by Sangeetha Vallat | Jul 7, 2025 | Fiction Bites, Short Stories
Much Ado Over was first published in an Online Journal – INNSAEI – Aug 2021.
I couldn’t attend my niece’s engagement, so I asked my cousin how the event went. In response, she shared an anecdote that sparked a story in my mind as she spoke. That story became the only piece I submitted to INNSAEI, and I was thrilled when it was selected for their annual issue published in December 2021.
MUCH ADO OVER…
Mrs Nair clawed her way out of the elevator before it commenced the sequence of halting and opening its doors. Tall potted plants outside the elevator camouflaged Mrs Nair as she flicked her eyes first left, then right and straight ahead. The meticulously pleated silk sari escaped the confines of a safety pin as she treaded on its temple design border. Then, unmindful of the trailing temples, she plodded, twisting her small frame to tug the straps of the newly purchased heels as it sank into the carpet, biting her with a vengeance. Mrs Nair surprised herself by craning her neck, almost doing a 360 like an owl searching for her prey.
The vice president of an international conglomerate, Mrs Nair, prided on her planning and execution prowess. She firmly believed that everything happened for a reason and never once lost her composure, even when bombarded by challenges at work. And she wasn’t going to get stressed today, one of the significant days in the life of a mother.
She chipped the red painted nails vigorously, punching the buttons on the shiny mobile phone. A piercing yelp effused from the parched throat of Mrs Nair when a table deviously blocked her way, designed with the sole aim of hurting her little toe. While curses trundled out of her pursed lips, Mrs Nair ran her palm on her forehead, heedless of the pimples in the caked face that threatened to expose themselves. Further, the person she tried to reach on the phone continued to evade her ringing appeals.
She plucked a glass of liquid in a vile green colour, the welcome drink proffered by a dour-faced man in white as she watched children in ethnic clothes capering around, squealing and clapping. The sari-clad women and suited men in the jasmine-decked vast hall attempted to greet and congratulate her. But, oblivious, Mrs Nair elbowed everyone out of her path and bulldozed into a bevvy of men to pull her husband of several years by the scruff of his collar that protruded over his silk waistcoat.
“Didn’t you hear your mobile ring?” Mrs Nair’s voice reverberated above the Carnatic instrumental booming from the speakers.
Mr Nair understood his wife’s mood from the tone of her voice and refrained from making inane excuses. Instead, he waited with puppy eyes to swallow what was to follow next.
“You need to go home NOW. I forgot to get Ananya’s dupatta (scarf). She needs it.”
“Why? There is no need for a dupatta. Did you notice the time? There’s no time for me to go home and fetch it.”
The men, who had earlier engaged in conversation with Mr. Nair, swiftly moved aside at the sound of gnashing teeth emanating from Mrs. Nair.
Mrs Nair rolled her kohl-rimmed eyes and made elaborate gesticulations with her Mehndi-coated palms.
“The lehenga choli (Indian dress) will not be complete without the DUPATTA! Our daughter should be perfect on her engagement day. So instead of wasting time on spouting nonsensical arguments, drive home and fetch it.”
Mr Nair tugged his ear lobe, and his protruding Adam’s apple jounced wildly as he gulped down the words waiting to escape the confines of his constricted being. Just then, his ringing mobile saved him. He croaked a hello into his mobile phone while his spouse hyperventilated like the goddess Kali after killing the demons. He gestured for the car keys while bobbing his head to the person on the telephone line.
Mrs. Nair charged towards the elevator, remembering that the car keys were in the room where Ananya was getting dressed. Waiting a few nanoseconds, wringing her hands and checking her wristwatch for the hundredth time, she slapped the plant and sprinted to the stairs. Mrs Nair bounded them like someone who had a rabid dog on their heels. Gasping for air, she continued taking long strides through the dim corridor flanked by shut doors. Then, pounding on the door, she rested her finger on the buzzer. The beautician opened the door, clasping a bobby pin between her yellowed, uneven teeth encased in candy-pink lips.
