Shivaay couldn't breathe. He felt as if a large rock was placed on his chest, weighing him down. His breath stuck in his throat. He gasped for air and in that moment he realised what air meant. A lack of air had him writhing in breathlessness. He could feel the cold sweat drip from his chin.
Water, Water weighed him down, now reaching his nose. He gasped, no, as trying to breathe. His chest hurt. Anika's lifeless form flashed in front of his eyes. She laid in a pool of blood, her own blood. No, Anika.
Shivaay woke up with a jerk. Dream, no nightmare. The same nightmare, again. That scene, that bloody tormenting scene, one he couldn't get out of his damn head. He could feel the cold sweat, which covered his neck. He looked beside him, suddenly alert. Beside him, Anika laid motionless, asleep. Her breathing soft, the sleeveless t-shirt left her arms bare. Shivaay ran his arm along her arm, ensuring she was there. Right there, safe and in peace.
On nights like this, he felt almost guilty. For things his wife had to go through due to him. There was one thing, which he could never forget. That was how his wife, Shivaay Singh Oberoi's wife was asked, no, forced, to remove her bangles on their last day at that house. The same house, for which he tirelessly toiled away. The only difference was, he made sacrifices for their home. A home, which was not his anymore.
Just like martyrs give lives for rights, some people give up their own happiness for others. Others, whom they consider their own. Shivaay inhaled deeply, as if he was unable to believe he was still breathing. He exhaled, his breath ghosting upon his lips. He pulled the drawer of his bedside table open, after rummaging through the medicines and other stuff, he found a piece of glossy paper.
A piece of black and white paper, which was absolutely precious to him. He caressed the picture, which now had creases. An ultrasound picture. The first, last and the only thing he had of his child, a mere picture. He could feel the familiar burning in his chest. The agony returned, a shaky breath left him as he stared at the piece of paper, unmoving. Teardrops fell on that picture, which he held in his hand, firmly yet delicately.
Shivaay tried his best to avoid conversation about babies with Anika. Especially about the child they had lost. It was not that he was not bothered by it. Hell, only he and his God knew, he thought about their child every fucking day. He wanted to mourn, to cry, to wail and complain to all the Gods people believed existed, but would that solve anything? Shivaay had always focused on being rational, thinking with possibilities but for once, he wanted to be absolutely irrational and nonsensical and to behave like a man deprived of happiness. An unfortunate man who has lost his child.
He was well aware that this did not torment Anika any less. The loss had left her devastated. Causing her to sink into depression. Shivaay had cried, no, he had sobbed and weeped when Anika had tried to cut the nerves on her wrists. That dreadful incident had taken place roughly two months after there miscarriage. They did not have anyone, except themselves. Without her, there was no difference between him and an orphan. He literally lived for her.
He carefully tucked the ultrasound picture inside the drawer, before laying on the bed. He wrapped an arm around his wife and pulled her closer to his chest. He nuzzled his nose in her neck, inhaling her sweet, faint smell. He hoped to fall asleep as he slipped his hand inside her night robe, drawing invisible patterns on her waist.
Omkara rubbed his sleepless, red eyes before looking at the screen again. Gauri faintly smiled at him, before rubbing her very own eyes.
"I still can't believe this, Om," Gauri confessed as she sipped her herbal tea. A beverage she recently enjoyed. "Nor can't I, it all seems too unreal, like a dream. A dream, Gauri, from which I don't ever want to be awakened from," Gauri could almost see the bitterness and the pain in her husband's eyes, almost. If only he wasn't so adept at masking his emotions.
An involuntary sigh escaped Gauri, which caused her husband to shift all his attention to her. Gauri looked at him too, alert. "You must think that you are stuck with a failure like me, for a husband. You didn't deserve this Gauri, none of this,"
"So didn't you, Om. None of us did," Gauri said, her own eyes now prickling with tears.
Om had hurriedly called his wife as they returned. They had ordered food at home, as they were too emotionally spent to cook or do any activity. Om still couldn't bring himself to believe this. Was he high? Did he overdose again? Was he hallucinating, again?
When Gauri answered his calls, she had frantically bombarded him with questions. She was worried sick, he hadn't called upon reaching the hotel. Nor after the meeting. She was having all sorts of negative and bothering thoughts in her mind, what if the meeting went wrong? What if something bad happened to him? Though she was well aware that he had had the experience of travelling abroad, he hadn't travelled in a couple of years and that's what was bothering her.
Om was hesitant, but had that crazy ad frantic look. Gauri's breathing had stopped looking at him, her first instinct was something had happened to Rudra or Om had taken drugs again. Om was trying to say something desperately. There was a pinch of hesitancy in his eyes, but then again, there was happiness.
Gauri was torn between reality and assumptions. She thought he was again hallucinating, seeing this or precisely, people. But when she turned the camera on his phone, she gaped at what she saw. Shivaay and Anika, whom she, no they all thought were dead, were standing there. They were laughing and talking with Rudra and taking out the boxes of food from the plastic bags. Her jaw touched the ground. She was unable to believe anything and lost in her thoughts she didn't hear anything her husband was saying.
"Gauri?" Om called, seeing his wife's eyes trained elsewhere, lost in her own thoughts. "Are you sleepy? Sleep then. We will talk tomorrow. Take care," Gauri nodded. She needed time to think about everything and process them in her brain.
Om ended the video conference, shutting the laptop softly. He massaged his temple, sleep was faraway from his eyes. His thoughts travelled back to Gauri. Just like a stick supports blind man, his wife supported him. She was there, with him, holding on to the other side of the rope, tightly. Refusing to let the rope, their marriage, him, go. He had huge respect for the woman, whom he called wife.
For once, Om wanted to be that stick for her, to be that determined and to hold onto the burning rope. Knowing it would burn, hurt, Gauri did not let that rope go. Did not give up on him. Waited and tried. Every time he looked at her big, kohl adorned eyes, he fell. Feel the love and in the ocean of guilt. The guilt of tormenting her, was tormenting him.
Marriage is like a rope, with two people holding onto it from two sides. It surely harassed their hands, bruised it, but the art of loving was to never let go. It depended on the two people holding onto the rope, if they wanted to keep holding it or let go or make it a tug of war.
If only he could go back in time, he would have fixed everything. Om smiled, the smile embroidered with raw sarcasm. That's what every fool taught. Going back in time, he would solve his mistakes, If only he could identify them. For we all see the faults of others as clearly as we see the crystals, but when it comes to ourselves, we become blind.
