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.
______________________________________________
“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.
______________________________________________
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 8th 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, 5th 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.
______________________________________________
“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...
