-: Mystery:-

The parcel was now on my table; I was sitting in the front yard of my garden and enjoying the autumn. Parcel had my name and address and yet I was not very sure, if I should accept it- take it-open it... the recent blasts in the city and one parcel bomb in the garden that killed many, was reason enough for me to refuse the delivery The parcel from unknown source had a defunct telephone number news paper clippings had said. Parcel on my table matched the description.

The delivery boy looked puzzled. He was the one who had called me to confirm our address and that’s how I was waiting for this unknown parcel. The delivery boy was unable to answer questions I had , they kept shooting from my side without waiting for any response from his, questions like; from whom, where, which city, when was this parcel dispatched sent, what are the rules for their agency to accept such parcels, sp. which do not have complete details of the sender.

My wife reminded, I last week had sent a parcel to her sister and had written only my mobile number... I did not send a bomb... I shot back. Delivery boy was puzzled with our conversation and was looking at us suspiciously- as if it was our business to receive the parcel bombs! Instead of answering all my questions first he put me to his branch manager and his rudeness hit me like the blast! As if I had accepted the parcel and than opened it to explode on my face!

He simply shouted at the delivery boy to leave the parcel and come back. They never wanted any hassles, and there were many other waiting for him.

The size of the parcel was perfect for radio bomb... I was still in two minds... suddenly the delivery boy dialed the number that was printed on the backside of the parcel.... “The number is switched off or not in the owner is out of coverage was the standard reply.

He looked a me like if I can dial the number at my cost... cannot you accepts the parcel... something in his eyes and in my heart happened at the same time...

I accepted the parcel! With all my doubts still intact.

I did not open it for next 24 hours and had kept it in the backyard to explode...this was like a blessing for me differently... my wife did not insist that I should clean the backyard....For this strange reason I had started liking the parcel...

After two days... autumn leaves weighed heavier than parcel and my wife started nagging me to either go to police with parcel - or to throw the parcel in the local river and get back to cleaning business...

On third day after I had accepted the parcel and speaking about it in hush tones to almost all close friends and listening to the suggestions given by them... for this simple retired person the only option left, was to open the parcel

I opened it.... near the water tank and ensured that there were at lest two witnesses... ensured that telephone was working and if need be.... yes felt like talking to police and doctors at the nearby hospital... but was afraid of the consequences.. Press- reports...

I opened it- when my wife was standing next to me... she wanted to be together ...but why were we so sure that it was bomb? And it would explode? Bomb blasts in the city was now a week old and they were not the types that I was anticipating... all of them if they were bombs in parcel…were in public places and had killed many. Only one of them was a parcel in a bomb that a child opened....

I opened it.....

It did not explode.

Next couple of hours were spent calling all the near ones and to all those who had given their opinions ... telling them the content of the parcel. most were shocked to hear that it did not explode and yes, did not forget to say how foolish of me to think... what I was thinking...forgetting that they too had added their two bits to the same.

I opened it and looked at the content... they were looked at me bizarrely for them being so innocent and I being so suspicious.

I opened the content- it was a diary- more precisely it was a notebook, with neat hand writing and some pages looked longer than the length of the page for the words it had on them, while others were like too short for the page. Those words were starring at me.

For some strange reasons I started to read from the last page, and it said

“I know you are convinced. You will help me get the justice. Justice, if not for me... for my children.... please take this diary to POLICE.

I have so much in me that I will explode one day... I will be killed or murdered in a very short time from now, and this death of mine; for society will be an accident.... like so many in past.... This must explode!

I had opened the pages of harmless looking dairy and words actually exploded at me , they were not silent, nor just black, they had power, they were talking to me... ensuring me that I was a witness to a process which will help someone get justice...

I was now cold and sat blank looking at those printed words which kept falling from the top of the page and formed an image on my retina and were now forming pictures....The last page of the diary was one of those crowded pages, which had words in all corners; it looked like chaos at traffic signal. Chaos of order (?)in writers mind... like traffic, going in one direction yet appearing choc blocked and at snails pace.

My wife was more interested in autumn leaves, unaware of my mind and words that were forming images in my mind. Her words were hitting me at different level and I was sure that she too was to explode.

I started reading the last page again... I was spellbound, I could not just leave the diary... it was an emotional appeal, it appeared to be honest account, it seems that some one needed help, justice. But why me? How was I connected? I looked at the bottom of the page for the signature... identity... I thought of reading the handwriting!! My professional expertise as teacher and examiner failed miserably... handwriting was of a matured, level headed person, almost printed kind of quality in writing and excellent command over language... was enough for me to confuse myself further.