For a few precious seconds, Mrs Nair’s eyes swept over her adorable daughter with unconcealed affection. Then, recollecting her urgency, she jostled her way amidst the crew of beauticians, raked through her handbag, ferreted out the car keys, and darted to the door. Unfortunately, the keyring caught the earphones coiled inside the bag. A trail of wires pulling the umpteen things stuffed in the handbag followed Mrs. Nair out of the room like trailing confetti.
“Mummmyyyy! What are you doing? You are yanking my lehenga. Aah!” cried Ananya.
“Oh dear! I’m so sorry. I did not see this.” The mother grabbed all that tailed her and shoved them inside the handbag, zipping it shut. Then she exchanged her new heels for the comfort of her old, loyal flats. Dashing out, she punctured the elevator buttons, hopping from foot to foot as the elevator trickled down.
As she jumped into the hall, again before the elevator had a breather, the video crew flashed light on her face, expecting the young bride to make an entrance. Instantly, the light bulb diffused along with the spirits of the waiting horde.
Mrs Nair tucked the loose end of her sari unceremoniously into her sweaty hips. The 90 minutes spent on her intricate coiffure lay wasted. Resembling Medusa, she scanned the room for her husband when her eyes fell on her other daughter running behind her four-year-old.
“Anju… Anjooo! Come here.”
“Yeah, mummy. Whoa! You look frightful.” Anju managed to grasp her fleeing son and pull him towards her.
Mrs Nair’s cheeks twitched. She said, “Anju, like always, I cannot find your daddy. I forgot Ananya’s dupatta at home. Without that, she cannot come out, and this function will not happen if the auspicious time is missed.”
“Mummy, cool down, relax. Tell me where you have kept it, and I will go and get it. You just hold my son.” Anju grabbed the car keys and thrust her squirming son into her mother’s hands.
“You go home and call me on a video call; I will tell you exactly where it is in my wardrobe.” Mrs Nair grappled with the hyperactive grandson and her silk sari. Both refused to obey her entreaties.
“What a wonderfully decorated hall. Where is the bride? We are waiting to see the young ones on the stage.” The groom’s mother, effulgent in diamonds, sashayed towards a hapless Mrs Nair.
“Ahh! Thank you. Ananya is almost ready. She will be down soon.”
“Your hands are shaking. Are you alright?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I had to run up to the room to pick something. The up and down galloping, you see at this age, can be quite tiring.”
The groom’s mother was unaware that she was the reason for all this tension. A week earlier, she had picked up the bride-to-be’s dupatta to purchase a matching outfit for her son. Hassled by the requirements of the engagement ceremony, it slipped the attention of both mothers to question the whereabouts of the said dupatta. Two days before the D-Day, the groom’s mother had a brainwave and sent the dupatta to the bride’s house through her driver. Ignorant of the conspiracies of the two queen bees, Mr Nair carried the lehenga choli set, minus the dupatta, for the steam iron as per the instructions received. He then promptly left the lehenga set in the hotel room for his daughter to dress up the next day and marked a tick in the list of things needed for the ceremony.
Mrs Nair trotted behind her grandson, ruing her failing memory while the groom’s mother, her nose up in the clouds, sauntered to hug and greet someone in mismatched gaudy clothes. Within minutes, Mrs Nair’s mobile phone buzzed. She retreated to a corner. Her bedroom at home looked like a tsunami had ravaged it! Anju was plucking odds and ends from the wardrobe.
“Mummy, I have looked everywhere. The dupatta is not here. Maybe it’s there in the hotel room itself. Did you check properly?”
“Anju! I told you to call me as soon as you reach home. Why have you pulled everything out of my wardrobe? It’s on the right-hand side, second shelf in a white cover. The name on the cover begins with a B. Ugh!! I don’t remember the name.”
A man in a rumpled suit, smothering a crying child, perhaps searching for his wife, momentarily distracted Mrs Nair.
“Oh, OK. I couldn’t reach your mobile. It kept saying out of coverage area. Got it! Is this the one?”
Anju pulled out a crumpled piece of delicate cloth and wagged it in front of the camera.
“Yes! That’s the one. Now, hurry up soon.”
“OK. Mummy. Where is my son?”
Mrs Nair’s countenance curdled. She squinted and lied rapidly, “He is here. Now you get back soon.”
