Vyanjana.

Saturday, 7PM!

My name is Sadie.
Sounds weird? Make it just S, in that case.
Or P or M. Call me anything, anything that suits your fancy. It doesn’t matter –not for this story, i'm only the narrator. A simple one at that. And yes, the killer.

On second thoughts I believe you should call me sin, because I’m a manifestation of that. Better still; call me a “sinner”. The bible says all sin is pardonable, if you own it up and make necessary amends that is. For instance, murder is. So, I will be forgiven when lord takes me up there.

But I’m not god and I don’t forgive.

Not Maria. Not one who gives up on the virtues one owes to breathe. Not one who willingly relinquishes promises made to God and self! Imagine giving up on the oath for altruism and renunciation; for greed, materialism and lust.

Never; don’t know about Christ, I won’t pardon that. Cant!

So I’ve decided to kill her. Can’t believe iam saying this, rather even thinking of these lines. But it is the truth-I the compassionate, forgiving, ever smiling ‘sister’, of the Novino church will grant no mercy to her best friend and nun who has shamed the shame. How can i?

I’ve known her for decades now, from the time of her birth to be precise. She was blessed with a torturous childhood that enlightened her, one that taught her how trite seeking wealth and craving for power is-how all relationships and show of affection is just a big farce. And by the time she was a 15 she knew what she wanted, to seek god-to lead an ascetic life. To bring smile & sense to those who suffer from penury; of money and thoughts. But now she has broken her vows of chastity, of discipline and stooped to ugly-that which can’t be pardoned at any cost.

But murder isn’t an easy game. It asks for a lot of thought, a lot of courage and of course forgoing compassion and love for a woman I love the most. I’ve been there with her throughout, listening, suggesting, arguing and deciding on the most important matters of her life.

The first day she met him, I warned her. Warned her of the attraction that shone bright in her right eye, the demure smile that spread across her face all day long, the lustrous manner in which she immersed her toes and feet in the hot water bucket. I sensed it right then, she wouldn’t accept.

Laughed it off, reminding me how she has lived a life of renunciation all these years and that she isn’t a teenaged school girl to let him sweet talk her to his heart. “I’m a nun, for god’s sake” she yelled. “He is a victim of heartbreak, his wife deserted him”, she explained. It did not seem right to me, for her to give solace to an appallingly handsome young man.

They met, day after day. First in the church courtyard sitting under the banyan tree-smiling, seeing, speaking. Then they met in the convent canteen-sitting in chairs close to each other, laughing, talking, admiring. Then of course they graduated to the city park-silent, gazing, loving.

I advised her, patiently; reminding her of those vows-her virtues-her path. Then resorted to ridiculing her absurd shameful behavior and explained what a disgrace she would bring to the church. I yelled, shrieked, shouted. She wouldn’t budge; she was lost in trance-forgetting her self, her values, and her purpose of life.

I continued to cherish the hope of her revival; believed Christ would hammer some sense into her. But no, she had resolved. To elope. And then I resolved, to kill. She doesn’t deserve the gift of life. No human that gives up on their principles do, surely not a chaste nun.

It was Saturday evening, the last evening before she elopes. One last time she had to go there. To the top floor, kneel down to Christ and ask for forgivness.And that is where I was, agile and waiting.

She stood there on the terrace; starring at the sky, wondering if the dark clouds would rain or just pass. Wondering if she would ever return here. Thinking about her past-guily, blissful, scared, confused and sure. Sure she wanted a man more than an austere saintly living. And she opened her palm, extended her puny fingers and touched the drizzles. Last time ever. I pushed her.

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Sunday 7AM!

A - Atrocious, yet another suicide. Isn’t she from the church too, don’t you know her?

B - Yep I do, it is the sister Maria. She jumped off from the 10th floor last night.

A - That is shocking! A nun committing suicide?!!

B -Don’t know what to think about this. I must tell you that she was acting very weird, lately.

A-Like?

B- We all knew something had gone wrong with her, we doubted if she was going insane. She started calling herself by a different name-Sadie or something. She said she is not living a righteous life. Hallucinations, we thought.

A-You mean insane to the extent that she forgot her own name?

B- Something of that sort. The other day she sat alone under the banyan tree behind the church all night and had loud conversations with someone. But there wasn’t anyone there, really.

A-Didn’t you ask her whom she was talking to?

B-We did and she blabbered. She claimed that she was talking to Maria, a friend who is now very upset with her and that it was her duty to convince her on her motives.

A-Oh god,this seems crazy.Motives, did you say?what motives?

B-Oh yeah, there was a man.

A-Get the picture. Actually, I don’t. Did you just say that Maria was seeing a man? A nun?

D-I’m not sure if she was seeing him, don’t want to comment on it.

I-None of this makes any sense to me.

D- Not to me, either!

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Vyanjana ( A rhetorical suggestion)