I decide to ignore the exploding voice next to my ear drums and continued reading the page - last page again like the adamant teenager who does not want to change his ways to get a different results and continues with he same old habits.... I could have started with first page... glanced through, flipped through other pages for the details...identity... but....

There was something on that last page, it said about murder, saving life, justice for children... but nowhere had it given identity of the writer, city, place, and other details. Note was technically so neutral that if you would read it... you would feel that this was one personal appeal to you. If you were in my place, I am sure you too would get transfixed with the handwriting, thoughts, and content.

Why was this sent to me? Bothered me again.... I decided to stop reading. I also decided to pay attention to my inner voice; was I getting emotional? Am I getting carried away? Is this some kind of trap? Or is this a case of mistaken identity, or contents of the envelopes were changed.... Restless mind decided to act like wind... gathering flying things from one place to another... even if it meant chaos at another place....I just could not sleep that night... usually its snoring that keeps me awake and count seconds... that night... my mind and thoughts were under fire....smog in mind and fog outside ensured day break....I took the diary, locked myself in study.... and read the last page again.

After a while I erased all thoughts, images that I myself had formed... ensured that it was like clean slate... I told most students who came to me, start afresh... I attempted the same, realizing how difficult it is to erase anything that you have created... you start liking you flaws too….”possession” even on thoughts is a danger that forces mankind to become rigid. I too was human being... but decided to follow the advices I gave to all around me...

Notebook read like this...

Day-1- The Home coming:-

Cold, ice-cold reception was expected by me upon my arrival, my arrival in this house was a very special occasion for this family and for me too. I was duly briefed for the same, but still I had hopes and some images of family members, as painted by him for me.... "A warm family who was very closely knit and who always supported everyone". Being a person from different religion can be reason enough for others to get cold.

Their coldness was unnerving, I felt like piece of furniture. My arrival to this family is engraved in my mind. We stood there; feeling of reaching home was the only feeling that showed on our faces... I could hear the door bell ringing inside and my hear beats… loud and clear. He stood calm, strangely calm at the door of his own house, waiting for the door to get opened. There was a LONG gap as if someone was deciding against opening the door, once opened, it appeared as if it was automatic... no human image emerged from any where... we stood there for few seconds waiting for some reception…and than he lead me in... Grand Hall of this beautiful apartment had mannequins... they did not blink, speak, talk, laugh, greet... this made me think if I was a statue myself... he just pulled me ... escorted me straight to room allotted for us, his room in that house. That was his room our world.

A note at the door said “Just be here always"

I felt touched, it was so refreshing, ensuring, thought the reception was deceptive and may be a prank…I unnecessarily doubted family, I must change my thinking and should not form images... I was about to smile and thank him for bringing me in such a beautiful family, when the explicit meaning was told to me by him..." do not enter any other areas.....room seemed prison to me.

They succeeded in their plans, if at all they made ...because actions from family members were not synchronized yet they appeared rehearsed.

The coldness left me NUMB, by Boldness dipped forever. This was my first day as daughter in law of this house. I was married to their son. We practiced different religions. I was not acceptable primarily because of these differences. We had talked about the same initially, he was determined like them, not to change his decision, commitment to me, an orphan.

I read the page glued... to my chair, the wrought iron chair and steaming hot cup of tea was cold...ice cold or me ,I finished that one cup in a gulp, one go... I felt the cold ness of tea down my throat…I could feel the numbness that was described... was I sweating or getting cold hands and feet reading this description? I forced myself not to get emotional, try and paint any picture in my mind... But who was this? Why me? Still continued....

Some time after a fortnight:-

I had pushed the plates out side the door after the dinner; it came at the same door every day at the same time without fail. Twice, two plates, in the same quantity in the same plates, I had not seen face of the person bringing food, nor the person taking the plates. I was not to know this. that was not my business, this was the rule of the house...

“always be here" was affecting me now.... I asked him for the first time...”how long wills this continue”? His reply was simple... “Till your life time....”

Will they harm me? Came the question, which I aborted on my lips, he knew what I wanted to ask... He said nothing giving back that look which was not even assuring. Though He was permitted to eat outside, mix with them, he preferred to be with me almost always.

This was a great assurance.

That day loud noises were heard, he was restless, as if he had some idea of the discussion that was taking place in the Grand hall. He was sitting next to the door, guarding may be, as if wanted to jump in the conversations at any time...

After a while the noises seemed to settle and as I was thinking about the probable reason, the door opened with a thud, some one was in front of me with a GUN- or was it a pistol.... a shot...thud... and stare from those anger boiling eyes.. And he was trying to push him aside… this was first person from this house who ever came so closer to me…. pistol did its work…

I just drooped to the ground… dead....