Cutting the call, she searched for the naughty boy. He was up, on the stage, sitting on the love seat meant for the young couple. Mrs Nair climbed up the raised platform. The fumes arising from the incense sticks tickled her nostrils, and the overpowering scent of the jasmine décor accelerated the looming headache. Moreover, the howling kid refused to surrender. Mrs Nair locked eyes with Mr Nair, who was steeped in merry laughter with his friends. She scooped the kid and ploughed across the room. Then, plonking the kid in Mr Nair’s helpless hands, Mrs Nair thundered towards the hotel entrance to wait for the frigging dupatta.
Almost paring the skin and cuticle while snatching the bag from Anju, Mrs Nair hastened to the elevator. Then, banging her hand on the button angrily, she bounded up the stairs. Once again.
With minutes to spare until the end of the auspicious time, the bride made a grand entrance. The videographers and photographers flashed and clicked endlessly.
The bride coyly joined the dashing groom on the stage. Mrs Nair goggled at the groom. Then, she felt the ground sway and lurch around her. She grabbed Mr Nair’s hand and steadied herself.
“What now?! Don’t tell me that you have forgotten the engagement ring!”
Hot coals exploded from Mrs Nair’s eyes as she glared at her husband. Then she lumbered onto the stage and inched closer to her would-be son-in-law and cleared her throat.
“Hello, Mummy. You look gorgeous.” The exuberant son-in-law, without batting an eyelid, lavished compliments on the frazzled mother-in-law.
“Erm… thank you for your kind words. I know I look like someone who travelled by an unreserved train. But, dear son, tell me what happened to the colour code matching outfit? Ananya is in blue, and you are in yellow!”
“Oh, that couldn’t happen. I stained my matching sherwani with coffee earlier. I had to borrow this one from my brother. In fact, I peeled it from him. He is there wearing the stained matching outfit. What’s a matching outfit in the grand scheme of things, eh?” He gazed at Ananya, his eyes dripping love.
Mrs. Nair plastered a goofy grin on her face, attempting to douse her inner turmoil. Then she exited the stage with as much grace as she could muster, wondering about her belief – everything happens for a reason! What could be the reason for this hullabaloo that happened- the thought swirled in her head. Perhaps the auspicious time wasn’t propitious.
Uncurling her fists, Mrs. Nair exuded warmth as she greeted the guests with a toothpaste-commercial smile.
“Thank you for gracing the occasion….”
&*&
Picture Courtesy – Unsplash Vaibhav Nagare
by Sangeetha Vallat | Jul 7, 2025 | Musings, Today's Katha
A short version of this was the first write-up, I typed on my mobile phone, lying on the middle berth of the Alleppey Express in January 2018. I have added a few more lines now. It was published in my blog on May 1, 2018.
AMIDST STRANGERS
( A journey to my Achan’s tharavad without him)
Amma and I were packed and ready, waiting for the cab. This trip to Palghat without Achan felt heavy on the heart. We were travelling to his tharavad to do the special rites ceremony at Ivar Madom near his village. Sujith was back in Dubai, and my maternal uncle and cousin would join us at Palakkad later. Perhaps Amma and I should have travelled with them instead of taking this journey. It helped to have people to talk to, so we didn’t dwell on our grief.
Achan was the one who made sure we reached the railway station two hours early, no matter what. It was his thing. So, even though he wasn’t with us this time, we kept the tradition alive and left home well in advance. We reached the station with 90 minutes to spare. The train was already on the platform, but the AC and lights weren’t on yet. Amma and I found a spot on the platform and just sat, taking in the quiet chaos around us: families, vendors, and announcements echoing overhead. It was oddly comforting.
Once we boarded, the coach attendant stepped in and got things going. He deposited bedsheets and blankets on the upper berth. A little later, a tall man arrived with an elderly lady, his mother it seemed, and a little girl, about five years old, trailing behind. They had plenty of luggage and settled into our bay. I couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious; I always get a bit uneasy seeing small kids on overnight trains, fearing a sleepless night. Mostly, I find infants and toddlers neighbouring me during travels or in theatres, which annoys me. When Amma began conversing with them, I stayed aloof but gradually started chatting.
