The Soldier's Wife

Caught somewhere in between a fragile sleep and somnolent wakefulness, she feels her fingers entwined perfectly with her loved one. In her transitory phase, occurs a beautifully painful sleep paralysis. Her body, as calm as still water and her mind as calm as the raging sea, she feels engulfed by a paradoxical whirlpool of emotion.

Today’s the day, that’s haunted her for weeks. Today’s the day she wants to forget but something inside urges to remind her. Today’s the day she’s armoured for, ever since her acceptance. It’s the day she needs to let him go.

Trudging towards consciousness, she breaks the surface tension, and opens her eyes. She feels a sudden relief from her insecurity and fear of ultimate loss. Her gratefulness and sense of privilege overcomes all other feelings at first sight. She confidently blushes on impact. Laying wide awake in front of her, her beloved adores her as if for the very first time - the way he does, every time he looks at her. In a fractional gaze, the two have exchanged a thousand words. Their love, old fashioned. Timeless and eternal. They’re a five page love letter, in a world full of status updates.

They cut through time to stop and stare, wistfully, painfully, but alluringly. Her mind salvages each glance, each nuance, and gradation, etching it into the deepest corners of her soul. She memorises the minute lines on his face, the fall of his hair, the iris of his dangerously brown eyes. She imbibes each moment, and stockpiles them to get through the tough times awaiting. This, he knows. He purses his lips and tightens his grip on her fingers, doing the very same. Revering her serenity, he plants a kiss on the back of her hand, injecting her with much needed strength. She feels heavenly, but knows that she is soon to trespass through hell.

Afflicted by a sense of time, she courageously sighs and momentarily caresses his hair whilst getting up. She slips into her sandals and scurries to the door. She sneaks a peak through the corner of her eye just before exiting the room and he’s just as pensively quiet and breathing motionlessly.

She washes up and heads to the kitchen. Her aim is to work briskly and elaborately. She tries to draw her absolute focus to the most unnecessary tasks. Anything to distract her from the desolation brewing within. She assiduously slices pieces of bread, assembles the diced vegetables in the most perfect manner, and mechanically goes about her other tasks. Fully well knowing that this her battle strategy. Her way to hush the aching heart.

She walks to the sink to rinse her hands. Pausing her routine she stops to at a vague figure in the mirror. She instructs and commands the reflection to keep it together. The reflection winces. She further sternly intimidates the reflection, reminding it to keep up the shield but experiences a rigid barrier. She pierces harder. The reflection lets out a solitary victorious tear, and sniffs with finality. Order received. She shakes her head, wipes her cheek and walks out of the wash room as if nothing ever happened.

She wraps the ultra-carefully made breakfast in brown paper, and puts it in the front pocket of his backpack along which she slips in a long letter and a photograph. She zips up the bag and places her palm on it. Tracing the edges of the badges and dog tags organised beside it, she is struck by a sense of patriotic pride. Though she glows with pain, she smiles through it with reserved optimism and hope.

She walks to the front porch, as the first beam of sunlight traces her face. Staring at the luminous, golden strip of cement which is scheduled to carry him away, an uneasy panic sets in inside her titanium heart. She feels cogwheels choking down her emotions. One may also call it, ‘acceptance’. She feels, as if though she’s staring into oblivion.

Breaking the deafening silence, he walks out the door, and onto the front porch. He’s in uniform, and is wearing his heavy duty duffle bag on his back. No words said once again, the two just have a beautifully painful telepathic conversation. One of the million ways they profess their undying love.

He walks towards her, and gently places his hand on the nape of her neck. He traces her skin with his fingers, and stares into her crystalline eyes. ‘It’s time’ something tells them. She feels those cogwheels rotating. She feels a feeble urge to defy the laws of space and time. Her heart ebbs and throbs with sorrow. And the same cogwheels force her to smile. After all, a warrior’s strength is abstinence from conceding. And she is one hell of a warrior.

She hides her tears with all her might. Not because she wants to, but because she has to. Not because she’s afraid to cry, but because she’s afraid he might. He sees through her as if she’s glass. As if her walls are mere holograms. He embraces her in his arms. She stands on her toes and clings on his tall neck, knowing fully well that she will never hold something so dearly again, till the day he returns.

The bus honks from slightly far away.

Startled, she subconsciously tightens her grip. She looks down, intensely. He inhales, and slowly lifts her chin up while whispering in her ear, “I love you, angel”

The two kiss each other farewell, making the universe evanesce for a few brief seconds.

He fixes his cap, and moves ahead to board the bus. She stands there, illuminated, counting his footsteps. She stands there, watching herself crumble and reforming, oscillating from love and pride to pain and courage. She sees the bus transcend into a blurry distance along the ribbon like road. It gets smaller and smaller, diminishes to a tiny speck and slowly, disappears.

She exhales, for her battle has just begun. She walks into the house, all guns blazing.

by Vedika (Veda) Maheshwari