21-11-2025, 07:24 AM
Dattu watched from the window until Devika's slender figure disappeared around the corner. His weathered face split into a triumphant grin as he turned from the window, the evening shadows lengthening across the small apartment. He reached for the bottle on the table, pouring himself a celebratory drink with hands that trembled slightly from excitement rather than alcohol.
The scbang of a key in the lock interrupted his reverie. Vishnu entered, his eyes immediately scanning the room for signs of Devika's visit – the two teacups on the table, the slight impression on the sofa where she had sat.
Dattu: "She was here! Just like you said she would be."
Vishnu set down his bag, his expression carefully neutral despite the curiosity burning within.
Vishnu: "How did it go? What did she say about me?"
Dattu chuckled, the sound rough and self-satisfied. He gestured for Vishnu to sit, savoring his moment of triumph.
Dattu: "You were right about everything. The way she sits, the way she speaks – so soft, so proper. And when she looked at me with those big eyes full of concern..." He whistled low. "No wonder you're so obsessed with her."
Vishnu leaned forward, impatient for details.
Vishnu: "Did she believe you? About why I haven't been attending classes?"
Dattu's eyes gleamed with pride as he took another sip of his drink.
Dattu: "Of course she believed me. I played my part perfectly – the grieving widower driven to drink by memories of his dead wife." He thumped his chest dramatically. "I even managed to squeeze out a few tears when I told her how she reminds me of your mother."
Vishnu: "And? What did she say?"
Dattu set down his glass, satisfaction radiating from his weathered face.
Dattu: "Better than we could have hoped. She's agreed to visit me on weekends – can you believe it? She suggested it herself!" His voice dropped to an awed whisper. "Said she'd keep me company so I wouldn't drink so much during the week."
Vishnu's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn't expected Devika to offer herself as a solution so quickly.
Vishnu: "She's coming back? When?"
Dattu: "Saturday evening." Dattu ran a hand through his thinning hair, excitement making him look younger. "And there's more. She hinted at 'special considerations' if I keep our agreement about your collegeing and my drinking."
A muscle twitched in Vishnu's jaw. The plan was working even better than anticipated, yet he felt an unexpected flare of possessiveness.
Vishnu: "What exactly did she say about these 'special considerations'?"
Dattu shrugged, missing the edge in his son's voice.
Dattu: "She didn't spell it out. Just suggested we'd see how things go." He leaned back, satisfaction oozing from every pore. "But the way she looked at me when she said it... I know that look. Women don't make promises like that unless they're willing to follow through."
Vishnu stood abruptly and paced the small room, processing this information. His plan had succeeded – perhaps too well. He had wanted his father to gain Devika's sympathy, to create another avenue of control over her. But the speed with which she had offered herself as a solution unsettled him.
Dattu: "What's wrong? Isn't this exactly what we wanted?"
Vishnu turned, composing his features.
Vishnu: "Yes, of course. It's perfect. I just didn't expect her to be so... forward."
Dattu laughed, a knowing sound that grated on Vishnu's nerves.
Dattu: "These Kerala women – proper on the outside, fire underneath. Just like your mother was." He raised his glass in a toast. "To your brilliant plan, son. By this time next week, I'll have tasted what you've already had."
Vishnu nodded stiffly, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. The thought of his father enjoying Devika's attentions – attentions he had worked so hard to earn – left a bitter taste in his mouth. Yet he had engineered this very situation, manipulating both Devika and his father for his own complex purposes.
Vishnu: "Remember, I'll be back in class tomorrow. She'll expect to see me there, fully committed to my studies."
Dattu: "Yes, yes. I'll be the model of reform. Limited drinking, full support for your education." He winked conspiratorially. "And she'll be so pleased with my progress that by Saturday night..."
Vishnu turned away, unable to bear the hungry anticipation in his father's eyes. He had opened Pandora's box, and now he would have to live with the consequences.
Vishnu: "I'm going to my room. I need to review the material I've missed."
As he walked away, Dattu called after him, voice thick with victory and alcohol.
Dattu: "Don't worry about your teacher, son. I'll take good care of her while you're busy with your biology books."
In the privacy of his small bedroom, Vishnu sat heavily on his bed, conflicting emotions warring within him. The trap had been set and Devika had walked right into it – yet somehow, he felt like the one who had been caught.
Saturday evening arrived with an unexpected heaviness. Devika stood before her wardrobe, contemplating her choice of attire with unusual deliberation. For the first time since arriving in Pune, she found herself consciously selecting a saree not for professional propriety but for its effect—a deep maroon cotton with a simple gold border, traditional enough to maintain dignity yet dbangd to accentuate her form.