The man was dropping his mother and daughter off at their hometown for the holidays. He was Malayali, born and raised in Kanpur, where his father had served in the Air Force. He spoke fluent Hindi, English, and Malayalam. His daughter, Ruth, was the sweetest, calmest child, a complete relief.
A young couple joined our bay. Ruth’s dad, a friendly man, requested that they swap the upper berth so his daughter could sleep with him in the middle berth, and they happily accepted. There was something easy and unforced about the whole group; we all started talking as if we had known each other for years. Work, life, cities, languages… everything flowed naturally.
As I watched Ruth’s dad fuss over his little girl, a wave of longing washed over me. I missed my Achan. He had always pampered me in his own quiet, wholehearted way. Amma would often recount this one incident that, in her words, summed up just how much he adored me.
I must have been around four years old. The milkman had just delivered fresh milk, and Amma placed the vessel on the table before stepping out to speak with a neighbor. When she returned, the scene horrified her. I was standing on the table, happily tipping the vessel, watching with fascination as the milk spilled over and streamed onto the floor in silky white waves.
What stopped her in her tracks, though, was not just the mess, but the sight of Achan sitting calmly beside me, watching me with a smile on his face and a gleam in his eyes. When Amma shrieked in frustration, he simply said, “Look at her… how happy my Molukutty looks.”
Amma couldn’t see the happiness, only the mess. But Achan… he saw me.
That kind of love, that kind of gentle indulgence, I know I’ll never feel it again. There’s a line from a film that comes back to me often: “Grief is just love with nowhere to go – the leftover love that we don’t get to give….”
And in that moment, it felt painfully true.
Dinner was quiet, each person eating their own packed meal. Then, we all started settling in for the night. The men helped with the berths, and we began winding down. Ruth, all tucked in, softly wished us goodnight. But just as sleep was setting in, she realized her mother wasn’t with her and began to cry.
That sinking feeling hit me, and I braced myself for a long, restless night. But to my surprise, Ruth calmed down quickly and didn’t cause any more trouble. She was a little gem.
At dawn, Amma and I were the first to get off the train. We gathered our luggage quietly while the others were still asleep. It had been a peaceful night, with warm conversations and shared silence.
As we stepped off the train and walked away, we glanced back one last time. There was Ruth’s dad, standing at the door of the coach, smiling and waving goodbye. We waved back, knowing well that we might never cross paths again.
We shared stories, laughter, and kindness. But none of us had exchanged names.
That, perhaps, is the beauty of a train journey: someone who shares a brief, beautiful slice of your life with no strings attached. Just strangers, connected by a train ride, a few stories, and a memory that lingers long after the journey ends. Strangers, now part of your story.
&*&
Picture Courtesy – Unsplash Josh Nezon.
by Sangeetha Vallat | Jun 28, 2025 | Fiction Bites, Short Stories
The prompt ‘Alone’ for a competition in ArtoonsInn Writers Room, the UNIK 8 (1000 words) in January 2021, created this short fiction tale. A mix of horror, adventure, fun, and well, yeah, read on….but yes, had to cut the story short due to word limits.
IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE
Keerthana stumbled as she stepped down the school bus, and the leering conductor clutched her arms to steady her. She threw a nasty look at him and waved at the children cheerily.
“See you tomorrow, Keerthi ma’am.” Shouted the curly-haired girl.
“No dear, see you after the weekend.”
Keerthana unlocked the house and beamed at spotting her husband at home. He was busy stuffing a bag. “I have a flight to catch for an urgent business trip.” Keerthana teetered between tears and anger, “It is our wedding anniversary, and I have taken leave from work. ”
“Uh, oh! I totally forgot. On my return, I promise to take you on vacation.” Shekar pecked her cheeks and hastily departed.
A miffed Keerthana curbed the urge to smash the things on the dresser. On a whim, she packed a few clothes, loaded her car with Maggi, fruits, and a few other things. Away from the city, where no one would reach me on my mobile. Keerthana gifted herself a vacation. She had bragged to her friends about a romantic getaway for her anniversary, and now to be stuck alone at home would invite derisive remarks. She drove for straight three hours and reached the cabin. Fond memories of time spent with her parents cropped up in her clouded mind as she gazed at the quaint wood-house.
