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Gauri, a young village girl holding firm views about morals a...
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"When I was six, I saw my dad hauling mom's body out of the bathtub. It was brimming with red water. Too callow to comprehend the dynamics, I thought she has used a different kind of bath bomb this time. The white tiles were drenched in crimson and the entire place was ringing with dad's gut-wrenching cries. He ran towards the main doors like a lunatic before he lost the power in his limbs and dropped onto the threshold, acknowledging it was too late. That her body was cold, unmoving, lifeless. That the color of her skin was deathly pale. Chaos broke in the house and the head caretaker locked my little sister and me in our room, asking us to stay put with a quavering smile.
For three days, we remained locked in that room with occasional visits from the nanny. I didn't talk to anyone.
It was a mistake.
A terrible one.
I didn't talk, I didn't cry. I didn't grieve. I stayed, waiting for dad to come and clear what was happening. On the fourth day when the door opened, we were allowed outside. The house was filled with so many people who passed us pitiful glances. I should've said something. The loss of a mother wasn't a child's play. It takes a stone-cold heart to bear that weight. I didn't know if I was even breathing at that time. I was just searching for answers in their eyes, hoping they will disclose the inevitable. But it never reached us, the news of her demise. Nobody uttered a word but vomited a simple assurance- She has left to never return.
Growing up, I realized the meaning of that night. It wasn't a bath bomb, but blood. I discovered she was struggling, both emotionally and mentally. The females in my maternal family had a genetic history of schizophrenia. It was a miracle how she held it for so long. Usually, they all give up before turning 30. She was there for us even after that limit. She smiled for us every day, even when it was killing her from inside.
I wish I was as strong as her.
I am sorry, that you've to see me like this. This ugly me. But I swear I try. Every day, I try to leave the bed and look presentable for you, to love you and...."
"Shh.."
Yagya blinked back his tears and leans to kiss her forehead. Caressing her hair, he passed her a small smile.
"If you look through my eyes, you'll see how beautiful, strong and passionate you are. I understand this sinking feeling, my love. But don't worry, I am here, always as your anchor. The days might seem gloomy and pass in a blur, but we will lay in bed together and talk about everything that disturbs you. Although it might seem too much, never stop fighting for us. If anything happens to you... I... I love you. You are my sanity, Kirti. You are my heart, my madness, my home. Please don't think about abandoning me. Just talk to me, okay?"
He asked softly, she curled in his embrace and cried like there was no tomorrow. In that mere moment, she realized how wrong she was to think he wouldn't notice and ignore the pain in her chest. He knew it and burned along with her. The psychiatrists diagnosed the young queen as bipolar, maniac, and delusional. Whatever she sees wasn't real but a fragment of her imagination. The otherworldly voices and disturbing whispers buzzing in this fort were imaginary.
