Portrait of a murderess

Gouri Sen

SHE came and stood in front of my husband, apparently without a care in the world. Tall and dark, she had a flower thrust in her abundant hair. Her large brown eyes moved restlessly everywhere. All that she wore was a short red sari, which left exposed most of her trim figure and beautiful long legs. If she had been a mannequin, she would have carried off anything with elegance. But she was not. She was a murderess. She had just killed her husband.

Yet, her face was calm and composed. She seemed self-possessed and held herself superbly. When she spoke, there was not an iota of remorse or repentance in her voice. It looked as though she was completely oblivious of the enormity of her crime, or even if she understood its significance, she just couldn’t care less. I marvelled at her posture of indifference as I watched her from an inside room of the inspection bungalow.

When questioned closely, she answered almost casually. She never tried to defend herself. She admitted that only she was to blame. The daughter of the village mukhia, she was married a year ago. She had brought a good dowry and her in-laws were happy with her.

No, her husband did not ill-treat her. He was rather kind to her. Whenever he went to the village haat, he brought glass bangles and bindis for her. Was she given too much work? Did she go hungry?

She said she was not put to hard work. Her husband was a prosperous farmer. There was always enough to eat. Then why? Why in the name of heavens did she kill him? When she answered, it was quite calmly, as though killing one’s husband was the most natural thing in the world. She said he was not handsome enough!

I was shocked. My husband was stunned into silence. During all his years as a police officer, he had never encountered such a flimsy motive for taking a life. Recovering himself, he asked her whether she knew what the punishment for such a crime was. For a moment, she stood motionless and turned deathly white.

With bated breath, I awaited her answer. My only hope was her plea of ignorance, but that was not to be. Without batting an eyelid, she looked straight into his eyes and answered: ‘yes’.

But then, she was a simple tribal girl who did not lie. She could not have been more than 20.

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