Luckily, the caretaker had cleaned up the place a few weeks ago. She dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and ambled to the backyard. The vast expanse of the placid lake reflecting the diamond fragments mesmerized the lonely soul. An eerie stillness engulfed Keerthana. The reeds susurrated, and a foreboding prickly sensation flustered her. She sprinted back and bolted the door.
The drive had sapped her. Munching a cereal bar, she called it a night and had a fitful sleep, disturbed by nightmares of the lecherous bus conductor.
The next morning, she lazed around the lake, building sandcastles, and flitting behind butterflies. After a lunch of fruits and milk, she picked up a book.
A deafening thunder shattered the silence. A startled Keerthana squinted and realized she had snoozed until the stars had erupted in the sky. While she sashayed to drink water, the lightbulbs flickered and died. Shortly, a lightning flash illuminated the cabin, and she lunged for the mobile phone she had carelessly flung on the couch. With a lit candle, Keerthana checked the windows and breathed a sigh of relief. She wished her husband were here. When her stomach wambled, she decided to cook instant noodles, perfect for the rainy chill that clawed her body.
Keerthana played her favourite playlist on her mobile and opened a bottle of Bordeaux. She was predisposed to it now and then. Sipping it slowly, she chuckled, Ah! If my students saw their teacher like this! Before the water had boiled, Keerthana had gulped a quarter of the bottle. The crooning abruptly stopped, and the mobile let out a ding. “Oops! I forgot to charge it. Well, no electricity, no mobile, and no one around. Lalala la la tududoo tadidam.” She swayed towards the stove.
She shrieked as a looming shadow spread on the wall. The wine glass toppled onto the countertop, and a dampness seeped to the floor. The shadow vanished. Keerthana pulled out a knife and screeched, “Who are you? Come out, you coward!” A quick movement behind her, and she swished her knife, wondering if it was the bus guy? Did he follow me?
“Hey!! I will call the police. I will open the door, get out immediately.” She opened the door, and a strong wind eclipsed the room. She counted to three and shut the door.
If it’s dark, he cannot see me from outside. Haha, I scared the lecher. She sat on the couch and reached for the Bordeaux on the table. She guzzled down the wine and peered into the darkness. A gnawing sound alarmed her.
“Don’t wait outside. The police will be here soon.”
She tiptoed in the darkness and peeled the curtain from the window. The gnarled branches of a tree rubbed on the windowpane.
“Aha! It was this sound. There is no one here. You are alone, Keerthana.” She pealed into a schoolgirl giggle and took a swig from the bottle. Her hand froze in mid-air as she sensed a slither on her feet. She jumped on the couch and squatted. Cowering in dread, her eyes darted in all directions. Her ears perked up, trying to distinguish the sounds emitted inside the cabin from the sounds of the rain and wind.
She rubbernecked to see what happened to the noodles. The soporific effect of the wine rendered a cognitive impairment. She failed to relight the candle and stood frozen, the quintessential image of terror. Her resolve to stay awake, wary of the predators, fizzled, and the empty bottle slipped beside while soft snores flared her mouth.
The predators who waited to recapture their territory gave a collective hoot of victory. The leader pulled everyone into a group hug, considered his teammates’ suggestions, and issued orders. They climbed the kitchen counter, gnawed, and nudged the packets of food that would suffice them through the rainy season. In joyful solidarity, the room buzzed with activity, and in 30 minutes, they left the cabin and the occupant alone.
Incessant knocks on the door awakened Keerthana from her stupor. She yelped, “Police!”
Keerthana collapsed into Shekar’s embrace.
“I came back early and knew you would be here. Happy Anniversary!”
The couple kissed with feverish urgency. Keerthana erased the memory of the misadventure. She provocatively stripped naked and dived into the lake, closely followed by the dutiful husband.
Photo- Unsplash
by Sangeetha Vallat | Jun 28, 2025 | Fiction Bites, Short Stories
This was an entry to UNIK 9 (1000 WORDS) in the ArtoonsInn Writers Room in May 2021. I had watched a video on the rising number of a ‘particular’ kind of people. A bulb lit up in my brain, and I typed this tale.