I had fainted.... actually… I still was alive?!!

I missed first date with death that day.

This was also my first outing after I was received in this house... to the hospital, where white looked more colorful to me... I felt like a human. No one was next to me, not even he...

Fear griped me, fear of being alone, fear of being duped, dumped, I wanted to say my prayers... but just could say, not that I did not remember... but for the fear of being from another religion and if someone hears it!! Fear griped me again…I just could not even press the button to call the nurse, and fainted again... I do not know for how long was I in this delirium condition, but when I opened the eyes... He was there.... talking to doctor... about my health.

I was diagnosed as a patient of schizophrenia. I screamed to say “NO”...as if that was going to help, doctor looked convinced for his diagnosis and strangely he looked assured... that helped all get away from police and attempt to murder.

I was more confused. Was this a conspiracy?

Two days later I was discharged.

I was not willing to go to that place; “always be here” was haunting me…but no other door was open that day…the door bell rang for a longer this time, wait outside in the lobby was longer, he was more restless standing next to me. It was his idea to comeback here… moreover I, did not want to see myself… getting into this mess. I knew, I was not promised rose garden, but felt “orphans” too have dignity! Except for this word there was no other flaw… in me… religion I practiced was given to me by the institution that took care of me, I firmly believed in the religion that was being followed there…. never questioned my origin, nor thought of changing the same for any reason – purpose…

The door opened ultimately, this closed the other doors which opened up after ours, was taking a bit longer to open. till now , I only had to deal with stare… but once the door behind me was closed, “Coldness” hit me again, I craved for those starring eyes, they seemed warm, had questions in their eyes, wanted to talk to me, looks from the windows were trying to communicate, than this cold look, that was suffocating. The warning at the door now read,

“Be always here- Take care”

He seemed to be taking more care of me, he was with me most of the time, food appeared in the same fashion, but this week noises coming after dinner were louder, frequent. A week after I came back from the hospital, he for the first time said.

Let’s go….

The firmness in his words were same when he had said; “let’s get married”

We left with one bag each, in any case I had no belongings, just one bag which was necessity and my worldly possession…holding his hands this time seemed so familiar, his touch and my smile said our decision was perfect.

May be the sound of door opening, made others understand that something happened, size of the bags and the backs at them communicated the decision loud and clear. No one asked him to stay, nor did they worry about the destination… may be he was hurt, but did not say so…

When the door at my back closed- chapter in my life was over. My dreams of having a home, family, life and love from near ones was as shattered as when I first realized the “home” which meant institution for me… I had craved for years, waited for… for someone to walk up to me, like me, hold me and say…. “She is my daughter… from now”…

But nothing happened…. ….

Nothing of this sort happened till he came in my life…20 years later.

We started walking, together for nowhere to go.

The notebook was blank for a while had some “scrape” and life looked stable …till I come to this page

After six months;-

That day we walked almost for six miles silently, each step we were forgetting the days we spent there, we were together, yet silent, yet talking , conversing in our minds, and dealing with our own fears, and looks that ensured each other that road ahead was safe passage.

Between two of us I had some money from my earlier job, for him he never got paid from family business individually, he could spend any amount for his desires…. Family had made it very clear that “I was not and could not be his desire”

Amount in my bank was enough to create ripples of insecurity and yet that amount stood there like him, walking next to me, assuring that things will fall in place.

Things actually started falling in place.

we walked to railway station, tickets for first destination that struck him took us to a new city, stayed in a lodge for 6 days… bank balance was going down like my confidence in self in that house… he kept assuring that things will fall in place.

I was the first one to get a job… my earlier experience of working with young minds assured the next few days. He was happy for me… but inability to get occupation for himself was speaking volumes from his eyes and hollow words congratulating me….

Next we moved into a house, this was my first home. We both missed “family”. I never had one and experienced one, and for him this was totally new experience …We could have stayed in this city for our life time….it was almost six months in this city.

till one day , while going for a movie we were missed by a speeding truck, we just managed with some minor injuries, truck driver was drunk may be… there was no reason for that truck to come from opposite lane , in wrong direction and …

He just said, “This was for you, they have located us” remarks puzzled me, how did he know? May be he knew his family better. He was holding my hands… ensuring safety, togetherness and what else I could ask for from life?

For days we did not speak, he was not responsible for anything, yet he could not look into my eyes, it was his family- strange family that wanted to separate us. I hated the word “family”. All he said was “I will protect you as long as I can”….next month we moved again.

Our First fight:-

We moved this time we were less insecure, shift in way was smooth. We were comfortable with our finances now. He still worked as freelancer, may be he could never accept working under anyone, he was employing people under him earlier… freelancing helped his ego.

