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Abhishek's voice, a stern and noble tone,
Confronts the women, his family's throne.
Their words, a dagger, sharp and cold,
Towards Malini, his love, his heart's gold.
"How could you demand, with no regard,
A child's fate, a mother's heart unscarred?
A boy, you say, and within a month's span,
What of her health, her life, her love for me, plan?"
His mother and aunts, their faces stern and grey,
"She's done black magic, that's why you stray.
Obey us, boy, this haveli's our name,
She's just a wife, a vessel to bear the flame."
Abhishek's voice, a fire that burns bright,
"She's my Laxmi, my wife, my heart's delight.
This haveli's hers, as much as it's mine,
Respect her, I demand, she's not a thing to confine."
His words, a challenge, a call to see,
The love he has for Malini, wild and free.
The women gasp, their faces, a shade of red,
For in Abhishek's eyes, a new era's been bred.
He stands tall, his love for Malini, a shield,
Protecting her, from their words, unsealed.
A new dawn rises, a new path unfolds,
For Malini, his love, his heart, his all, his gold.
•·•·•·•·•·•·••●❍•❅•°•❈•°•❅•❍●••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•
17th April 1846
Calcutta, Bengal
ABHISHEK'S POV~
I slowly step into the hall.
The air inside feels still… quiet except for the faint, rhythmic crackle of the oil lamps that sway slightly in the evening breeze.
Golden light filters through the wooden window slats, falling in narrow stripes across the floor.
Dust motes float lazily through the beams like little specks of memory.
The warm, sacred scent of agarbatti curls through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of sandalwood that always lingers in our home.
At the far end of the hall, Maa and my aunts sit cross-legged on the large cotton rug before the small temple.
The Bhagwat Gita rests open in front of them, its yellowed pages glowing faintly under the lamp's flame.
Their murmured chants fill the silence, a melody of faith I've heard since childhood.
"Maa…" I call softly, my voice cutting through the hum of the mantras.
She looks up first, her eyebrows arching slightly.
"Aree… you came so early from your work?" she asks, surprise threading her tone.
I nod, stepping closer. "Yes… I finished early. I came home because… I wanted to have a conversation with you."
Maa sets the book aside and rises, brushing off her saree's pleats.
My aunts exchange looks before standing up as well.
The sound of their glass bangles clicking fills the air…. a soft warning of tension gathering like the stillness before a storm.
"What conversation? Is there any problem?" Maa asks, her forehead creasing with concern.
"It's about Malini," I say, raising my eyes to meet hers.
"What about her?" Suchitra Aunty's voice cuts in, sharp and curious, as she folds her arms across her chest.
I take a slow breath, steadying my tone. "I heard you all told her to become pregnant within this year… and that the baby should be a boy. You said that to her yesterday… when I wasn't home."
Their faces tighten.
Maa's lips press together; Suchitra Aunty's gaze hardens.
"Yes, so?" Maa scoffs, shaking her head, her voice clipped with irritation. "She's filling your ears against us now? That's what she's learning after coming into this house?"
The air feels heavy— thick with unspoken words and pride.
"It's not called filling ears," I say quietly but firmly. "It's called sharing. I'm her husband."
My voice lingers in the air, echoing faintly against the walls before the silence settles again.
Even the lamp flame flickers, as if uncertain which side of truth it belongs to.
"So?" Maa hisses, her eyes narrowing. "You should stay as her husband only… but you— you're becoming her servant!"
Her voice lashes through the air like a whip.
The sound echoes faintly against the walls, sharp and venomous.
I keep my expression calm, though my chest feels tight.
"If loving and listening to the wife is being a servant… then I'm happy to be one," I answer, my voice steady, almost serene.
The faint rustle of her saree fills the pause before she snaps, "Abhishek! You're a man!"
Her tone is low, almost a growl, the kind that demands submission.
But I refuse to flinch.
"That's why I listen to her," I reply quietly, meeting her glare. "That's what being a man is called."
The room falls silent for a heartbeat.
The faint crackle of the diya becomes the only sound between us.
Suchitra Aunty shakes her head, disbelief written all over her face.
"What black magic has she done to you?" she mutters, as if searching for logic behind affection.
"It's not called magic," I say, my tone composed though my heartbeat pounds in my ears, "but mutual respect… and love. Just as our gods taught us to treat our wives."
Their mouths go still.
The air feels charged, as though even the smoke from the incense hesitates to rise.
I take a quiet breath and continue, "I respect you all, truly… but I won't tolerate such behavior toward my wife. What you all did yesterday— barging into her room without knocking, threatening her to become pregnant within a month, and demanding the child be a boy…"
My hands curl into fists.
The memory of her tears burns like a spark against my chest.
"…and to tell her that if she bears a girl, you'll make her life hell?" My voice trembles for a second, then steadies again.
"Her room?" Vaishali Kaaki scoffs, her tone sharp. "It's your room! We don't need her permission to enter wherever we like."
My jaw clenches, the muscles tightening beneath my skin.
"It's her room too," I say firmly, every word measured. "She's my wife. And you won't enter until you knock. It's called basic decency— for privacy."
The silence that follows is thick and heavy, pressing down on the room like a weight.
The faint smoke of agarbatti drifts lazily between us— calm on the outside, but inside, my heart beats like a thunderstorm.
The word privacy hangs in the air like a thrown stone, and the ripples reach every corner of the room.
"Privacy?!" She scoffs, shaking her head.
The sound is sharp, metallic….
Maa's disbelief cutting through the lamp-lit hush.
I meet her gaze and push the moment forward, daring the house to crumple.
"So you want to see us being intimate with each other? You like that view?" I say boldly with no shame.
My voice is steady; there's no mockery in it…. only truth laid bare.
Maa's face flushes, indignation flaring.
"Have some shame! What kind of shameless words are you using?!" she shouts, her saree rustling as she steps closer, the bangles at her wrist chiming a frantic rhythm.
I don't back down.
I let the words roll off my tongue the way a knife might slide through silk.
"The same one you wish to hear within a month— the pregnancy," I say, looking at her steadily. "You want to hear about pregnancy and can say things like that to Malini but when I say the same… suddenly it's shameful?"
Suchitra Aunty's mouth tightens.
"That conversation was between the girls… Why are you coming in?" she says, displeasure clear in the crease of her brow.
I tilt my head, calm and unashamed.
"Why can't I? She cannot become pregnant without me… so the conversation should include me too," I say.
Maa's hand sweeps through the air as if to wipe away the insult itself.
"How shameless you've become!" she shouts, turning her face away as if my words have dirtied her sight.
The older women exchange a look charged with vindication.
Vaishali Kaaki leans forward, pointing a judgmental finger that seems to take the shape of a knife.
"We don't care what you say… we've already told her… to give us the good news within the month… or else…" Her voice trails off— thin, dangerous.
"Else what?" I ask, stepping forward until the heat of my body presses into the cool floor between us.
My gaze is hard; my voice low and controlled.
"We'll throw her out of our haveli!" she declares, the words flung like a gauntlet.
The room goes colder at that sentence.
For a breath I taste iron, as if the walls themselves hold their breath.
"My haveli," I say coldly, each word a small, measured explosion.
She's my laxmi and she'll bow to no one.
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻.✾.჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻
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