A SUGAR COATED LIFE
Randhir loosened the crimson silk necktie, a gift from his wife for their previous anniversary, and brushed a speck of dust that attempted to ruin his tuxedo from Armani. He glanced around, taking in the beauty of the Maharaja suite. A contented sigh escaped his lips, but he abhorred immersing in a memory slide.
Everything looked impeccable. Randhir aimed to impress his guest. He watched her sashay towards him as he caressed the soft velvety bulge ensconced within the satin lining of the tuxedo. She gazed at the fragrant lilies placed on the antique console table. Checking her reflection on the ivory mirror, she smoothened the creases of her chiffon blouse and bent her head to inhale the heady scent of her favourite bloom.
He gestured for her to sit. She sank onto the sheepskin couch, gazing at the ‘Raja Ravi Varma’ painting on the wall. The yellow light of the crystal chandelier dappled a teardrop pattern. She crossed her legs, and her skirt rode up even further, revealing unblemished skin. Randhir swallowed and cleared his throat.
“So, are you OK with the arrangements?”
“Purrfect.” She purred and slid her hands towards him. “Oh, Randy.”
Randhir puckered his face. This was not his first rodeo. The girls were not supposed to jump into the act- a protocol had to be followed.
He dared not explain it to her.
Randy rose, lifted the blinds, and glanced outside. He always preferred the suite that faced the hotel entrance. At least the bevvy of activity would be intriguing if not the partner.
She checked the label on the bottle, poured a little in a pink-hued stem glass, swirled it gently, sniffed, and tasted it. Satisfied, she tipped it into two glasses. Planting a kiss on his shoulders, she extended the crystal glass. He yanked her towards him; a patch spread on her white blouse.
“How clumsy of me. Do wash the fabric before the stain clings.”
She reluctantly opened the washroom. The fragrance of coconut and vanilla cloaked the redolence of lilies. Then, unclipping the buttons of her stained blouse, she rinsed it under the gold-plated faucet. The burgundy stained the marble bowl. Unzipping the leather skirt, she admired the azure lingerie, a lacy mesh. A delicate thrill surged in her heart. She tugged the magenta fleece bathrobe from the peg and snuggled into it. Tying the satin sash, she giggled like a schoolgirl.
Randhir cut a Shah Rukh Khan pose, with arms spread wide. The velvet box clenched in his right fist, and a red rose between his teeth.
A clutter of shoes filled the corridor. He heard muffled voices.
Incessant banging on the door compelled him to abandon his stance and open the door. The men in uniform barged into the room.
“You are under arrest. We have been following you for months, scoundrel. Misleading innocent girls with your Sugar Daddy promises. Where is your prey?”
She chose the exact moment to emerge from the washroom. Humming a melody, she announced, “Ta-da.”
Her jaw refused to clamp. Beads of sweat lined above her lips. Hugging her robe tighter and chewing her lower lip, she hid behind her husband. Randhir flushed like a beet. Thoughts of how his careful assignations might have fallen under police scrutiny congealed in his mind. He wished to show his clout but held back the words that tried to flee his grip. Then, sporting a Cheshire grin, he addressed the officer.
“Inspector, is it a crime to celebrate a wedding anniversary in a hotel room? You have scared my wife.”
“Wife?”
A buzz of voices filled the room. The senior official amongst them took charge. He wondered how he would handle the misstep and what awaited him back at the station. He was in line for a promotion, and a lapse at this stage would jeopardise it.
“Sir, there seems to be some confusion here. Could you please show me your identification cards? Madam, sorry to bother you. Are you carrying your ID with you?”
Ruby, like a rabbit caught in the spotlight, stared unblinkingly. She cowered behind Randhir, hoping he had carried hers as well. How could she carry such things that did not gel with her sexy outfit, which he had insisted on wearing!
Randhir pulled his wallet, and the velvet box tumbled out, revealing the exquisite sapphire ring studded with diamonds. His surprise spoiled, Randhir lost his composure. He resisted flinging his driving license and her Aadhaar card, which he had taken earlier to arrange the hotel booking.