We both loved children, I for a different reason; I wanted children so that they never have dry dreamless eyes, devoid looks, and uncertainty which I had been through. He wanted kids for unconditional love, accepting them as they are, for all their choices and decision they take… he was unable to reconcile with the fact that his “warm’ family was so “cold” towards me.

“Family” with two different meaning for us both, was last on our priority… we Never thought of children… never planned. Never felt the need.

Yet, when we had our son after 3 years of our wedding. It was after his birth that we fought, reason was simple.

I was insisting that he should inform his family about the Grand –son. I was sure his mother would melt, he was close to her. He always talked about her, similarities between them and relationship that they shared till I entered his life.

He missed her. He never called, wrote to them, but I knew, he needed them.

It was “we” who sent a joint letter addressed to all in his family, announcing arrival of the bundle of joy for us…. and we waited for long time for a response from that end.

A registered parcel greeted us almost after a month from his family.

I was overjoyed to get the response and waited for him to open he same in the evening. He was busy with a project and our roles had changed for a while. He worked and I was nursing our son.

He too was thrilled to see the envelope. But the happiness was so short lived that I felt sorry for what my suggestion had put him into. All that this letter contained was legal notice; debarring him- me- son from any property related matters. The notice was like separating child from mother, cutting the umbilical chord. The only difference being in the earlier case child survives and starts breathing on his own, here it was chocking.

He did not know how to control himself, first he was furious raged, screamed, shouted at me, later cried inconsolably… my fingers moved in his hair, helplessly- showing care and concern, I wanted to say “ I am there for you” but was afraid to say anything… Hurt him…. nor wanted to loose him. Our fight was not on the outcome of the letter sent, but on why in first place did he listen to my advice.

It than slowly unfolded upon me, I always followed him, he took decisions for me, protected me always. He was there like a wall. I loved that protection. I had craved for that feeling. Or the first time he had followed something which I suggested, related to his family.

Was he sure of the outcome? Or did not want to accept? I could not ask him anything.

It took less this time to reconcile, our son bridged the rift, and we soon were into our own world.

The First Letter:-

His work as freelancer was not rewarding, my work made our living. But this never bothered anyone. We switched our roles depending upon his work. Taking care of kids, in that sense, our roles, work, money was never a matter which usually baffles most couples. Yes, we now had a daughter too. We adopted her. May be he was a rebellion; He wanted to adopt a daughter from different religion, different than that we both practiced. We looked more like a Secular Nation than a family. We never forced our religion on our children too. Was he taking revenge in this manner for the treatment that he got from his family for getting married to me? But I could never ask this question.

One day he showed me a letter, Letter from his mother.

He was thrilled, he was happy like a kid; who gets a chocolate without actually asking for the same. Joy was visible and all over him. The letter had just his name and a telephone number, and he had already called once, but the call was not answered. He looked very different to me that day. As if he had found something that was lost… may be letter from mother was, his craving, was this first sign of acceptance? Many questions …. But I just wanted his “Joy” to be unconditional. I had never seen him so happy after our marriage. He was committed to me, but the lightness in his actions was different on that day.

I was happy too. He said, good that you insisted that we send that letter.

Our phone rang at an unearthly hour, I was next to the phone, and I picked up and said a groggy “hello”…. phone got disconnected. He was fast asleep… I thought of waking him up… I remembered the accident that took place almost forgotten now, fear drenched me in sweat, before I could really think further phone rang again, I had no energy left in me to pick that call… I let it ring….

He suddenly got up, saw the expression on my face, picked the call… and was relived….it was she who only wanted to say “hello” to her son only….

Phones never bothered me again, sometimes they would come twice/ thrice in week and sometime it would not ring for months…His mother was not keeping well, and his sister had moved in from another city, father was still the same. As if; though a decade had passed, time did not move for that house/ family. Calls that she was making were not known to anyone. She just spoke to him, never with me, most of the time these conversations were silent ones… as if the call was made to ensure that he says “hello” and just to listen to the normal breathing!

Phone calls changed him; he looked relaxed for days after the call, the difference evident from his ever radiating eyes, voice and actions.

It all stopped one afternoon, when unidentified people came home , threatened him, ransacked the house, I was at work, my kids witnessed the violence and he was helplessly looking at them and trying to console them … he could not say much about who they were… though he knew who had sent them. Kids did not let me go to work for one full week, they were just by our side, and a knock was enough to scare them…. He was lost again, joy from his actions disappeared again… and more he stayed home, less money we got and that made work compulsory for me, for kids, for our survival.

