us. Yet, I listened to the other part that reminded me of my aunt and mother's words. I sat watching him, paralyzed with fear, as he introduced himself to my new husband. I fearfully wondered if Michael was telling him of our relationship, but instead, he told him that we were merely co-workers.

He turned to me with a warm smile. "I'm not here to cause a scene," he assured me. "I came here to wish you the best, " he said as he held my hand in his. "I just wanted to say goodbye." I saw the pain in his eyes, and it cut me like a knife. He slowly pulled his hands from mine, and turned away. I turned my head so I wouldn't have to watch him walk away, and as I did, I saw my mother. I saw the joy on her face and the pride in her eyes. "I'm so proud of you, Rekha beti," she mouthed. I turned once again to my new husband, and I knew deep down in my heart, I had done the right thing. I felt my bindi slipping from the center of my forehead because of the sweat beads, which had formed due to my nervousness. I adjusted it carefully, and said to myself, "You are an Indian first, Rekha."

The memories of my wedding day replay themselves often in my mind as colorful scenes from a hindi film. There are some choices an Indian woman must make. I had the choice to live for myself or live for the people who sacrificed everything for me. I decided that the least I could do was sacrifice a few of my own wants in order to finally make them happy. I wasn't the only one who made these sacrifices. My aunt, mother, and even Dadima before them had sacrificed their own desires in order to do the right thing. I guess it was just a part of being and Indian woman. Besides, my aunt was right. There was more to life than love. My husband took care of me, and I could tolerate him. I wasn't exactly happy, but I was content with the fact that my family was pleased, and that for once, they were completely satisfied. I sighed as I sat back in my chair happily and watched my own little girl dance in her recital. "I'm so proud of you, Sonia beti," I mouthed to her as she danced across the stage.