Arjun continued, "Sometimes it feels like we spend our whole lives chasing after people who can never be replaced, yet they remain the farthest from our reach."
His mother's eyes softened. Memories came flooding back to her unbidden, but she feigned ignorance and gently asked, "Why?"
Arjun's eyes brimmed with tears. "I was terrified of losing her. I couldn't even bear to see tears in her eyes. When she didn't bring tiffin to school, I would share mine with her. I'd tell you to pack extra food. In the beginning, you used to scold me a lot, but then you started sending two tiffins every day on your own."
His mother smiled faintly. "Yes, because I had understood long ago that Rani's mother never made tiffin for her. The poor child would come to school on an empty stomach, and you would give her all your food."
"I was afraid you would go hungry yourself. That's why, besides your tiffin, I would pack another one especially for Rani—so both of you could eat your fill. Coming to our house gave her the feeling of a real family. She had always been deprived of her own family's love.
She never received her family's love in her own home, Apart from her, there were two younger step-sisters. Whenever there was discrimination at home, her heart ached, mother would pacify her by saying she was the elder sister, so she must have affection and the spirit of sacrifice for her younger sisters.The sooner you understand this, the better it will be for you.
She considered Chaman Lal her father, but
She didn't even know who her real father was?
"In that entire neighbourhood of Navdweep, only Arjun's family quietly looked after the share of happiness that was meant for her.That is what it means to be a mother—silently understanding someone's hunger, someone's need for love, and the loneliness of their heart.
Without being told, Arjun's mother could read his heart completely. To her, it felt as if she had three children. There was a deep bond between the three. On days when Rani could not come over, she would grow restless, wondering whether the child had eaten anything.
She would send either Bittu or Bitti to check on her."When I saw the three of you sitting together and eating," his mother said, "it felt like all three of you were my own."
God had sent her into our home and our lives so we could lessen her pain a little. But the loss we suffered when she left—we have never been able to fill that void till today.
For Rani, coming to our house was like entering another world—a world where no one raised their voice, where there was no discrimination in the plates of food, where the three children played together for hours with pure affection. There were no conditions attached to sharing love.
The moment she crossed the threshold, peace would settle on her face. All the day's exhaustion, the heavy atmosphere of her home, and the burden on her heart would be left behind.
Rani's childhood was steeped in struggle and deprivation, for her mother had bound herself to another relationship, leaving Chumki to view her daughter as little more than an unwanted burden—a relic of a relationship that had long since grown cold.
Chamanlal's repeated attempts to kill Rani always ended in failure. Whether one called it her destiny or sheer misfortune, every time death reached for her, some miraculous coincidence intervened, and she slipped away unscathed, leaving him wringing his hands in frustration.
It was in Arjun's home that Rani's heart truly found rest. The warmth and belonging she received from the people who lived there were treasures beyond measure. Without any formality or conscious effort, she had unknowingly become an essential part of his family.
Outside their house stood a mango tree that had come to be known as Rani's own. She had once said with quiet resignation, "My home is only a rented house. What is the use of planting a tree there?"
Arjun's mother would often say, "Rani, you are the second daughter of this house, and you have come to us with great fortune."
Rani would smile at these words, but her eyes would always grow moist. Perhaps because affection was a rare and distant thing in her own home—something she had only ever observed from afar, never truly felt.
At a very young age, Rani had already understood that words like love and security might never be meant for her. Yet life, in its quiet mercy, opens a door for everyone somewhere. For Rani, that door was the threshold of Arjun's house—the very one she had first stepped across in second grade.
He snapped out of his overthinking about the past."Arjun's mother placed a hand on his forehead and said softly, "Now tell me, Bittu. Whatever is weighing on your heart, pour it all out. Don't keep even a little inside."
And she listened to every word her son spoke, as if she were hearing not the past, but something from just yesterday or the day before.
"Maa, tonight I'll sleep in the downstairs room," Arjun said.
"I've been telling you the same," his mother replied. "Stay in the downstairs room, Bittu. There are six rooms in this house, and only two of us live here now."
"I'm used to sleeping in my own room, Maa. I don't sleep well anywhere else," Arjun said. In his heart, he murmured, Now I don't sleep well there either.
"Maa, have this mango tree cut down. I want to forget all the things of the past so I can live in the present properly." Slowly, hesitantly, Arjun revealed the fears hidden in his heart—the loneliness he had felt in the past few months, the terrible and strange nightmares that jolted him awake, the way Shreya still haunted his subconscious even after leaving his life. One by one, he laid bare all his pain and the hatred he had received from others.
He spoke of his fear that he was no longer worthy of Kavya, the restlessness about what people thought of him, the dread of public ridicule, the torment of being unable to do anything, and the bitterness that had taken root in his heart.
He confessed the pressure he felt because Kavya did so much for him while he could do nothing for her in return. He admitted he was failing even to do anything for his own family.
Layer after layer of his heart lay open before his mother.
The night slipped away slowly. The breeze coming through the window grew colder, but inside the house, a long-lost peace spread.
After speaking everything out, Arjun's heart felt lighter, as if he had shed several heavy burdens."Maa, there's still no reply to the RTI. We don't know what's happening in the case," he said.
His mother comforted him, "Don't worry, son. The reply will come soon, and everything will be fine."She gently patted him, sometimes stroking his head.
He didn't even realise when he fell asleep. Watching him sleep, his mother felt deep peace. She prayed silently to God to set everything right. After thinking about a few scattered things, she too drifted off to sleep.
Copyright Pushpa Chaturvedi
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