He never left me, never blamed me, nor coerced me to go back to his home/ town, rather with every threat; he became more protective and fierce in his actions of protecting his family.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I had to stop reading now, was it fictional or real? any which ways it was part of happening of someone’s life, but looked unreal. Yet by now, I had started creating a mental map of this person, what still puzzled me was her name, identity, religion she practiced and cities that she was mentioning, the way notebook was written made me portray this person, her family, members of the family, I also felt as if I was witness to “cold” reception that she got on day one. I was trying to be neutral …yet was getting carried away with the emotional details, but over all she looked happy to me. Most women would want a man who takes a stand and stands by it.

Here was someone who actually had a husband which many had just dreamt… was she complaining?

No, she certainly was not complaining, it was narrative… she just was narrating some episodes, which she felt were worth! I started admiring this girl, her journey from orphanage to working women who was supporting a family. Question that I still did not know and struggled with was; who this person is and why was this dairy sent to me.

I was reading and re-reading some parts, I tried to investigate, find faults with story. I could find many like; it did not mention any friends, no relatives, no connections from people from earlier life, no friends for her husband, no help when they left the house, when they were first attacked… so many more questions…. yet I was reading it.

I was sure that this was not investigation report, I had no reason to doubt the contents, I could have stopped reading the same further and just thrown the book as suggested by my wife. It was diary, a narrative, persons emotional companion, a non judgmental approach to reading was what it needed. It was written in a non judgmental way. She had never mentioned her personal feeling about his family, nor she had ever expressed regret of getting married to him and giving a life devoid of family, which she craved.

I even told some parts of the dairy to my wife, she too seemed touched by the episodes and somewhere helped me formulate a feeling that I must continue reading, do not form opinion, and read it rill end to find the meaning till the last page. I went back to the diary…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hopefully the last shift:-

We moved this time not for threat or attempt on our/ my life but this time, I found better opportunities at work. The new place also seemed better for him and his freelancing work, it was a bigger city and farther from his town.

On the last day before we were to move, he was at the phone at odd hours, waiting for something… he called up his mother and told her about the shift. He gave his mobile number to her. He just looked at me, a blank look; not seeking approval nor for a nod... we did not say anything. Somewhere though I was happy that he called her up, and was scared too… for the unknown, for his families past behavior. Strange question bothered me, though I never doubted him or questioned him for this, how did he know that only, she would pick the call? Time of call? Was she alone that day? It was between mother and son in any case.

Life seemed settling; little does one know what is in store…

The Call and beginning of End:-

That day, we had decided to take our son to planetarium who was now 7 and our daughter was about 4 years. It was a dream outing for our son as he was the first one from his class to be at the planetarium and experience skies! we locked the house, all excited and as we were leaving, his mobile rang…. he picked up the call without looking at the number….he still was telling our son about the movie at the planetarium.

He stopped walking, kids also could see, feel the tension on his face. He was listening… just listening….his expressions changed frequently, he was angry, concerned, furious… but there were no words to express all that. Just a couple of words… and his final closing statement was loud and clear… almost shouting… “it will be all of us together” not me alone…. and he switched off.’

All of us just followed him, back inside, before I could ask him the matter phone rang again. This time I could hear male voice shouting at him… cursing him… and he just was listening…. at the end he again said the same.

it will be all of us together” not me alone…. and he switched off.”

Phone rang again and he smiled faintly…asking us to pack, we would leave for his town immediately. On our way he told me that first it was his mother who wanted him to come and meet him, her condition was deteriorating slowly… she wished to see her son… her son only. Other two calls were from his father, he was fuming, and did not want him to come, and come with me, at last he succumbed to his wife- may be her last wish, which made him allow this concession.

I just asked him, why was he not willing to go alone? He looked puzzled, He was not very sure whether information about mother’s health was correct and in his absence, actions from his family … he just could not complete…

My Reflection:-

Can practicing different religions bring so much of hatred amongst people and close relationships… can hatred stay for a decade with same intensity? Whose religion was great? One whose son was keeping his promise given to his wife? Or religion of a family who distanced their son, even attempted on his life?

He still was talking to me about family…his mother and his childhood… he did not want to loose her… he wanted her to bless him and his family, he wanted her to “see: me at least once, “talk” to me at least once… now that she was dying. He was very emotional and very rational at the same time…. this puzzled me? Can one be so levelheaded?

He warned me/ kids about “cold” reception. Kids just followed instructions; in any case for them all this was so new….

