I don't own Provoked. Copyright goes to Raj Film Productions and Eros International.
I'm back, you guys. And I wrote a new fanfiction.
I know the real Kiranjit Ahluwalia wrote an autobiography about her life with her abusive husband and after she killed him, but after watching the movie Provoked starring Aishwarya Rai, I wanted to write a fanfic based on the movie version of Kiranjit.
Hope you enjoy it. Please watch the movie if you haven't seen it.
Retaliation
Monday, May 8, 1989
It was quiet in the house. The kids were fast asleep as they had eaten their dinner and finished their homework. Deepak was supposed to be home from work, but he was probably out with other women or hanging out with his friends from work. I wasted no time thinking about what he was doing or what he was going to do to me when he sees me and focused on my work. I was ironing his uniform shirt and then I heard the door open and close. Finally, he comes home, I thought. I prayed that he wouldn't see me as I was ironing and left me alone, but he came inside the living room. I kept on ironing as he was staring at me, feeling him breathing at me.
"I went to the bank today," he said to me. Maybe that explained why he was late. "Where's the money, Kiran?" I ignored his question as I kept ironing. I used some of the money from his bank account to spend on food and for our sons. "Tell me what you did with it," he demanded.
I didn't want to anger him, so I decided to answer him. "I spent it," I spoke in English. My English may not have been good, but I managed to learn some here and there and even by my own sons.
"That money was mine, you bitch. You had no right." I heard the tone in his words and as he called me "bitch", I decided to stand up against him. I stopped ironing, not caring that the iron would burn his blue shirt and looked at him.
"I spent it," I repeated, this time in Punjabi, my mother language. "Food. For your sons." I spoke in English. Deepak just looked at me without saying a word. It was like he understood my reason, but he looked at me with the same look he always gives me. "You would have blown it on your white whores," I spoke in Punjabi again.
Deepak looked at the clothing iron which was burning the ironing board, steam coming out rapidly. What was he planning to do? In an instant, Deepak grabbed my hair and the clothing iron and put it inches near my face. I whimpered and gasped, praying that he wouldn't put the iron on my face. I tried to make him let go of my hair, but he was strong.
"What if I fucked up that pretty face I was so proud of?" he threatened. "Then you're done." I tried to get as far away from the clothing iron, but Deepak kept on taunting me with it. "This is my house, it's my money! If I want to spend it on other women, I will." I prayed that Deepak would let go of me, but he didn't. "If I want to poke out those pretty eyes, I'll do that too." My eyes opened widely at the thought of him poking my eyes with the clothing iron. I just glared at him defiantly, not wanting to be near him.
"Who's gonna stop me?" he asked tauntingly like a little kid who did something bad and devious at school. "Hmm?" He almost put the iron near my face as a taunt, and I whimpered. "You?" He paused for a few seconds, and threw me at the couch, knocking the ironing board off the floor. I landed on the cushion safely. I turned around wondering if he was going to do something dangerous and harmful to me again, but he didn't. He dropped the clothing iron.
"You're a woman," he said to me. "You're nothing! You're a cunt. Less than nothing." At every insult he called me, I felt more and more disgusted and upset. He then left the room.
I managed to let out a quiet sob after he left. He had no remorse over what he had done or anything he had ever done to me. All these ten years of abuse had left me to think that enough is enough. No woman should ever have to endure such abuse for such a long time. I was thinking about killing him in his sleep, but how?
Tuesday, May 9, 1989
All the lights were off, and everybody was asleep, except for me. I went downstairs, being quiet and careful not to make a sound. It was very late at night and I managed to find some matches in the kitchen. I ignited one match and lit a candle that was near the small clock and a little golden elephant figurine on a shelf on top of the fireplace. I took the candle and went to the garage. I looked around and saw some substances like caustic soda and petrol. I remembered that these substances mixed together creates Napalm oil and it can stick to the flesh when ignited on someone.
I poured some caustic soda in a big yellow cup and then poured the petrol, mixing the two. I put the ingredients back, took the candle and yellow cup, and proceeded to go upstairs. As I went through the living room and reached the staircase, my mind was boggling with all the moments of when Deepak abused me. From the first time he slapped me in the kitchen because he thought I was flirting with his friend to the moment when he threatened to burn my face with the clothing iron. I walked up the stairs, the same stairs that I slipped on when Deepak pushed me while pregnant with his second born, Rajeev.
I reached the top stairs and went to my room to see my husband asleep, drool slithering out of his mouth and on the pillow. He was still wearing his work uniform. This was the same bed that I shared with that monster of a husband. It was also the same bed he raped me on when he was drunk one rainy night. I open the door a little bit, not creaking this time. I silently walked over to the end of the bed, watching him sleep and making sure he didn't wake up.
I wanted him to suffer the way I suffered for ten years under his abusive hands. I wanted him to experience the pain I had. I poured on his feet so that he doesn't try to chase me and beat me, like he always did. I poured until he woke up. He kicked the cup out of my hand, but the candle landed on his feet burning the bed and himself. Huge flames ignited, and he gave out a bloodcurdling scream. I was shocked and scared to see him like this. There was no going back.
I ran out of the room and rushed over to my sons' room. I could still hear Deepak screaming and see him going downstairs, flames igniting everything he touched. "Sandeep! Rajeev! Wake up!" I shouted to my sons.
"What's going on?" Sandeep asked sleepily. The boys then heard their father screaming and smelled smoke. "Is there a fire?"
"Hurry! Come with me! Don't ask questions!" I shouted in Punjabi. I picked up Rajeev and Sandeep. I shielded them away from the fire and went downstairs, avoiding the flames. I then reached the last stair and ran to the backyard. I put Sandeep down and we sat on the small steps. I still held Rajeev who was asleep from all that had happened.
I was in such a comatose stage at what had happened, I barely heard Deepak screaming and the firetruck horn blaring. Police sirens and people's chatter filled the air. I just sat there staring at open space. I saw Sandeep sleeping next to me as the flames were being extinguished. Everything was a blur for me, but I knew that we were free from Deepak. He could hurt us no longer.
"Madame, are you alright?" I heard a man's voice call out to me from the backyard door. I didn't respond nor look at the man. "Madame, are you and your children alright?" The man then left and went inside the house, possibly to the front door. For a minute, the man came back with another man. "There she is, sitting down. She hasn't said anything nor moved."
I kept on rocking my youngest son, not wanting to see anyone nor the mess I made. "Madame?" I heard another man's voice. He sounded young. "Are you alright?" I didn't answer. "I'm Constable O'Connor." He was a police officer, and he noticed I was too shocked to say anything. "Madame?" He touched my shoulder, and I didn't do anything to make him let go of me. Shock got the best of me. "We need to get her to a hospital!" He shouted at some men who were inside my home.