Smriti {Part 5}

It has been a while since I wrote a fiction series in parts, and the topics at the BarAThon challenge felt perfect to try and do one. The words seem to flow better now, and this is the fifth part of this seven part fiction, for the Day 5 topic, “Tiny Shoes.”

Index of Posts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7


~ 5 ~

“I need some money to pay off a debt.”

His tone, as casual as saying he was going to buy groceries, stunned me. He was senior to me at the MNC, earning almost twice as much as me, and yet, he was going to pawn my jewels. I refused to let him pass. He was angry, but to my own surprise, so was I. I wrenched the newspaper wrapped with my jewels from his hand after a struggle, and told him to get out of my room. I had to take a stand. Once he had left the house, I locked them up in the almirah and hid the key.

I was sleeping with my back to the room door when he returned. He pushed me onto my stomach, sat on my legs and started to hit me all over my body. His mouth spewed obscenities with each blow. I couldn’t move. He ignored my pleas to stop. By the time he was tired, I was sore. The pillow was wet with my tears, and he had fallen down on the floor near the bed, unconscious from the alcohol at last. The dismay turned into anger, the anger turned into strength and the strength turned into realization. I knew it was right to give up on someone who had not even given me a chance. Before he could wake up, I had packed a bag with some essentials, my jewelry, and some important documents I couldn’t leave behind. I walked out of the house and to a friend’s house. I knew she wouldn’t ask me to leave.

~~~

Smriti was jolted out of her thoughts yet again by the grandfather clock. The house was empty and silent. She walked to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee for herself. As she slowly sipped the hot coffee, she remembered the days after. The clock showed it was well past 1:30 in the morning. Yet she didn’t feel sleepy. She wanted to write more. Taking a plate to place the coffee on, she went back to her room and continued.

~~~

Ana had thought he’d come after me once sober, so she rushed me to the airport immediately. The next flight to Bangalore was to depart an hour after. She had done the talking, and persuaded a passenger to take a later flight instead. When I had returned home, Mom and Dad were shocked to see me at their doorstep again. They heard me out as I cried, told them what had transpired. Seeing the bruises, even they had known that the marriage was over.

They called for our family attorney and filed for divorce. We had expected a fight from the husband’s side, but to our surprise, he consented for a mutual separation.

“I don’t need you,” he told me. “You ran away, like a coward running away from a fight.”

I had been tempted to tell him how brave he was to sit on my back when he pounded me. But I resisted. I had wanted it over soon. I wouldn’t need to hear his words once he was far away. The next few months went with court visits. After what felt like ages, it was over. I was free of he who never loved me.

My parents had kept trying to find me another husband quickly, but I refused. If I wanted to get married again, I’d decide when it would happen.

“It is my life,” I had told my parents. “I don’t want to lose it again.”

One day, a man who was maybe seven years elder came to see me. His first wife had died giving birth to a stillborn daughter. A year had passed since then. I asked him why he wanted to marry me.

“I know the pain of losing someone I loved. I can understand pain. I know you went through a painful time too, even if it was different from mine. I could help you heal, and you could help me to as well.”

I believed him. It was the most honest reply I had gotten to that question until then. I noticed something red in his pocket, and asked him about it.

“It’s something I can’t let go of yet. My wife had knitted these for our daughter before…”

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, as he took a pair of red hand-knitted tiny booties out of his pocket.


Index of Posts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7


(© Vinay Leo R. @ I Rhyme Without Reason, 5th August 2016)

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Poetry & writing are to me, a breath of fresh air in a life that is sometimes covered by the smoke of sorrow or self doubt. They also become the sweets I share to celebrate when life offers me a reason to. But most of all, they are to me, my life. For each word I write is a piece of my heart, a thought that just had to find its way into the world.

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24 thoughts on “Smriti {Part 5}

  1. This was good… Fast… Set the story up properly. I’d initially thought Ninad somehow solved the problems between Smriti and her husband. I’m glad that wasn’t the case. I hope this man is good for her…

  2. I do hope she finds happiness after so much trauma. I like this man’s honesty. Yet I always wonder how hard it much be for people with bad experiences to give themselves a second chance. One needs to be really brave. I love how this story is progressing.
    (Beat About The Book recently posted…The teacher)My Profile

    • I hope that is so, Tulika. It’s something I wonder too. But having seen such people around me do give themselves that second chance, I know that bravery firsthand, I suppose. Glad you are enjoying the tale so far!

  3. I am sort of relieved that she’s finally free of him and sad on her part too for all that she had to endure.. quite an interesting turn of events throughout the series Vinay 🙂 can’t wait for the finale!

    • Yes. He was a douche, absolutely. Well, she will take it slow, Jb, but I can’t say the same for the story, which’ll be faster. 😛

      I know that that pain is imcomparable.

    • Ah. 🙂 Well, BARaThon is ending today, Tanaya. But I think it’ll continue into a second edition after a while. It’s fun. 😀 Glad you liked my story and that it kept you spellbound.

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