The cold reception:-2

The building was same, may be painted, I was not scared like first time, I was anticipating same reception, worst may be, hence I was more observant this time. He was close to the door; I followed him after couple of steps and kids behind me. Door took longer to open as usual; only he was taken in… we were instructed to stand there by a lady, who resembled like him… I noticed that in my first stint in this house I was too scared I had not seen faces, I was scared to “look” at them, I was confined to his room, and no one ever came to me… not even in hospital…

This time I was not scared at least… I was proud & confident of my husband his support, this reflected in my behaviour, I looked up straight into the eyes of the person at the door, I noticed that she too was trying to “look” at me.. Place me... may be she had “seen” me earlier and was trying to measure me up… our eyes met… and before we could exchange glances and may be smile…. she was pulled by someone and door banged closed on us…. He was inside… we were outside… I was not alone this time, I had my two kids, they were dazed, and my daughter started crying… I saw her for the first time and last time that day; at least this is what I thought.

We cringed into each other, I was trying to console comfort them helplessly my situation was no different than theirs… without saying anything I continued stroking their heads. The doors and windows from the neighbourhood now had faces… were they the same… like earlier episode? This question brought a faint smile on my face… people get to see… what others want to show… Strangely my husband showed meaning of word, courage, care, support… that went unnoticed through the same doors and windows.

Door opened again after may be two min. but this seemed so long for me, he appeared at the door and I was relaxed, kids ran to him…but weirdly they stopped at the door and waited for him to come out before clinging to him. ….May be I was the only one who was noticing all this…

We were to be taken in! Was the decision, as I entered, I saw how big was the Grand Hall… it still had no people to receive us, as if unexpectedly everyone had disappeared. I was looking here and there… noticing few frames on the wall and family portrait… He was all over… on walls, tables, in ways … may be this was their way of showing warmth- care! I had mixed feeling as I entered the room, it was same – this really amazed me… life had come to full stop in this house ten years ago. I remembered everything that was there in this room, I could actually recall thee position of object that were in that room without using GPRS… I had spent a fortnight… in this home/ prison….bitter memories filled me …eccentrically I was feeling guilty too… for separating a son from family….

But honestly had I known that our marriage is to cause this turmoil, I would have never craved for a family. He always, talked passionately about his family and I was just longing to be part of the same… till one day religions that we practiced shattered my dreams and his position from his own house.

Instructions at the door were same…. but this time I ignored…Kids were following me like shadow. I decided to locate the kitchen as kids were hungry but before I could make that move, food for kids… he was there with food.

Next day, kids were still sleeping, he asked me to follow him, and we went to his mother’s room. She looked beautiful in her illness too, her beauty struck me….I was tempted to compare myself with her… my thoughts surprised me… was I competing with her? She asked me to come closer to her…. I bowed my head reaching closer to her… her frail hand was over my head….

A mother had touched me for the first time. I was deprived of this touch… I smiled back, wanting to say so much, I was proud of her son… I was guilty of snatching her son… I was ready for any compromise… but religion had played villain in our lives… I wanted to be there all my life… the touch was divine.

I joined my hands and was about to say my prayers for her, for her recovery, she looked touched by this gesture... when he almost pulled me back from the bed and we went back to our room… reaching there, though I was shocked by his actions and force in his actions… I realized that …it was not for prayers that he pulled me… he wanted his mother to see me… bless me… and he wanted no body to know about this… absolutely on one…he did not want more issues at this time…he was tense but did not show, talk about his feelings. From where did he gather this strength? May be for me survival instinct was the reason, rejection was what I experienced immediately after birth and since than … but for him life was so different. What made him so rough, determined? He had already left the room to be with her…

Before the breakfast time, I was again summoned by him, we went in that room again, she looked different this time…she looked strange and all her warmth that I had witnessed had disappeared. He was near her feet, I stood next to him. There were many people standing nearby, one of them was certainly the same sister who had opened the door, I had no courage left in me to look up and stare at them, though I tried hard…. I could feel eyes preying me… dissecting me….His father was also there… facing the wall…. he did not even want to face me!

His father ensured that I heard his comment….” its her illness that ahs weekend me and you are in this house, but I promise I will take revenge for what you have done to us”

Silence in the room was deafening, each one could hear the breathing of another… his mother started crying…. she called me near to her… said in a frail voice, “Ignore his comment, he loves him… he is a warm person… after I am gone promise that you will take care of him… he is lonely and … words were falling apart… she looked at me…

I said yes, loudly- ensuring he too had heard what his wife wanted as a promise from me… I felt close to her. I touched her forehead and kissed her gently… her breathing became irregular… I looked at him… he realized what I wanted to say… I left the room… Later she was shifted to the hospital… she was sinking… late that evening I was again taken to the hospital, she took my hands in her hands, and closed her eyes forever….