The officer checked their identity cards. The picture in the Aadhaar card did not do justice to the beauty standing before him in magenta.
“Sorry for the confusion. Enjoy your anniversary. Please don’t take this matter to the top. Deeply sorry.” The officer marched out with his platoon of buffoons.
With the gate crashers out of the way, Randhir shut the door and clutched his wife of 10 years. A smirk spread on his face. His brain whirred with brilliance. An idea sprouted in his mind – a website that would legalise the stirrings of the Sugar Daddies and Sugar Mommies. As a stalker of passion, he believed he was the right man for the job – No need for clandestine affairs, life could be a never-ending honeymoon!
“What was all that? What are you so smug about?” Ruby, shaken by the misadventure, glugged a glass of wine. Her apprehension shrank.
Randhir sat Ruby on his lap and nuzzled her nape. He stretched his hand to the table, unclasped the box, and slipped the Sapphire ring on her finger. Ruby turned to face him and brushed her lips on the bridge of his nose.
He unravelled his gift, tugging at the satin sash. Gathering her up in his arms, they entwined like creepers.
In her ears, he drawled, “Not all storms come to disrupt your life; some come to clear your paths.”
Photo By – Unsplash
by Sangeetha Vallat | Jun 28, 2025 | Fiction Bites, Short Stories
I wrote this short story in Aug 2021 for the Independence Day prompt/Event UNIK 10 at the ArtoonsInn Writers Room – A group for budding writers. This was an attempt to catch a glimpse of Gandhiji’s life for a few hours after India gained independence. A narrative account of a day in the Mahatma’s life. The Hyderi Manzil is now a museum.
I have shared my perspective on the conversation between Bapu and Rajaji, drawing on historical facts from The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi.
As I researched, I was pulled into the annals of history and ended up stuffing my head with too much information. With great restraint, I avoided dumping all the data into this. Still, a lot have crept in!
HEY RAM.
Under the fluttering tricoloured flag at the Lahori Gate of the Red Fort, two sparrows greeted each other. One, wearied and its plumage bespeckled red, gasped and mumbled, “I escaped from the bloodshed in Punjab.” The other sparrow, all aglow, chirped, “I flew from Calcutta, witnessing love, unity, and peace.” She then detailed what she had observed, perched on the roof of the Hyderi Manzil, in a Muslim locality in Beliaghata, just hours after the dominion flag had unfurled.
Seated in the eastern corner of one of the two habitable rooms of the seven in the Hyderi Manzil, Bapu ceaselessly spun the charkha. While his lips chanted the name of Lord Ram, he raised his eyes and beckoned a young student.
“Can you inform Bisen to come in with the writing materials?”
Bisen positioned himself across Bapu with his pen poised. Bapu dictated letters without a pause in his spinning. In the letter, he mentioned that he celebrated important events by thanking and praying to God, as well as by fasting and dedicating the day to spinning.
He looked at the student and said with a chuckle, “If drinking fruit juices may be described as a fast.” Then Bapu continued with the dictation, rueing the condition of Rajaji in the Government House, surrounded by a crowd of revelers. Again, to the youth, he softly said, “It pains me to hear about our brothers swarming into the Government House, behaving in a disorderly manner, pilfering and damaging property. Rajaji is unable to come to meet me; he is like a prisoner there. One must maintain ahimsa at all times, in sadness and joy.”
By the time Bapu completed the letter, echoing cries of ‘Vande Mataram’ rent the air. A commotion ensued outside, and in walked the Governor of Bengal, C. Rajagopalchari, briskly. He took Gandhi’s hands in his and held them, neither saying a word.
Then, sitting beside Bapu, he said, “You have succeeded. And have wrought a miracle, the peace in Calcutta.”
“Ah, my dear brother. We have succeeded. It’s a collective effort. It is no miracle. I cannot be satisfied until Hindus and Muslims feel safe in each other’s company and return to their own homes to live as they did. But I’m happy to see you. I apologise for my riotous brothers.”
“It was indeed sad to be stuck inside the Government House. But our men are jubilant. I hope the bars of division melt away.”