The bus journey to Dattu's neighborhood felt interminable. Each stop brought a new wave of doubt, a fresh opportunity to turn back. Yet she remained seated, watching the city transform from gleaming shopping complexes to humble settlements, the weight of her decision pressing against her chest like a stone.
When she finally stood before apartment 204, the sun had already begun its descent, painting the crumbling building facade in shades of amber. She knocked, her knuckles barely making contact with the weathered wood.
The door swung open immediately, as though Dattu had been waiting just behind it.
"Madam! You came!" His face lit up with undisguised pleasure, eyes traveling swiftly over her form before settling on her face. "Please, please come in."
The apartment had undergone a transformation since her last visit. The usual clutter had been cleared away, surfaces wiped clean. A small vase with two marigolds stood on the center table, a touch of brightness amid the faded furnishings.
"I wasn't sure you would come," Dattu admitted, closing the door behind her. He wore a freshly pressed shirt, his hair combed neatly, the scent of cheap cologne hanging around him.
"I made a promise," Devika said simply, setting her small handbag on the table. "And Vishnu has attended all his classes this week, as you promised he would."
Dattu beamed with pride, as though his son's attendance was a personal achievement. "Yes, yes. He is very serious now about his studies. He left this morning to study with friends at the library."
Devika nodded, pleased that at least part of her bargain was bearing fruit. She glanced around the modest living room, noting the bottle of whiskey and two glasses set out on the side table.
"I see you've prepared for the evening," she observed, her tone carefully neutral.
Dattu followed her gaze, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his weathered features. "Just one drink, madam. As we agreed." He hesitated, then added hopefully, "Perhaps you would join me? Just one small one?"
Devika shook her head, her expression gentle but firm. "No, thank you. But I'm happy to serve you, if you like."
Relief flooded Dattu's face. He settled into his chair, watching eagerly as Devika moved toward the small side table where the bottle waited.
She leaned forward to pour the amber liquid, aware of Dattu's gaze fixed on the curve of her waist where her saree dipped slightly. The cotton fabric clung to her form as she bent, revealing the subtle fold of her hip. When she straightened and turned to hand him the glass, she caught the heat in his eyes, quickly masked behind a veneer of gratitude.
"Thank you, madam." His fingers brushed against hers as he accepted the drink, the contact lingering a moment longer than necessary. "Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable."
Devika settled onto the worn sofa across from him, arranging her saree carefully around her legs. "How has your week been, Mr. Dattu? Have you managed to reduce your drinking as we discussed?"
He took a slow sip, savoring both the liquor and her attention. "Yes, madam. Only two small drinks all week. Sleeping has been difficult without it, but..." He gestured toward her with his glass. "The thought of your visit kept me strong."
An awkward silence settled between them. Devika glanced toward the small kitchen alcove, searching for a diversion.
"Have you eaten dinner? I could prepare something simple, if you'd like."
Dattu's face brightened. "You would cook for me? There's not much in the kitchen, I'm afraid. Some rice, dal..."
"Let me see what I can find." Devika rose, grateful for the activity. The kitchen was barely large enough to turn around in, its shelves sparsely stocked with basic staples. She located a pot, some rice, and half a bottle of mustard oil.
As she worked, measuring rice and setting water to boil, she felt rather than saw Dattu's presence at the kitchen doorway. His eyes never left her as she moved about the small space, each bend and stretch offering him new angles to admire. When she reached for spices on a high shelf, her saree rode up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin at her waist. Dattu's sharp intake of breath was audible even over the bubbling pot.
"You remind me so much of her," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "Lalita used to cook like this, her hands moving so gracefully." He took another sip of his drink, larger this time. "She wore her saree just like you do, low on the hips, proper but still..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but his meaning hung in the air between them.
Devika turned to face him, spatula in hand. "Perhaps you should sit down, Mr. Dattu. I'll bring the food when it's ready."
He nodded, reluctantly returning to his chair while she finished preparing the simple meal. When she emerged with a plate of rice and lightly spiced dal, Dattu had already refilled his glass.
"It's not much," she apologized, setting the plate before him.
"You cooked it with your own hands. That makes it a feast." He looked up at her, eyes bright with something between gratitude and desire. "Would you..." He hesitated, then continued in a rush. "Would you feed me? Just one bite. Like a blessing."
Devika stiffened, the request catching her off guard. She remembered feeding Seenu in his office, the power she had felt in that moment. This felt different somehow—more vulnerable, more honest in its need.
After a moment's hesitation, she sat beside Dattu and took the plate onto her lap. She scooped a small portion of rice and dal, cupping her hand beneath to catch any drips, and brought it to his lips. Dattu closed his eyes as he accepted the food from her fingers, a look of pure contentment washing over his weathered features.