I was uncontrollable… I lost mother again… this time after a very brief encounter...

I was hated for snatching her son… and here the lady finds me worth giving her life in my hands…I decided to fulfill her promise.

We were sent back soon. On this journey back home I met Ma – Baba… in train. Kids started calling them grand pa- grandma.

He too was lost, missed his mother… we had her photograph in our house now; I could look intently at her for hours. Kids were still dazed with what they had seen and experienced. Life had to start again… it just started.

Maa = Baba

He was to stay for some more time, we were not required, needed rather were asked to leave. He was uncomfortable, but I insisted and left with kids. Some how safety was not a question for me this time

I liked the old couple traveling with us instantly… there was something that attracted me towards them. May be I was missing parents and death of his mother… was still not out of my mid. I even told them that I lost my mother…I just could not share more information… I did not want to loose these parents to religion. Maa instantly hugged me, consoled me and said consider me as your mother… Baba was so gentle, unlike his father, for the period of journey I felt I was not an orphan anymore… I support and I felt that kids were safe with them… if something happens to me….we exchanged addresses and photographs before the journey ended for them. Mine was a longer one….

Strange happenings or curse? :-

After six months of her death, we received a letter, saying that his father had sold the property and they have shifted to another place. He was finding it very difficult to stay with her memories in that house.

He called up the new number and phone was answered by his father, who than gave the phone to old servant of the house…. as he did not want to talk to him.

It seemed that life had something else in store for the family and for us now…

Within another six months we got another shocking news… this time his father called up… he was there …thankfully he only picked up the phone… he was numb for long… barely he could say… “Didi died in road accident”

We left immediately, everything was over before we reached, or even her husband and his family reached. Who performed the last rites… the old servant also was not on seen. He had been keeping unwell and was sent to his village.

No body spoke or interacted with me, but we were not confined to one room in this house we could move freely. His father was still talking of revenge …for snatching his son away…. almost eleven years after the incident.

His sister took charge of the house and we were sent back, this time after 8 days…

Life looked difficult to gather pieces and start ahead… he was depressed almost stopped working and mainly was at home…. things became worst…. when another call informing death of his other sister in a similar road accident took place.

The Arrival

We shifted to his hometown, and stayed in the same house on request of his father. He asked me to take care of the house as was the last wish of his wife... The only sentence he ever spoke to me in these many years. Kids helped in their own way in this new situation, they were normal yet their behaviour was measured…

Religion no longer seemed the dividing wall…

Most important for me was the promise that I had given to his mother, who trusted me so much….

He too looked relaxed, was kind of ensured from behaviour of his father that he had changed. I was happy because he was happy. His father did not speak to me directly ever, but with kids even the religion was not the issue.

For the first time he took responsibility of his families business, he started working… his father looked unperturbed and continued going to office. Life had come to a full circle... it was 12^th year of our wedding and coldness in relationship were buried under 3 deaths that shattered the family.

Next six months were event free… and everyone looked stress-free now. There were definitely more conversations between him and his father. Children were free with grandfather. May be I was the cause of basic hostility… I just followed promise that I made to his mother. So what if he never looked at me, never shared table, food, space with me in the same house. Our religion was still limited to our rooms.

Business was doing well, and touring for my husband increased, initially it was for a day… he was uncomfortable leaving me and kids behind alone with his father… but I was sure that nothing would happen to me now…. I was sure that at least for the sake of his wife he had accepted me. It was me who assured him safety of me and kids in his absence. Slowly the days became weeks. I was never afraid any more.

The plot:-

This time, he had gone for more than a fortnight, his father was behaving as usual… till one night… I heard a conversation... I could not make much from that conversation but he was surely talking about me. Who could be at the other end?

Fear gripped me again…

Next day I was alone at home… when phone rang again… I picked up the phone and female voice said “daddy”…. and it ended as a wrong number. The phone id was from city in eastern part of the country.

That night the phone rang again, I could hear him talk to some one…. this mystery was killing me now.

Next morning I decided to check the phone id… that was erased. I was now more puzzled. I did not want to call my husband and press panic buttons. All other actions of his father were normal… may be “fear” had surfaced again.

Next two days were peaceful. I cursed myself for my own thoughts, and when he called from where he had been I assured him doubly trying to cover my guilt too.

It was one more week for him to return, I was alone at home and phone rang again, same number was displayed on the caller id. I picked up the phone and said “hello”… phone got disconnected immediately. My doubts surfaced again….I entered his father’s room for the first time …. looked here and there for some time… saw a phone diary, instinctively pulled the same… flipped through some pages… to my horror I found that number there….

