Love, Death, and Caste

Your body was found in the early hours of the morning, hanging from a tree. Your young, slender, teenage body. A rough hemp rope tight around your neck, digging into your flesh at an angle, leaving a deep, purple mark. Your lips were dark blue, your face purple, tongue a mix of both colors and protruding from your mouth. Your eyes were red and bloodshot. Your hair was done-up in one long, thick, black braid that ended at your ass. Your tan skin was pale as the blood settled in your body. Pooling around your hands and feet, leaving them slightly swollen and red. Your neck was stretched out, unnaturally elongated. Your brown eyes bulged from your head, wide open and bloodshot. Your irises foggy and clouded over as you stared unblinking into nothing. Your green saree with golden yellow trim hugged your body, barely clinging onto you. Your small, dainty, bare feet were just visible from ground level.

The first person to find you was an old farmer. As he saw you hanging from the tree, he mistook you for a ghost or some kind of spirit, and fled in fear back to the village. He sought out a Pandit, and reluctantly dragged him back to the tree where he had seen you. The sight of your body gave the Pandit quite the shock too, before he realized you were no ghost or evil spirit, but a corpse. The police were contacted immediately, and word of you spread through the village like wildfire. The police arrived at the same time as the crowds and had to go about managing them before they could do anything with your body.

Luckily for the police, identifying you was quite easy. In fact, almost everyone in the village knew who you were. You were Shivi Dhobi, a 17 year old dalit girl. Despite your caste being untouchable, your name had become extremely well known in the village in the past few months, as the son of a prominent brahmin family had fallen madly in love with you and begged his parents to let him marry you. Despite the family’s repeated rejections, and their best attempt to keep the whole thing under wraps, gossip in the village is an unstoppable force, and the story got out. Ever since the news broke, you’d been keeping to yourself in your parent’s house, confining yourself to staying indoors. Protecting yourself from prying eyes, but also from those desperate for a taste of what the higher castes desired. Though from the few glimpses of you people were able to see, it was widely agreed you were quite attractive. A slender figure that still had nice hips and a well-sized bust. A full set of straight, white teeth. And skin with only a few minor blemishes. Were you born of a higher caste, you would have had your pick of suitors.

When your mother finally arrived at the scene of the crime, and saw your body dangling from the tree, she nearly fainted. Your aunt, who was accompanying her, did faint. Your mother broke down crying, wailing, sobbing. Between her passionate laments, those assembled could make out the same phrase repeated over and over.

“The Sharmas did it! The Sharmas did it!”

The Sharmas were the brahmin family who’s son, Ramesh, had fallen deeply in love with you. The police, realizing they could have a riot on their hands, put their full effort into dispersing the crowd, ordering everyone home and threatening to arrest anyone who remained. Angrily, and reluctantly, the crowd dispersed. Your mother and family members were taken aside and interrogated by the police as the crime scene was meticulously photographed.

Your mother was the last person who had seen you.