ETERNAL COMPANIONS

Vishambhar's Regret

I never knew she would say that to me... I was flabbergasted to know that she was so outgoing and easy in her confession. I didn’t know such a girl ever existed at that time in our era — one who was showing such outwardness to me even when we met just yesterday.

From that day onwards, she used to follow me everywhere I went. I didn’t know how to respond to her. I was nervous and had never had such an encounter in my life. Sometimes she used to take advantage of her political background and would sit in the military jeep which I used to drive — around which no one was even allowed to roam.

One fine day, we were having lunch at the military campus. I saw Indu coming from the gate. Nobody questioned her, as she was from a reputed rich family.

She came directly to me. I saw many people staring at me. I pretended to be busy taking my lunch from the vessels.

She asked me without any fear or awkwardness, “Can’t you give me any reply? So many days have passed, and there’s not even a hi, hello, nothing! I know you have lots of work, but still, you can give some time to your personal life and at least come to meet the girl who loves you. By the way, when are we going to inform our parents about us?”

She was so loud while speaking that everyone started laughing at her talks. My friends and colleagues began to tease me.

I got very furious. “Listen, Miss! You are accusing and disobeying our military etiquettes. Please go out.”

“No! First, you answer me.” She was determined that she would not move from here unless she got an answer.

She was testing my patience as she wasn’t listening, and my troop members were also addressing her as ‘bhabhi’ (sister-in-law).

“Stop it!” I exclaimed, and everybody went quiet.

“And you — just get out of here! How can you call anybody your lover when I don’t even know you? I don’t have any feelings for you, do you understand? Don’t create an unnecessary buzz that I love you. I can never love a girl like you — who doesn’t have any manners or shame. Did you get it? Now just go!” I yelled, raising my forefinger toward her face. I got violent.

I noticed her two beautiful eyes filled with water and extreme pain as I came out of my frenzied zone. I didn’t want to hurt her — not anyone, in fact. It was for the first time that I was out of control.

She ran out of there, misty-eyed.

I felt very sad for her, but honestly, I didn’t have any feelings for her.

The next day, I was thinking of writing her a sorry note as we officers were going on a leave for about a week or so. I was excited to meet my parents after a whole year.

But I forgot to write to her as I got busy with my packing. I left from there and waited for the bus to arrive. The bus came after a long wait of 45 minutes, and I got in. While traveling, I was constantly thinking about the happiness on my parents’ faces when I would greet them, but I was also concerned for Indu, as I had been very bitter to her the day before.

I reached home. I called out to my parents as I stood in our courtyard. Both came out — they hugged me, my mother kissed my forehead, and we had an emotional moment.

While in the afternoon, my mother was serving food. She noticed a sign of worry on my face and asked, “Since you came here, I’m seeing that you’re worried about something. What is it, son?”

I was refraining from telling them, but at last, I told them about Indu. I didn’t want to hide it, as I rarely got to talk to them.

They were surprised to know that at least some girl loved their introverted son, who barely spoke to anyone in the village.

My mother came at night while I was tossing and turning on my bed. She knew what I was thinking. She sat beside me, grazing her fingers in my hair. I felt her touch and asked why she wasn’t asleep. She replied, “How can I sleep when my son is in worry?”

“Go and say sorry to her, dear,” she said.

“I have to,” I said.

After a few days, my holidays ended, and I was ready to return to duty. My parents were emotional once again as I was leaving.

My mother fed me a spoon of dahi-shakkar (curd-sugar) as a sign of good luck, like she always did, and I bid them adieu.

While on the journey, I was thinking of how to apologize to Indu.

I got down from the bus at the stop and began walking toward the campus. I met all my friends — most were married, and some were bachelors like me.

After a while, I saw Mahendra Sisodia, father of Indu, the minister of the state.

I wondered what he was doing there. Did Indu tell him about me yelling at her? I thought my job was at risk as I had hurt his daughter.

“I want to talk to you, Major Vishambhar Chauhan,” he said in a deep voice.

I went toward him and gave him a salute. “Yes, sir.”

