Vidyarthi’s domestic life was sedate. There was no usual passion play displayed by married couple of health. His most of the time was used up in managing Pratap or in attending public functions, meeting or in interacting with prominent persons.
In true sense he was married to Pratap, his journalistic passion. The wife in his home was just domestic convenience. Even at home he would be mentally editing Pratap or thinking of a plot of a new heart wrenching article.
Often he would return home from the Pratap office late. On that day too he got very late. He found his wife waiting for him holding the door frame. Her eyes were full of tears.
Vidyarthi was shocked and he felt guilty deep down in his heart. He had taken it granted that in his journalist venture the wife should accept his absence as her contribution. The realities were not so simplistic.
He knew the reason but still asked, “Dear, why do you weep? Are you not feeling well?”
“No…,” the wife shook her head.
“Has someone troubled you?”
The wife again shook her head.
“Some bad news you heard from home?”
“No!” she shook her head violently this time.
“So dear,” Vidyarthi is cheerfully said adding, “There is nothing wrong. Let us go in. Wipe off your tears.”
The wife obediently followed him in. Vidyarthi was still feeling guilty and knew that he needed to probe deeper. He asked endearingly, “Why were you shedding tears? Tell me.”
His wife looked into his eyes and spoke, “You know our neighbour got married a few weeks ago? We went to their wedding.”
“Yes, yes. What happened to them?” Vidyarthi asked somewhat puzzled.
“Nothing happened to them.”
“Nothing happened? If nothing happened to them then why something is happening to you?” Vidyarthi tried to add a bit of humour.
“Now I learn that it was the second marriage of that man.”
“So?”
“So what? Is second marriage a good thing?” the wife said with a touch of protest.
“What is bad about second marriage? Did you wish to see him die a widower? Now he got a wife and the woman got an experienced husband. They make a happy family.’’
“Huh!?” Her eyes flashed anger. Then, suddenly she began to sob and the tears burst out of her eyes.
Vidyarthi was truly puzzled, He goaded, “Dear, tell me why do you shed tears? I can’t make a head or tail of this thing. Please control yourself and explain the matter to me.”
She revealed between sobs, “That man has four little children. His first wife, the mother of those children died not long ago after a long illness. Now he is making merry with his new wife. They don’t care for the poor kids. Today I saw the beggarly condition of those children. What a pity!”
“What did you exactly see?”
“The husband and the wife were inside making merry. The poor children stood outside shivering in the cold. That woman took no pity on the children because they were not her own kids.”
Vidyarthi nodded his head and spoke, “That is not good. I will speak to the man tomorrow or write something on the subject in Pratap. Okay?” He assured her.
The wife shot back, “Who will speak to you if you do the same?”
“What do you mean?”
“Suppose I die tomorrow then you will bring in a new wife. If my children suffer the same fate as…”
Now Vidyarthi realised what was troubling the mind of his simple wife. He had to allay her fears.
“So that was making you cry, huh?”
The wife nodded her head.
“Listen dear,” Vidyarthi said in a serious tone adding, “I don’t want you to die. I wish that you stay with me for ever and outlive me. I need you healthy and in good spirits. If you fall ill I will get you the best treatment. Don’t even think of death.”
“It is in the hands of Bhagwan, the life and death. Humans can do nothing about it. Suppose I am fated to die early…then?” she posed the question.
“I promise I will not marry again.”
“Is it true promise?”
“I swear by you,” Vidyarthi put his hand on his wife’s head. That had the desired effect. She smiled accepting the solemnity of her husband’s promise and patted her head.
Vidyarthi’s wife was a kind and a generous soul, a typical Hindustani wife whose life revolves around her husband and his activities. She was not much read but proved a good and efficient house wife in whom her busy husband could put his entire trust and faith that she would hold the domestic front.
She was very attached to her children naturally because they filled her life with purpose in absence of the husband which was almost the entire day. The kids were the twinkling stars of her eyes.
Vidyarthi also loved his kids. The time spent with wife and kids gave him natural joy. That was the only time he felt a human being instead of a piece of editorial which his journalistic endeavour made him feel often. In such happy private world happy moment Vidyarthi discovered his own humorous side and knew the value of small pleasures which sustain life in the sea of adversities.
Once his younger son Onkar was playing on the roof top. He was a seven year old prankster. He was wearing a vest and a small loin. His naughty mind made him unwrap his loin and fly it as a kite. Just then, Vidyarthi arrived on the roof to rest in the breeze.
The little one was too busy to take notice of the father’s arrival. Vidyarthi called out to him, “Onkar! Why are you flying your loin? What is the fun?”
“Babuji! Take off your loin and try it. It is bigger fun then flying a kite,” Onkar replied without turning to look at his father.
Vidyarthi laughed at the silly suggestion of his prankster son who was getting a real kick out of his loin prank.
Vidyarthi called out to his wife, “Onkar’s mother! Just hear this one…”
The wife ran up to the roof and asked, “What is it?”
Vidyarthi pointed out to his son Onkar who was bare down the waist as the loin was serving as his kite and said, “Look!”
Onkar’s nakedness made her blush.
She said, “You called me just to show that to me!?”
“No!” Vidyarthi revealed how their son was suggesting that the father too should follow his example and fly the loin.
It made the couple double up laughing.
Shopping Cart
