“Heavy shelling by Pakistan army damages
ammunition dump in Kargil,” the news channels flashed an update. Namrata didn’t know what to feel. Should she
be scared, be tense for her nation that was waging a fierce battle with its
neighbour; or should she be happy – the longer the war went on, the longer her
freedom would last. Freedom from all those phone calls she used to be bombarded
with, freedom from the minute by minute updates her husband demanded of her.
She didn’t have to worry if she misplaced something, for there was no one to
shout at her for it. She wasn’t scared to talk to her friends, for there was no
one she had to report her conversations to. It was this newfound freedom that
gave her the strength to think about herself, about her own life, for the first
time in eight years.
‘He’s not a bad person,’ she wrote in
her diary, the only piece of her life she had managed to keep hidden from her
husband. ‘I know he loves me…it’s his love that makes him behave like this. But
I can’t stand it anymore…being stuck here. Being possessive is one thing, but
controlling your wife’s life is another. He hates it when I cry, but can’t he
see that he’s the sole reason for my tears? Cards, flowers, fancy dinners…yes I
love all that, but a wife needs a little more than that. I need my space. I
need space to live…to breathe. Really, is there such a thing as too much love?
Can love really kill?
 |
Is there such a thing as too much love?
Picture Credit: Google Images |
I’ve been dying from inside for so long…these few days
with Nikhil unable to contact me have been like a blessing. I do love him…but
he loves me just a little too much, and that scares me…I need to break free, I
want to fly…
_________________________________________
“Indian
Air Force loses two fighters; soldiers taken as Prisoners of War,” the news
continued to flash each day, and without any sign of conclusion in sight. The
longer the war went on, the longer was Namrata’s life as a free bird. She knew
this, and so did her husband.
Nikhil could not sleep at night. The
bullets, the firing and the dead bodies were not responsible for his insomnia.
He was used to the sound of gunshots, and was prepared for anything that came
his way. But Namrata was away from him, miles away, and he had no permission or
means to communicate with her. What was she doing every day? Where is she? Does
she miss me? Is she scared that I may die? Not a single letter from home, no
message or telegram whatsoever. He caught her crying a few nights before he
left, and thought maybe that was the reason for her silence. Why was she
crying, though? He knew he was not the reason. He was never the reason for her
tears.
The war went on, and Major Kapoor, with
determination in his bloodshot eyes, continued to take on the enemy. Far away in
Delhi, Namrata was fighting her own war.
_________________________________________
She took out the previous year’s diary,
and as she turned each page, Namrata relived a new memory. Why couldn’t she
find any words written down, that expressed happiness or excitement? There were
pages of her diary where the ink was smudged. Page by page, she flipped through
it, finding nothing of novelty to read. She reached the end of the book.
“Namu,
what was the need to invite them over? Why do you need other people?” Nikhil
asked in his saccharine tone, holding his wife’s hand.
It was New Year’s Eve of 1999, and
Namrata had invited the neighbours over for dinner, to bring in the last year
of the decade.
“I thought it would be nice to have
friends over, we could spend some time with them and get to know them better.”
“Why do want them with you? We are there
for each other. We can have such a nice evening alone. Why don’t you cancel the
plan?” Nikhil insisted, holding her hand a little tighter.
Namrata expected this to happen. How
many times before had he explained to her that he was the only one she needed
to be happy? She called up her neighbour and lied about Nikhil having an
important function that was necessary for them to attend.
Once again they spent the occasion, like
every other New Year’s Eve, Diwali, birthday and anniversary, all by
themselves, with Nikhil’s love being enough for the both of them to survive on.
Namrata closed the diary and sighed to
herself.
_________________________________________
It was the first day of June, and this
new month beckoned a new dawn in Namrata’s life. She went to work and was not
troubled by phone calls and messages every hour. She missed this life, where
she could walk about anywhere and do anything without having someone following
her every move.
In these eight years, she never had the
courage to speak up for herself. Of course, she had spoken to Nikhil years ago about
his behaviour, but he paid no heed to it. She too, made up her mind to live
with whatever came her way. But today, as she was finally learning how to live
again, she felt a different kind of joy. She missed this kind of freedom, this
new lease of life.
“I’ll support you, no matter what, you
know that Beta,” Poonam assured her.
“It’s your happiness that is most important. If you feel that there’s no other
way, that he won’t understand, then it’s better to end it.”
Namrata loved her mother so very much,
she couldn’t put it into words. She probably would not have taken such a step
without her encouragement and support. She always wondered what the reason was
for God to take her loving father away when she was merely thirteen-years-old –
it taught her mother how to live independently, and happily. She knew her
mother would understand her heart’s cries. Today, she thought of the mystical
bird she read about in her childhood storybooks, the one that burns itself down
to ashes, from which a new life begins.
In Kargil, the Indian army was fast
capturing Tiger Hill, a mission that was extremely important for the country’s
protectors to complete successfully. Major Kapoor was a part of this mission,
and his wife, back home, was climbing to her own mountain peak. In the two months that she spent away from her
husband, Namrata lived the past eight years of her life again. This time, the
way she wanted to. It was like running through a large meadow – a wide open
space to run freely and no one could stop her. She didn’t want this feeling to
end.
“We recaptured point 5100 and 5060 at
the hill. Over.” Major Nikhil always rejoiced when he was in possession of
something dearly important to him. The War, he knew, would soon be over and he
could go back to his wife, whose touch he missed, whose face he looked at
daily, in the motionless photograph kept near his bunker.
_________________________________________
Namrata picked up the white marble frame
and headed to the bedroom. It was in a mess as always. Nikhil liked things
organised and neat, but no matter how tidy she kept the room, he would have an
issue with it. Unfolded clothes, some still slightly damp, lay on a chair, and
ironed ones lay beside the ironing board. The morning newspaper was lying on
the bed, with the headline Operation Vijay a Success: Kargil War to End Soon
written across in bold letters. She picked it up and threw it aside along with
her wedding photograph, collected her knick-knacks from the dresser and dumped
them in a bag.
Namrata
heaved her bag off the bed, strolled it across the floor, and turning back for
one look at the portrait of her husband, walked out of the house. The phoenix
had risen.
-------XXX----