Who was this person calling? Who else could call him daddy? I decided to call on that number…. it took longer for someone to answer the call; I did not say a word… someone... in a very hush tone said… “Daddy”? my heart sank….phone was disconnected from that end.

I decided to search his room again….

I came across a bag, full of letters and photographs of his daughters, my husband’s sisters who were dead ... some were too recent… who was writing on behalf of them? Were they really dead? I was too scared to investigate further... I came back to my room… I was not sure of what I had read, heard… how could some one???????? Bothered me …

Next morning, he spoke to me, I was dazed, it was shocking for me, he spoke directly to me…ordering me to meet near a bank for some official work, my signatures were required. He left for office….

I reached his room again, like a hypnotized person I look for that bag; instead I come across a diary

I could not move myself, as if I was paralyzed…. contents of the diary were volatile…I wanted to get up and drink water...but just had no energy, courage and numbness hit me… The dairy was titled “the plot” and it was account of events that took place after my mother in law passed away.

All accidents that claimed lives of his sisters were fake, the selling of property and shifting to new one was planned so as not many people would know them… both his sisters were alive and they were in eastern part of the country… calls came from them…they were equal partners in this crime… but why were they doing this?

As the plot unfolded further… I fainted….

the plot said, re- call them, love children, give him work- share in business, send him on tours… away from her and home… and

And “one more real accident”

It was me …the plot was for me…..Revenge was still on their minds.

I desperately tried to contact him… tells him all the details… but he was unreachable… kids were in school…

It struck me…. I was called for some bank work… death was in front of me again…he was not with me this time to help me… the plot was perfect.

Time was ticking….I was unable to think… beyond this…got back to my diary and wrote all that I had heard/ read/ seen as witness,

How to ensure that this diary reaches to him on his return, when he comes to know about my accident?

Maa- baba were on my mind, I decided to post my diary to them, they would than send it back to this address after couple of days….Once he reads this diary… he will get me justice, my kids…

My kids, after my death… thought made me nervous.

I walked like a android back to my room, decided to go to school , pick children and leave this city till he comes back…. yes that was safest thing to do…

On Last page again:-

I am writing this page as it is going to happen now… I wrote…

Today at four I will start from my place for bank and on my way I will encounter death, hope this is final and no more efforts are required to kill me…. I would want peace for the remaining ones…

I wrote about my fears, plot and I re wrote the plot…..I do not want to die and hence I am going to run away with kids and yet if something happens to me… this should reach to my husband and police….

Though I write this, I do not want to die and hence I thought of escape… with kids.

I packed diary in an envelop , wrote Maa – baba ’s address and wrote the old mobile number at back, may be that number will help them trace me… send the diary back …and asked the maid to go and post the same immediately. I ensured that he leaves before I left...

I did not want to loose the time, for me kids and their safety was creating mayhem in my mind.

I came down and started the car … I switched the player as I wanted to break the pattern of my thoughts I wanted to reach to my children as early as possible…… recorded voice of his father emerged, I was scared…

“I know, you know the plot, I know you want fail my plot…and want to run away with kids… I knew you would do this too fail my plot… but my “accidents” were for this plot. Look straight… the speeding truck is for you… may you rest in peace. Your husband ….

Remaining words was lost in crash… News paper carried reports of “one more death” by speeding heavy vehicles, driver escaped scene of crime…

XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX

I was emotionally – physically- mentally drained reading this dairy, Diary claimed that we were the Maa- baba.

We have never set our foot outside our compound in last five years, forget train journey and exchange of address and phone numbers. My wife was shocked, angry at her father in law….she felt it was cold blooded murder.

I did not find any name/ address in diary where I could send back this notebook. It was still a mystery as to why we received this note.

I was too disturbed reading this and felt my moral duty to inform police… I went with diary to police station. They were initially reluctant but later proceeded with case. There were rounds of questions and even the branch manager of the courier company was questioned. I wanted justice to emerge. I wanted to reach to those kids and her husband and wanted him to know his father’s real face.

It is more than 5 months now since I received this notebook. Her story still haunts me, my wife. I have decided to locate family…I still believe in her story and I want justice for her. I want to meet her kids and husband.

We could locate the city… area… date and details on envelope did match with one road accident that took place in that city on that day…. I was informed that person who died in road accident was an old man and police suspected murder for property and in his death. According to neighbours statement in this case, daughter in law of the house, practiced a different religion. Family members including old man’s wife were seeing a larger conspiracy in this accident. They loved their daughter in law who was more attached to the old man. Surprisingly handwriting of these two people almost matched.

My note book disturbed them too… now they too believe like me in this… and our search is on… do you know any such family?