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This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 10; the tenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

The Temple Widow

A narrow dirt path, generously peppered with tiny pebbles, tiny miniatures of their gargantuan ancestors, leads to a bridge. It hangs, rickety and old. Old but not well used, old like abandoned and not frequently used. The bridge hangs low over a small stream that slowly gurgles past, happy unlike those that visit the place.

The bridge leads to a temple. It is not very big, only perhaps the size of a small hut and at the most the size of an average temple hall. The temple has no deity; the temple has no one corner that doesn’t look like the other. It is clean, well swept, and empty. It has no furniture, and excepting a series of well spaced out windows, the walls remains uninterrupted.

She stumbles in, the lady. She is not very tall; the ten foot door greets her mid way. Her face is a pale, marred with bruises and leaf cuts over her face that show like rain drops on the window of a moving vehicle. Her hair, a silvery black medley of fading youth is in disarray, playing house to numerous twigs and dead leaves.

However, she feels free. It is as though all the worry that she had on her way there seeped out of her through the windows into the surrounding hills, echoed their way out as sounds do, dissipating into nothing.

“Is that all they are, my worries? Nothing?” she wonders as she looks around this temple that she was brought to. She had started out early that morning, under the guise of jogging; she let herself be lead through her neighborhood listening to some voice that sounded a lot to her, like her heart. She liked to believe in the scientific, and therefore later convinced herself that it was an instinctive decision that she had made when she turned towards the forest, as opposed to turning the other way round toward civilization.

She called herself mad many a time, along the long trek that she took, randomly walking along the forest, not marking any trees, not leaving a trail nor breadcrumbs, not leaving any sign of her whereabouts. She thought of the possible consequences of getting lost many times over, but she found herself unable to turn back, to give up the one chance that she had to break free.

One thing that she never had done was to doubt herself. It never occurred to her, the thought of being in the wrong. She knew that she was doing the right thing. Where ever it was that she was going to it was away from the man that she had once loved and cherished. The one that had promised to protect her from all the harm the world could churn out; except, it seemed to her, the harm that he undid on to her.

She never faulted him; strangely enough she thought that…that it would end. They were going through a rough patch of time, and she got over it by crying. And he couldn’t cry, that is what society did to men. It made it socially unacceptable for them to show they cared, show their distress. So he had taken it out on her.

And soon the rough patch that they were going through expanded horizontally, growing linearly into years, and years and now, with but a few years left of what one would call life; at an age when companionship was meant to mean the most, and the number of old people that they knew reduced dramatically with each passing day, she sought life in the outside.

When she had realized that perhaps it was second nature to her husband to be mean and to be awful as he were, she grew numb. She no longer justified his actions or her own in activeness. She had become numb, try as hard did her friends, her relatives, her own mother, to pinch her out of it, it did not work. It fell on deaf years and a dead heart.

She never did express the sense of betrayal that she felt, the loss of love, hope and. Her one fundamental significant piece of land had refused to flower; her seeds had not grown to anything but rotten sprouts and she had gotten sick of shoveling out the dead and replanting.

You couldn’t make things grow depriving them of what they need. Neither could you make someone love you the way you want them to.


The Fool said…
The temple was a nice metaphor for the woman's state of mind. the woman has become detached and devoid of emotions like the temple without a have done a good job giving form to something abstract such as a state of mind.
Nethra said…
I guess it happens with lotsa women. They wait for their husband to love them and they keep waiting. It never happens and when they want to escape from it , it would be already too late.
Nice post! :)
Leo said…
yes.. very true sort of post i think.. when no love, the heart feels detached.. good narration! :)


All the for BATOM!
Guria said…
Very interestingly done! As for the use of her surroundings to describe her state of mind and heart cinched it. Good one!
Vibhuti B said…
Wow, Saro this piece is yet another fanastic piece from your kitty. You've never failed to amaze me..Gr8 job girl!
Only need to mention I noticed an incomplete sentence..
'She never did express the sense of betrayal that she felt, the loss of love, hope and.'
Was that you intentionally experimenting or just a typo error?
Dhiman said…
Beautifully written tale about the state of lots of women around.... and true you cannot make someone love ... very nice...
interesting... loved the flow...
BTW I noticed this is the first post I've read which does not have the title word in it...
Nicely written. An interesting post. Liked it, overall! All the best for BATOM!