“Yes, without that change of heart, there’s a likelihood of future deterioration, despite the present enthusiasm.”
“Hmm.” Gazing at the dilapidated condition of the accommodation, Rajaji added, “You seem to be comfortable here. You cannot possibly live in the Government House. I’m struggling to familiarise myself with the Burrows bungalow. Such large rooms!”
H.S. Suhrawardy, the Muslim League Leader, joined the impromptu meeting.
“Gandhiji likes to live with people. He has no fascination for palaces,” Suhrawardy said.
“That’s why he was put in the Aga Khan Palace,” quipped Rajaji.
Bapu laughed, and the men joined in. After Suhrawardy left to attend to the crowd outside, the conversation bled into various topics.
“Sardar’s health is causing me concern. The problem with the princes is so complicated that only he can deal with it.” Bapu said.
“True, he will handle it best. All well? You appear disturbed.”
“Many things plague me. If the rains fail us, the independence will cost us dearly. I’ve written to Balvant Singh about the issue of Gaushala. The Sevagram should have cows, and the dairy must work.”
“Hmm. The issue will get sorted out. Bapu, you were planning to go to Noakhali. Why did you shift here from Sodepur?”
“Suhrawardy and I agreed to stay together in a turbulent area. In fact, at the prayer meeting two days ago, when Suhrawardy didn’t join me, some of the young men shouted for his blood and began pelting stones. It pained me so much. Then Suhrawardy made an unequivocal admission of responsibility for the killings of last year. This profoundly affected the crowd. It was a turning point and had a cleansing effect. I could sense it.”
A lady entered the room carrying fruit juice for Bapu and a glass of buttermilk for Rajaji.
“How are Devdas and Lakshmi?” Bapu asked, sipping the juice.
“They are fine. I met the grandchildren. They are quite naughty.” Answered Rajaji.
“What can you expect? They are our grandchildren!”
“Haha. True. I received a letter from Sardar. He mentioned Subhash Bose.”
“I find it difficult to believe that ‘in exile’ Bose has married and has a 4-year-old child.”
“Yes, I was surprised too. His brother, Sarat Bose, is still furious at me.”
“Hmm. Lord Ram should set things right.” Bapu’s face lit up as he added, “It heartened me to hear that Hindus visited mosques and Muslims visited temples today to show solidarity.”
“I heard about it. Also, there was a football match between two warring clubs where they swapped players. Such instances of brotherhood give me hope.”
“Ram! Ram!”
The two distinguished men pulled their watches out at the same instant.
“So, I bid you farewell, Bapu.”
“I should get going, too. It’s time for my evening prayer.”
Gandhiji walked to Rash Bagan Maidan to address a roaring crowd. A sea of people filled the streets, but there was pin-drop silence as Bapu began his prayers, followed by a speech. First, he congratulated Calcutta on the Hindus and Muslims meeting together in perfect camaraderie. Then, he expressed his grief for the Muslims who experienced horrifying molestation. Further, he hoped that the country would be rid of the communal virus entirely.
Bapu then returned to his humble quarters and lay on the mattress. His lips moved silently, taking the name of Lord Ram.
“I overheard Mountbatten saying that in Punjab, with 55000 soldiers, there was colossal bloodshed. But Gandhiji, as a one-man boundary force, maintained peace in Calcutta.” Said the sparrow from Punjab.
“Yes, he is a Mahatma!” The other sparrow bowed.
****
Glossary
Shiv Balak Bisen – Stenographer to Mahatma Gandhi.
HS Suhrawardy was the Prime Minister of Bengal until August 14, 1947, and later became the 5th Prime Minister of Pakistan. He orchestrated the massive bloody riots on 16th Aug 1946, known as the Great Calcutta Killings. (he was called the Butcher of Bengal).
Aga Khan Palace (Pune) – Where Gandhiji, along with his wife, was imprisoned. Kasturba Gandhi died during this period, and her samadhi is located there.
Devdas Gandhi is married to Rajaji’s daughter Lakshmi.
Sevagram – Gandhiji’s ashram and residence from 1936-1948 (until his death).
Picture Courtesy – Unsplash Greg Scheider
