Quo Vadis (1199 words)

Captain Satish lay awake beside his sleeping wife, Sushma. In the faint moonlight, her face looked lovelier than ever. She was expecting their second child, and the thought of leaving her now was unbearable.

For over two years, their life at Chandigarh cantonment had been idyllic. But a week earlier, orders had arrived transferring him to a troubled border sector where skirmishes were frequent. He had only two days left before departure and still hadn’t found the courage to tell her.

He eventually drifted off, awakening to the irresistible aroma of aloo parathas sizzling in ghee. He entered the kitchen, put his arms around Sushma, and covered her eyes. Fresh from her bath, fragrant with sandalwood soap, she turned and embraced him. They remained locked together until the smell of a burning paratha broke the spell.

“I’m sure it’ll be a boy this time,” she said, smiling. “Tall and handsome like his father.”

“What’s wrong with another girl as lovely as our Anisha?”

“Let me have my boy first. Then you can have as many daughters as you please!”

Their laughter was interrupted by the entry of Captain Sharma, Satish’s closest friend and colleague, through the door.

“Satish! All packed for the front? Poor Bhabhi will miss you terribly, especially now!”

Sushma turned sharply towards her husband.

Satish glared at his friend, then drew her close. “I wanted to tell you, darling. My orders came last week. I leave in two days.”

Her smile vanished. Born into a family of soldiers, she understood duty. But this did little to soften the blow.

“Will you come back when the baby arrives?” she whispered.

“I’ll do everything I can. Now, please smile for me.”

Two days later, Satish departed, leaving Sushma and little Anisha with her parents in his house.

Months passed. Sushma gave birth to a healthy boy with his father’s brown eyes. Three months later, a letter arrived from Satish.

So you’ve got your wish! Now it’s my turn to ask for another daughter. Keep praying for my return, darling. I cannot say when I’ll get leave.

She read those words repeatedly, clinging to every syllable.

News of fierce fighting along the border grew increasingly alarming. Then his letters stopped altogether.

Captain Sharma, still stationed at Chandigarh, visited regularly, bringing sweets, fruits and toys for the children. Anisha adored him, and his cheerful presence offered Sushma some relief from her anxiety.

Then, one Monday afternoon, her father entered carrying a telegram.

Captain Satish was missing in action. Despite extensive searches, neither his body nor any evidence of his capture had been found.

Days later, his personal belongings arrived with a letter praising his courage and service to the nation. There was a cheque for outstanding payments but no confirmation of death.

The uncertainty was crueller than any verdict.

Sushma wept inconsolably. Her mother had to remind her to feed the baby. Anisha, frightened by the household’s grief, cried alongside her.

Sharma became a pillar of support. He handled bank formalities, helped with the children and gently encouraged Sushma to resume ordinary life.

“Men have returned after years in captivity,” he reminded her. “Don’t abandon hope and prayer.”

But hope, sustained by silence, gradually becomes its own torment. Two years passed.

Sushma took a teaching position at a local school. Her son, now a lively toddler, bore an uncanny resemblance to Satish: the same curly hair, sharp nose and dimple on his right cheek. Every smile brought back memories she struggled to suppress. Anisha was happily settled in primary school.

Sharma’s visits had become part of the family’s routine. A bachelor of Satish’s age, he had quietly assumed responsibilities that went far beyond friendship. Sushma’s ageing parents welcomed his presence.

One weekend, her parents travelled to a wedding in a neighbouring town, taking Anisha with them. Sushma stayed home with her son.

Unaware of their absence, Sharma arrived that evening.

“Why cook tonight?” he suggested. “Let’s order dinner and watch a film.”

She agreed, grateful for the company.

After dinner, the boy fell asleep. Sushma tucked him into bed and returned to the sitting room. As the film played, Sharma gently drew her closer. She rested her head against his shoulder.

For a long while, neither spoke.

Finally, Sharma turned towards her.

“Sushma, how much longer must we pretend? We love each other. We’ve waited more than three years. We cannot spend our lives waiting for someone who may never return.”

She looked away, her eyes filling.

“I loved Satish,” she whispered.

“I know. So did I, as a friend. Nothing can change that. But you’re alive, Sushma. You deserve happiness. And the children deserve a father.”

He paused.

“I’ll take voluntary retirement. With my engineering degree and MBA, I can find a civilian job. We can build a life together. Your parents will understand.”

She studied his face, searching for an answer to the conflict within her.

Then he kissed her forehead gently at first, which grew into passionate kisses on her cheeks

Sharma switched off the television and took her hand.

A few weeks later, they married quietly in a civil ceremony, followed by puja at a temple. Her parents gave their blessings.

For the first time in years, Sushma allowed herself to believe that happiness could return.

Another year passed. Diwali arrived, bathing the town in colour and light. Houses glittered with lamps and serial lights, fireworks crackled overhead, and children raced excitedly through the streets.

Sushma was radiant. Her parents sat contentedly in the courtyard while Anisha played nearby. Her little boy, fascinated by the sparklers, clung to her sari.

Sharma stood beside her, his arm resting affectionately around her shoulders.

She was expecting another child.

It was around eight p.m. when the boy suddenly screamed.

A strange figure had emerged from the darkness beyond the gate.

Wrapped in a tattered black blanket, the man advanced painfully on crutches. One trouser leg hung empty. His hair was long and matted, his beard unkempt, and a black patch covered one eye.

“Who’s there?” Sushma’s father called sharply. “What do you want?”

The stranger continued forward towards the gate, one hand outstretched.

Frightened, Sushma instinctively moved closer to Sharma, who wrapped his arms protectively around her.

The stranger stopped.

For a moment, his gaze rested on the couple. Then it travelled to the unmistakable baby bump beneath Sushma’s sari.

He stood motionless. Behind him, fireworks burst across the sky. Their brilliant colours briefly illuminated his ravaged face.

No one recognised him. Slowly, he lowered his outstretched hand.

Then, without a word, he turned and began making his way back towards the railway station.

There was nothing hesitant about his retreat. Despite the crutches and the missing leg, his movements carried a strange determination, almost a sense of purpose.

He had survived captivity, wounds and years of suffering for one dream: coming home. Now he knew that home no longer awaited him.

A faint, sad smile touched Captain Satish’s lips.

Perhaps this time, she would have a daughter, he thought. But does it matter now?

He disappeared into the darkness as the fireworks continued to light the sky.

Quo Vadis, where is he going? He knew not.