Arun is a hero/ heroine. He is orphan. His wife is dead
Lakshmi is his mother in law her husband is also dead.
Arun sat in the dimly lit corner of his bedroom, his fingers gripping the edge of the wooden cot as he stared at the faded photograph in his hands. It was of him and Priya, taken on their wedding day—her smile radiant, his expression unsure but happy. She had been the light of his life, the one who had understood him in ways no one else had. But that light had been cruelly snuffed out six months ago, leaving behind nothing but silence, grief, and an overwhelming emptiness. Their home, once filled with her laughter and the scent of jasmine she always wove into her braid, felt hollow. Arun had withdrawn into himself, speaking little, barely eating, and ignoring the world outside.
His mother-in-law, Lakshmi, watched him with quiet concern. A traditional woman in her early sixties, she had been devastated by her daughter’s passing, but she refused to let grief consume her. She had seen the way Arun was fading, how his once strong and confident presence had dwindled into that of a lost, broken man. And as she observed him, a thought began to take root in her mind—an idea born not just out of concern, but out of a deep-seated belief in tradition and duty. If a house was empty, it needed a woman to tend to it. If Arun could no longer live as Priya’s husband, then perhaps he could find purpose in becoming something else.
One evening, as the monsoon winds howled outside, Lakshmi entered his room with a quiet determination. She held in her hands a folded blue saree, one of Priya’s favorites, and a small box of jasmine flowers. Arun barely glanced up, lost in his world of sorrow. But when she spoke, her voice was firm yet gentle. “Arun, enough of this grief. You are wasting away, and this house is becoming lifeless. Priya would not have wanted this. Come, my child. It is time to bring life back into this home.” She placed the saree beside him, her meaning clear. Arun’s eyes widened in shock, but before he could protest, she continued, “Trust me. You will understand in time.”
Arun stared at the saree as if it were a foreign object, something unnatural in his presence. His throat felt dry, and his hands trembled slightly as he reached out, only to pull back at the last moment. “Amma… what are you saying?” His voice was hoarse from disuse, confusion laced with quiet resistance. “This… this isn’t right.”
Lakshmi sat down beside him, her gaze unwavering. “What isn’t right, Arun? That you are lost in grief? That this house is lifeless? Or that I am asking you to bring it back to life?” Her words were calm, but there was an unshakable resolve in them. “You were my daughter’s world. And now that she is gone, you must carry her essence forward.” She picked up the saree and placed it in his lap, the soft silk feeling alien against his rough hands. “Look at you, my child. You have stopped living. Do you think Priya would want this?”
Arun clenched his jaw, staring at the fabric as memories flooded his mind—Priya standing in front of the mirror, draping this very saree, playfully asking him if the color suited her. He used to smile and say yes, barely paying attention. But now, the weight of it felt unbearable. “But… I’m a man,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Lakshmi exhaled softly, as if she had anticipated this response. “And what has being a man given you, Arun? More grief? More pain? Sometimes, roles change. Sometimes, life asks us to become something we never imagined.” She reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of his long, unkempt hair behind his ear. “You haven’t cut your hair in months. It’s almost as if fate was preparing you for this.”
Arun shivered at her touch, his heart pounding. A strange mix of resistance and curiosity stirred within him. The idea was absurd, yet something about Lakshmi’s words lingered in his mind. “I… I don’t know,” he muttered, his fingers brushing against the saree’s smooth surface.
Lakshmi smiled, as if she had already won half the battle. “You don’t have to know. Just trust me.” She rose to her feet, her movements deliberate. “Come with me.” Without waiting for his response, she walked towards the dressing table, picking up a small box of sindoor and Priya’s favorite bangles.
Arun remained frozen for a moment, torn between his pride and the inexplicable pull of his mother-in-law’s words. His world had been stagnant for so long—perhaps, just perhaps, it was time for a change.
Continue........
Comments