He took me to a private place where no one could hear us. I was nervous.

“Indu is not well, son, since the day you went on leave. She dreams about you every day. She doesn’t eat, she’s locked herself in her room, and doesn’t reply. She is in love with you — are you aware of that?” he spoke softly.

“Yes, sir, I know,” I replied.

“I know love cannot be forced on anyone, but I still request you to come and see Indu once. I feel she’ll be back to normal just by your glance.” He spoke with concern and request in his voice.

Upon his insistence, I agreed to meet Indu. I felt responsible for her condition. I never knew I could be so bad to anyone.

I went to her house and climbed upstairs to her locked room with her father.

I knocked softly first — no response. I knocked harder the second time — still none. I banged the door a third time — no reply.

The fourth time — “Open the door, Indu!” I screamed. In no time, as she heard me, she unlocked the door. I stood still, seeing her dehydrated and dull face — I had always seen her fresh and happy.

She hugged me without giving me a chance to react or say anything further.

I was highly embarrassed by her move.

Everyone in her house was happy seeing their daughter cheerful again. I separated myself from her hug.

“I’m sorry that I was so irritating to you. I promise I’ll never be this way again,” she said, crying.

Her mother brought her food, which Indu hadn’t eaten for many days. All the family members began talking to her, caressing her, while her father took me aside and told me he had informed my parents to come.

I was shocked again. “Why, sir?” I asked, anxious.

“I want to talk to them,” he replied.

After a few days, my parents came. I was called to the minister’s house soon. I was happy to see them but also curious to know the reason.

“Maa, Baba,” I bent down and touched their feet.

“We met Indu, son. She’s very, very pretty,” my parents said, sounding happy.

“What’s with you people meeting her?” I asked as I saw Indu blushing, looking at me.

“It’s about your marriage, dear.” I felt uneasy standing there. Why did I always get such unwanted surprises?

“I don’t want to get married to her. I mean, she’s a nice girl, but still — I don’t love her, and maybe this isn’t the right time,” I said straight to the point.

“Mahendra Sahab is building a good house for us in our village so that we won’t feel inconvenient staying in a small house,” my parents informed me.

Again, a great shock.

“Why are you doing this, sir? I don’t need all this. Please don’t start the give-and-take system because I’m not ready to marry your daughter,” I said straightforwardly.

“No, no, son, it’s not because of that. It’s Indu’s wish to build a good house for your parents. But if you don’t want that, there’s no pressure. It’s okay. It has nothing to do with marriage,” he explained.

Indu came forward.

“I think your parents are like my parents, Vishambhar. If my parents were living uncomfortably, I wouldn’t like it either. I have money, and I can make it better for them to live — then why not?” She got emotional.

I didn’t utter a word after seeing my parents’ faces — sadness was visible due to poverty. My mother had made so many efforts to raise me; my father had spent sleepless nights working on the farm. Even if I was earning well, I still couldn’t give them a better life for at least 10 to 15 years, while Mahendra Sir was capable of doing that. These thoughts were never-ending in my mind.

“I’m ready to get married to Indu.” My answer was quick.

Indu’s cheeks turned red again. Everyone, including my parents, cherished the moment when I said yes. The marriage preparations began. We got married in Jammu and Kashmir itself. It was not a grand wedding but a simple and elegant one.

On my wedding day, our colonel asked me, “You don’t love that girl, right? Then why are you marrying her?”

“For my parents,” I said.

Yes, it was true that she was a good girl with an extroverted nature, but I didn’t love her — not even then. For me, this marriage was a sacrifice for my parents. But one thing I could confirm — I would take care of her and be loyal to her forever.

I told this to Indu many times after marriage, and she’d always be heartbroken but dealt with it gracefully. She got all the parental love from my parents, who were very fond of her, and she took great care of them whenever I went on duty for over a year.

My parents were expecting a grandchild as two years passed after our marriage. I was ready to fulfill their one more wish.

After a few months, when I wrote to my family from the campus, I received their reply mentioning that Indu was pregnant.

