The Red Thread

She soaked her feet in the holy river and rubbed the slippery stones underneath the water with her toes. The sunrays penetrated deep down the waters and the sounds of hymns from the ashrams penetrated deep down her soul at the same time. For quite long, she kept looking at the red thread tied on her wrist. It was moist, losing color but still clutching her wrist tightly within the knots, which the temple priest had tied. Again and again, this thread appeared like her marriage, which had dampened with time and had lost its essence but was still clutching her existence because the society has tied it so tight to her life. For years, she had been living in the empty-shell marriage where she had been mindlessly laboring for the sake of a societal compulsion. 

Exhausted with the weight of her own thoughts, she tried to look elsewhere. A group of people were rowing a boat in the river. They appeared extremely audacious to her at first, for they had dared to venture into the deep waters without any thought for their lives. And here she was, sitting at the shore, apparently to keep her life safe, which was already owed to the service of others’ lives. The bridge which connected two parts of the town together stood witness to thousands of people who traversed the journey from being repentant sinners to spiritual saints. The autumnal breeze shook the pallu of her wet saree and she came out of the deep thoughts…and walked up to the ashram gate, where her family was waiting.

The priest endowed her daughter with his divine blessings, as she was getting married. Everyone sitting at the feet of the priest folded their hands and nodded in awe. After receiving the blessings, the girl looked straight at her mother, who was sitting quietly in the rear row, still lost in her pensive mood. The girl went straight upto her and sat beside her.

The rest of the group starting chanting a hymn in chorus, which the priest was singing from the Bhagwad Gita. The priest was heard saying, “There are no full stops in Hinduism. There are no loose ends. There are only endless threads and knots, which signify the karma, the cycle of birth and death and the scope of improvement, where our accommodating religion gives every sinner a chance to improve and become a saint.”

The girl touched her mother’s wrinkly wrist and broke open the red thread which had left a deep mark there.

“Maa..This thread has bound you for way too long. It has just given scars; it’s time to devote it to the Ganga now.”

She looked at her daughter with disbelief. She knew her daughter has been a silent witness to her unfulfilling marriage all these years, but now, she was asking her to set herself free of responsibilities. For a moment, she realized her daughter has really grown up. She clutched the loosened red thread in her fist and held her daughter’s hand tight. She saw another red thread tied to her daughter’s wrist now.