Victory - Part I

I wrote this short story as part of my Creative Writing course in college, and completed it after many days of procrastinating and facing an acute case of writer's block ! I do hope you like it. Criticism is welcome! :) 

Namrata opened the door with her set of keys, the little heart keychain hitting the wooden door, making the only sound she heard in the otherwise deserted hallway. She stepped into the house and like every day, Nikhil’s painting on the passage wall welcomed her in. It was the one painting among the many that adorned the walls of her house, that she disliked. Portraits capture personalities, she felt, and this one showed neither his infectious smile nor his true nature.

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“I will not tolerate this behaviour, Major Kapoor. We are in a state of war with Pakistan. You have to be prepared for anything. I can’t let you hover near the phone and the mail systems all the time. Either forget about your family, or go home. I can’t have one of my best officers constantly trying to get in touch with his wife when the country needs him,” Brigadier Khanna reprimanded Nikhil, who listened in silence, his head lowered in shame.

Major Nikhil Kapoor did always put his nation before anything or anyone else. It was one of the prime reasons that he joined the army at the young age of twenty. But now there was someone else who needed him as much. Everyone who was a part of Nikhil’s life knew how much his job meant to him. They knew what he thought of his ancestors, the many freedom fighters who gave their lives to make sure India was free one day. He too, thought there to be no greater job than service to the nation. The expression on his face, the way his chest swelled with pride whenever he wore his uniform said it all. If only his wife understood.

“I’m sorry, Sir, it will not happen again. It’s just that I received a message from my wife and wanted to talk to her for a few minutes,” Nikhil explained.  

“A few minutes are what we don’t have, Major Kapoor. Now get back to your post immediately and get your battalion in order. Now!” Brigadier Khanna’s stern tone signified a note of finality.

Nikhil saluted his senior and retreated from the room. A million thoughts were racing through his mind as he changed into his army gear, Namrata’s behaviour being one of them. He never knew, until a few hours before, that there would come a day when he would have to choose between the two things that he revered the most – his marriage and his nation. Little did he know, that miles away in Bombay, his wife had already made her choice.

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Namrata walked on ahead, past the many bookcases lined against the wall, the shelves of which contained hundreds of different books – each one had been a companion to her. Past the photo frames she walked- a picture of them on their honeymoon, one of her on her first birthday after marriage, and her favourite- their wedding photo, in which Nikhil flashed a great smile for the camera as his new bride leaned forward to kiss him. It brought a wry smile on her face, as it had every time she looked at it. It brought back memories of all the happy times, and all her wedding anniversaries, including her last one, that she remembered as though it was yesterday. 

Namrata woke up, as always, ten minutes before her alarm clock rang. She reached for her spectacles on the bedside table, only to find a bouquet of roses sitting there. She wore her glasses and sat up to read the card. “Darling Namu,” she read in Nikhil’s impeccable handwriting, “Happy 8^th Wedding Anniversary…Lots of love, Nikhil.” She smiled to herself, kept the card back on the table and took in the beautiful smell of the blooming flowers, the fragrance of which now filled the room, before getting out of bed to get ready for work.

It had been eight years, eight happy years of married life for Namrata and Nikhil. Her husband was, in the eyes of the world, every girl’s perfect man. Their marriage too, seemed like a dream to anyone who knew them. But this, she thought, was the biggest problem – this dream was her reality, and she was beginning to hate it.

Theirs was an arranged marriage. Namrata was introduced to the boy by her aunt, whose only goal in life was to get all the girls she knew suitable husbands, and after they were married, badger them to have lots of children.

“But I don’t want to marry a stranger. I’m going to have a love marriage!” Clearly, Hindi movies were a great influence in her life. Little did she know that she would be swept off her feet by the first man she was to meet. Their first encounter was at her aunt’s sprawling house in Delhi. As they walked around the garden, with just the lush trees and Bougainvillea plants for company, they spoke about their lives, hobbies and aspirations. She observed his every movement, from the way he carried himself, to the sight of his breath that formed a cloud in front of his mouth whenever he spoke. A year-and-a-half after that cold January morning, Namrata and Nikhil were wedded in holy matrimony.

They had a quiet dinner at a fancy restaurant, as they did on every anniversary. He spoke to her about his day – a few years ago she would probably have shown interest, but today all these conversations seemed mundane to her. They got home and he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but Namrata stayed up to write her daily diary. She opened to the date, 5^th May 1999, and penned down her words. For days now, it was less about the happenings in her life and more about her feelings. An hour later, she switched off her bedside lamp and messaged her mother- “I’ll tell him tomorrow,” before she too went to sleep. But her chance had never come.

Nikhil put on his freshly washed and ironed uniform and waited for the army jeep to arrive.

“Where are you headed to, so early in the morning?” Namrata, still rubbing her eyes, asked her husband.

“I’m sorry Namu, I got a call from the Brigadier. Have to leave immediately,” he said as her held her tightly to kiss her goodbye, and then left.

India and Pakistan were at war in Kargil, and Namrata wasn’t sure whether she’d ever see her husband again. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to. 

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“I can’t live like this anymore, Mumma. It’s over.” Namrata cried, as she sat curled up at her mother’s feet. “I thought marriage would be wonderful, it’d be like a new life. But this is not what I wanted. My house is not a house, it’s a cage.”

Namrata wasn’t the only one whose dream was shattered. Poonam, who loved her daughter the most out of all her children, was shocked. Never did her daughter make it known to her that she was upset, or trapped. Why couldn’t she see it, though? How had her motherly instinct failed her? All those times that Namrata came to her mother’s house, she was barraged by incessant phone calls from Nikhil. When they were together, Nikhil hardly ever let Namrata out of his sight. All the mother’s eyes saw, was a loving husband, a caring partner. Now that she looked back, she thought that was probably what her heart wanted her to see. They never saw, however, the bird caged by its master, raging, biting to break free. Today, that bird was begging for a chance to fly.  As this realisation dawned on Poonam, her daughter fell asleep in her lap, her face still wet with tears. 

 Part II-Coming Soon...