What Begins, Must End…

After three days of near continuous rain, today has dawned bright and glorious. The sun shines gently on the rain-washed, still dewy trees, and the birds sing a beautiful melody to welcome a brand new day. She sits on a rocker on the porch with a cup of coffee. In her lap is a book she has borrowed from the local library. But her mind is on the phone call she had with her daughter last night.

Her confident, independent daughter, who is far, far away in another country. Her daughter, a doctor, who, at almost seven months pregnant, worries all the time about her mother. Which is why the girl has arranged to have a landline connection and a Wi-Fi connection installed here and sent her a smartphone. ‘I want to be able to talk to you anytime I want,’ her daughter says; ‘face to face’.  

Krishna is not much used to technology. But their calls make her daughter worry less; and in her present state, she wants her daughter to worry as less as possible. For what it’s worth, her daughter has promised, for now, to come to stay here soon. And Krishna is looking forward to it.  

“Top of the morning to you!”

She looks up. He stands in his front yard, waving the newspaper at her. He must have just returned from his morning walk. She waves back.  

“Join me for breakfast” he says, pointing his chin towards his house from where warm, delicious smells of breakfast come wafting. She shakes her head.

“It is Chaturthi today,” she says. “I am fasting.”

He raises his eyebrows and walks over to the common fence that separates their front yards.

“Since when do you fast?” he asks, clearly surprised. She laughs. Back when he knew her, she was a headstrong girl who questioned all beliefs and traditions. And now….well, he is entitled to be surprised.

“Been a long time now,” she says.

“So, if you are fasting for Chaturthi, do you make sabudana vadas?” he asks, his eyes twinkling like a five year old.

She knows those are his favourite. Every time her mother made them when they were kids, she was the one who took a large plateful of the vadas next door for him and his sister. She grins.

“I had no plans…but if you want to drop in later, I could…”

“I will come over after lunch then!” he says immediately.

Ever since he has told her about the fateful day when Shivu drowned, she has been thinking; and has arrived at a conclusion that it was big of him to have owned up to something that was the result of nothing but fear. Any child in his place would have reacted similarly. But he has lived with the regret all this time. She understands the trust he has put in her by telling her about it. It couldn’t have been easy for him to own up.

She knows this because she discerns her own husband would never have owned up to something like this. He would never have said, even to himself, that it was his own fault. Instead, he would have found someone else to blame, and most times, that would be her. How different two men can be, she muses.

She is lost in thought when the doorbell rings.  He is early.

“Couldn’t wait?” she laughs, opening the door.

He stands there leaning heavily on his stick. And the look on his face worries her. She moves back to allow him to enter. There’s a marked difference in his mood from that of the morning.

“Are you alright?” she asks. “You look.…”

He sits heavily on the sofa, rests his walking stick next to him and sighs.

“I forgot,” he breathes. She can hear the remorse in his voice. “I cannot believe it. I forgot… I know I am getting forgetful with age. I know! But how could I….how could I forget….” he repeats.

“What did you forget?” she asks.

“It is my wife’s death anniversary today.”

She lets out a gasp. “I am so sorry,” she whispers.

She goes to sit next to him on the sofa and touches his arm softly. “I am really sorry.” She repeats. 

“You know, we don’t have to do this today. If you want privacy, I could make the vadas some other day…”

“Please don’t send me back,” he says, looking down at the floor, without meeting her eyes.

That settles it.

“I see you loved her very much,” she says. “You want to talk about it?”

“No.” he says with finality.

She can see it pains him to remember. She has heard the local gossip. She knows he came here after his wife succumbed to Cancer. She knows not to press him. So she continues to sit there, next to him, in silent solidarity. 

“You know, it is ironic.” She says, “You are sitting here, berating yourself about forgetting and I spend my days haranguing myself that I cannot forget.”

When he looks up, confused, angry; she pats his arm softly.

“As bad as Cancer can be,” she says, “it is a blessing to know you and your wife loved each other. To have had a marriage that flourished on your love. To have depended on each other when you could and have built something together.

“I know it couldn’t have been easy to let go when the time came. And I can understand it cannot be easy now, even after so much time has passed.

“But you know what? It is definitely better than having led a life, at the end of which, you have nothing to show for yourself. To have had a marriage that left you bereft of your dreams and aspirations. For all those years you lived as husband and wife to have not mattered at all….”

He looks at her then. “Krishna…”

She shakes her head. “You don’t know how lucky you are, Ananta,” she says, suddenly realising how familiarly and easily his name glides from her. “How lucky, to have had a wife whom you loved so much and who loved you right back. To revel in the knowledge that your children grew up in a house full of warmth.

“You didn’t scare your wife did you, Ananta? She never had to fear your wrath or count days till her child grew up and she could escape…

“I know what that feels like, Ananta. I know what it is like, to stay awake in the night, making plans of leaving everything behind, only to think of your daughter and know, that for her sake, you have to stay put. For her sake, you cannot leave the man who has made your life a living hell!

“A man, who ensures that he leaves no scars on your body. No. Nothing visible. But the emotional scars he leaves – they can never heal, Ananta. A man who bosses over you just because he can. A man who knows how much your daughter means to you and knows how to use that knowledge to scare you into submission. A man, who is a noted Professor of Psychology for the world; but who reserves his rotten, twisted psyche only for you!

“You are a good man Ananta. Your wife would have been as sad to leave you as you are now that she has left. But me? I would’ve given the world to be able to escape. And who knows, if it weren’t for my daughter, maybe I would even have….

“A terminal disease took your wife from you Ananta. But me, I survived in a relationship, the end of which, I dreamt of every night until I could really break free…”

“Krishna…” he manages in a choked voice.

She gives a mirthless laugh. “Ananta,” she says, “what begins, must end. That is the law of the nature. But what truly matters, is what happens between the beginning and the end. Because life, Ananta, is in the in between. Because life happens while we are busy reminiscing the beginning and fearing the end. And when we look back, that is what decides whether we will look back with a smile or be sad to have wasted it.

“You have lived a happy married life Ananta. You and your wife shared something special. That counts for a lot. And I am sure, she wouldn’t want you berating yourself for forgetting her anniversary today; but would have wanted you to remember her fondly, now that you have remembered the anniversary…”

“Krishna,” he says. “Please stop. You don’t know the half of it!” he says.

She blushes. “I am sorry. I thought maybe…”

“Oh, please, Krishna…listen to me…” he says fiercely. She opens her mouth to say something. Then shuts it again.

“I didn’t love my wife, Krishna.” He says more calmly. “And she knew that. Our marriage was more based on friendship than love.” He says. “I won’t lie. She was my best friend. But she wasn’t whom I loved.”

“She wasn’t?”

“No.”

This time, she finds it difficult to meet his eyes.  

Note: 

This is Part 3 of the story I am writing as part of WriteTribe’s October 2017 ProBlogger Challenge.

The story is presented as an ongoing series. You can check out the story so far in Part 1 and Part 2. And here's what happens in Part 4.  

And here's