Chronicles Of My Darling Husband | ✓

100. Svara (Part 5)

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100th chapter, yay!

Please listen to the video attached (Lasya by Anoushka Shankar) while reading the chapter. Detailed A/N at the end of the chapter.

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A collective gasp rippled through the room as the last note of Gayatri's sitar hung suspended in the air.

"Bhabhi!" Akhilesh erupted in a cheer, his voice echoing in the room. "It felt like Maa Saraswati herself descended from the heavens to play for us mere mortals!" He bowed, his hand sweeping across the floor in a dramatic gesture. "We were but dust specks dancing in the light of your divine melody!"

Gayatri chuckled, a warm, familiar sound that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "Enough of the theatrics, Devarji," she teased. Years had etched silver threads into her hair, but her spirit remained youthful. "It's been decades since I last played, truly. I doubt it was anything spectacular." A flicker of uncertainty crossed her features as she turned towards Jagdish, her gaze seeking reassurance. "Did I falter terribly? Did I miss many svaras?"

Jagdish offered a small, reassuring nod. "A few here and there, Mamiji," he replied gently, his voice as soothing as Raag Darbari. "But nothing a little dedicated sadhana can't fix. Perhaps you haven't had much time to revisit your sitar lately?"

"Oh, Gayatri Maa never rests," Karan, the resident jester, chimed in from his spot beside Shailaja, "Forget about practicing the sitar, when does she ever even sit down?" causing Gayatri to scoff in mock annoyance.

Gayatri touched her forehead to the sitar, taking its blessing, and with a sigh that carried the weight of unstated emotions, she set the instrument down. Her voice, thick with a lifetime of suppressed longing, spoke volumes. "Humne toh kar di tumhari iccha poori, Yasho," she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I kept my promise. I played for you." A tender smile bloomed on her face as she shifted her gaze towards Jagdish. "Now, I suppose it's my turn to listen to my son."

Nishita sat transfixed, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. This woman, Gayatri, embodied a love so profound it transcended the boundaries of blood. Years of selfless dedication, of nurturing a family that wasn't biologically hers, of putting aside even the dream of having children of her own – the immense sacrifice resonated deeply with Nishita. How much love could one heart possibly hold?

And now, that same boundless love embraced Jagdish, the child Gayatri had been denied the chance to know for so long. This just seemed unreal to Nishita but she couldn't deny that it was all true as it was so pure, the raw vulnerability in Gayatri's eyes spoke a thousand unspoken words. They reflected the ache of missed opportunities to raise him with Yashoda, the heart-breaking guilt of years spent punishing an innocent child, and finally, the cathartic release of seeking forgiveness for succumbing to societal pressures and misplaced beliefs.

"Ji, Mamiji."

Jagdish rose, his movements imbued with a quiet grace. The whisper of his kurta brushed against the floor as he crossed the room, each step echoing an emotion in his heart. He reached the center and lowered himself gently onto the mattress. For a moment, his eyes fluttered shut, lips moving silently in silent prayer, a supplication to the divine muse before the music began.

Nishita couldn't tear her gaze from him.

As Jagdish picked up the sitar, a sense of practiced ease settled over him, the instrument seemingly an extension of himself. His fingers moved deftly, each note resonating with precision and grace. He looked at Nishita, and she held her breath, captivated not just by the sitar, but by the man wielding it. His beautiful brown eyes, filled with depth and emotion, made her feel alive. It was as if those eyes were the only ones she would ever allow to gaze upon her soul, stripping away all her defenses and seeing her true self.