PS: Visit
Gyanban said…
First time here, poignant story,well captured thoughts.
Sureindran said…
You have done a great job with this temple without a deity. Well done!

Sureindran R. - Escape
Rajlakshmi said…
the last line says it all... totally loved it...
beautiful story... well narrated...
Saro said…
The Fool: Thank you. It was intended that the woman would basically come to terms with her conditions by re-looking at the way her life is, and hopefully now, do something to fix her life. Hence by running away from her life, come to terms with it.

Nethra: Yes, they patiently wait and waste their lives. I think the same is true of men too, sometimes. And they're driven into staying in their unhappy marriages by everyone else around them.

Leo, Raj, Suren, Gyan, Guria, Dhims, Surabh- Thank you!

Vibs: Thank you for pointing out the typo! Will fix it right now. Also, thanks for visiting and the encouragement too :)
Mahesh Kalaal said…
a complete different perspective on escape..... happening and interesting
pawan said…
I loved the narration in the start, it was like a kid narrating a story, you know minus the frills and all. Loved the basic premise of the story and the theme of the story is brought out well. In the end, it a good piece of fiction!
All the best for Blog a ton!

Cheers lady!
You couldn’t make things grow depriving them of what they need..

ultimate. post. and yes what a perfect ending...too good...:D
Chatterbox said…
Brilliant work :)
Loved the deep thought and wonderful execution of the plot :D :D

Keep up the fantastic work :)

I'd like to drop by your wonderful blog often :)

Waiting can never be an option, when you don't see any hope or positives coming your way. I don't think this is about any man or woman, this is about all of us, apparently !

Your post made me think about few things :)

in love with me and life..escape !
Psych Babbler said…
I loved the images you evoked with your words. Nicely done...

Good luck with BAT!
Anonymous said…
Saro, the last line is a lovely creation. am really impressed with the way you express emotions in writing..
keep up the good work.
Murali said…
Nice narration. I was totally confused after reading the post, and waiting for some bogeyman or alion to pounce on the woman :P

such captivating narration that thoough with only partial understanding of your story, I was still engrossed!

On another note, I got the gist of the story only after reading a few comments :), very well expressed indeed

I also have some new for you, I am now blogging at :) My own self-hosted blog :D
Nice portrayal. One word to describe this, flawless. Good luck!
Karthik said…
Such a morose story.
Though I've not seen or experienced such a thing in reality, I could imagine what it takes to lead such a life. Pity some women and men have to go through their lives like this. There certainly is no escape.
Loved the narration.
All the best!
Mehak said…
a touching and interesting story...
Vipul Grover said…
Hey, Saro.. frst of all luvd the biiiiiiiiiiiiiig blog-a-ton badge u hav here :)
nd scnd, cuming 2 the post, a vry nice read.. thr r many women living sch lives nd well ur protagonist decided to escape frm this quagmire.. narrated nd woven perfectly.. all d best :)
Vikas Khair said…
Very Good Narration keep it up.
Anonymous said…
Just like "time travel", your narration here is too good. Just loved the post. There are lot of women who are like that.
Saro said…
mahesh, pawan, chatter, psych babbler: Thank you all :) Encouragement
is hard to get these days!

sourav: you're right, it's about you and me and the rest of the world

zubair: post more, i miss your posts!

Murali: Yes, I hopped over to your site and I didn't recognize it.
Thought I went to the wrong one! Congrats :)

Vibushan, Vikas- Thank you guys. Nice to know you made it till the end
he he.

Karthik: I think the only way to escape such a life is to
recognise it and make the effor to escape. Denial's like
progressively locking yourself. again and again.

Vipul: Thank you. Btw, blog a ton is like a buffet of ideas,
love what you've initiated!

Evanescent, Sid: Thank you for your continued support. It's priceless :)
Saro said…
Saurabh: that was an interesting observation. Are you an analyst, cz that just slipped past me!
Saro said…
Brilliant post Saro!

It's narrated exceptionally well and stays true to the theme.I felt that it also has many underlying layers to it.And that sort of writing is something that still eludes me.So kudos to you! :D

P.S:I read this one the day it was posted,got around to commenting only now! :)

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