Yes, I was happy. It pleased me to know that I was going to be a father now.

Actually, I had started liking Indu — the way she behaved with my parents, how she was comfortable living in a village even though she was from such a rich family — it made me fall in love with her beautiful nature. She even preferred to stay in Purakhpur with my parents to take care of them. She could have easily come with me, but didn’t — serving my parents like a good, cultured daughter-in-law.

Months passed...

It was the ninth month of Indu’s pregnancy. I decided to be by her side this time and took a 15-day leave.

While traveling, I decided that I would meet her first and confess my feelings — tell her that I love her. I knew she would jump in joy, as she always wanted me to love her in return.

I got down at the Purakhpur bus stop.

I was excited to tell her. I was never so fascinated by my own emotions. I just wanted to tell her how much I’d fallen in love with her.

I started running from the bus stop directly to my house to greet her. I couldn’t wait. I kept telling myself this while running.

Finally, I reached the courtyard.

I was shocked...

Why were so many people standing outside my house? I asked some of them what the matter was before I entered.

I had shivers all over my body as I stepped inside. I whined, “No...!”

I saw Indu lying unconscious, not responding.

I looked at my parents — they were sobbing badly.

“What has happened to you, Indu?” I wept and kept weeping continuously.

I couldn’t believe she was dead.

I was broken. I wanted to yell at God for snatching her from me.

I wasn’t in my senses and didn’t even go to say a final goodbye. I was depressed. My tears wouldn’t stop.

My parents decided not to bother me until they came back from the graveyard. I preferred to stay at home. I couldn’t move — my whole body felt hot.

When they returned, they said, “We want to tell you something, son.”

“Yes, Maa?”

“We took Indu to the clinic this morning after she felt severe pain in her stomach. We thought she was going into labor, so we hurried to take her with the neighbors. She was in critical condition. The doctor came out and said there was a lot of internal bleeding in the womb. She was weak, and they could either save the child or the mother.”

“It was a sad fact to hear this — we wanted them both,” my parents sobbed.

“But within a second, we replied — please save our daughter-in-law. We can get many grandchildren after this, but a daughter-in-law like her we will never get again. Please save her, we pleaded.”

After some time, the doctor came out and gave the child into their hands.

I was glad to know I had a child; my sorrow eased a bit.

They continued,

“We were joyous to take the newborn son in our hands, but quickly we remembered Indu.

‘How’s Indu, doctor?’ we asked.”

“She’s about to die and breathing her last.”

“But why, doctor? We told you to save our daughter, didn’t we? Then why did you do this?” we asked, weeping.

“She wants to talk to you,” said the doctor.

We went inside.

‘Maa, Baba...’ we could feel her low voice.

“Don’t worry. I told the doctor to save our child. It’s not his fault,” she said faintly.

“Why did you do this, dear? We wanted you and the child,” we wept.

“I did this for you all — for Vishambhar. You wanted a grandchild. I know how much you dreamt of it every day. I can’t take this happiness away from you. See, I fulfilled your wish, Maa.”

I couldn’t stop sobbing as I heard her.

“Please, Maa, don’t cry. I always wanted Vishambhar to love me... but he couldn’t, for some reason. Now, if he ever wants to love me, please tell him to love our child. I’ll be content with that.

I love you, Maa, Baba. Tell my Papa too that I love him. Please tell Vishambhar that I loved him the most in this world — and will continue loving him even after death.”

“These were her last words, son,” my parents sobbed. “She did this for you and for us. We can never repay her. She was a pure heart.”

I always knew she loved me — but never knew she loved me so much that she could sacrifice her life for me.

I loved my son unconditionally, who was the only thing I had left as her symbol of love. I never confessed my feelings to her; I always left her heartbroken. I wish I’d done it earlier. Even if I had lost her, at least this regret wouldn’t dwell in my heart forever.

I named my son Pratap. It was my parents’ last wish to name him so.

After five years of Indu’s death, my parents also passed away — Maa from a heart attack, and Baba two years later — leaving me lonely in my regret.

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