"Thank you," he whispered, opening his eyes to look directly into hers. "Such kindness for a broken old man."
Devika set the plate aside. "You're not broken, Mr. Dattu. Just lonely. There's a difference."
He nodded solemnly, finishing his second drink in one swallow. As Devika rose to return the plate to the kitchen, Dattu caught her wrist, his rough fingers gentle against her skin.
"Would you pour me one more? The last one, I promise."
Devika hesitated, then nodded. "One more. Then I should go."
She leaned to pour the drink, acutely aware of how the position offered Dattu a clear side view of her form. The fabric of her saree stretched across her curves as she bent forward, and she heard his breathing quicken.
When she handed him the glass, he didn't immediately take it, his eyes fixed on her face.
"You know," he said slowly, "when a man has been alone as long as I have, he forgets what it's like to simply touch another person." His voice dropped lower. "To feel the warmth of skin beneath his fingers."
Devika remained still, the glass extended between them.
"May I..." He swallowed hard. "May I touch your cheek? Just once. To remember what it feels like."
The request hung in the air, charged with unspoken longing. Devika thought of refusing, of setting down the glass and walking out. Yet something in his eyes—a raw vulnerability beneath the desire—made her hesitate.
"Just my cheek," she said finally, her voice barely audible.
Dattu nodded, taking the glass and setting it aside. He rose unsteadily to his feet, standing before her. With trembling fingers, he reached out, gently brushing her cheek with calloused fingertips. His touch was feather-light, almost reverent.
"So soft," he murmured, his fingers trailing down to her jawline, then lower to the curve of her neck.
Devika stepped back, breaking the contact. "That's enough."
Dattu's hand fell to his side, but satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. "Thank you," he said simply. "For that small kindness."
The clock on the wall showed nearly nine. "I should go," Devika said, gathering her bag. "It's getting late."
Dattu nodded, making no move to stop her. "Will you come again? Next Saturday?"
She paused at the door, weighing her answer. "If Vishnu continues attending his classes, yes."
Relief washed over his face. "He will. I promise you."
An awkward moment stretched between them—Devika poised to leave, Dattu clearly reluctant to see her go. On impulse, she leaned forward and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his weathered cheek.
"Goodnight, Mr. Dattu."
The surprise on his face melted into a smile that transformed his entire countenance. "Goodnight, madam. Until next week."
As Devika walked toward the bus stop, the evening air cool against her skin, she found herself troubled not by what had transpired, but by how easily she had stepped into this new role—the merciful goddess, dispensing small intimacies like blessings to those who worshipped at her altar.
What was she becoming? And more disturbingly, why didn't she feel more conflicted about it?
The scbang of a key in the lock interrupted his reverie. Vishnu entered, his eyes immediately scanning the room for signs of Devika's visit – the two teacups on the table, the slight impression on the sofa where she had sat.
Dattu: "She was here! Just like you said she would be."
Vishnu set down his bag, his expression carefully neutral despite the curiosity burning within.
Vishnu: "How did it go? What did she say about me?"
Dattu chuckled, the sound rough and self-satisfied. He gestured for Vishnu to sit, savoring his moment of triumph.
Dattu: "You were right about everything. The way she sits, the way she speaks – so soft, so proper. And when she looked at me with those big eyes full of concern..." He whistled low. "No wonder you're so obsessed with her."
Vishnu leaned forward, impatient for details.
Vishnu: "Did she believe you? About why I haven't been attending classes?"
Dattu's eyes gleamed with pride as he took another sip of his drink.
Dattu: "Of course she believed me. I played my part perfectly – the grieving widower driven to drink by memories of his dead wife." He thumped his chest dramatically. "I even managed to squeeze out a few tears when I told her how she reminds me of your mother."
Vishnu: "And? What did she say?"
Dattu set down his glass, satisfaction radiating from his weathered face.
Dattu: "Better than we could have hoped. She's agreed to visit me on weekends – can you believe it? She suggested it herself!" His voice dropped to an awed whisper. "Said she'd keep me company so I wouldn't drink so much during the week."
Vishnu's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn't expected Devika to offer herself as a solution so quickly.
Vishnu: "She's coming back? When?"
Dattu: "Saturday evening." Dattu ran a hand through his thinning hair, excitement making him look younger. "And there's more. She hinted at 'special considerations' if I keep our agreement about your collegeing and my drinking."
A muscle twitched in Vishnu's jaw. The plan was working even better than anticipated, yet he felt an unexpected flare of possessiveness.
Vishnu: "What exactly did she say about these 'special considerations'?"
Dattu shrugged, missing the edge in his son's voice.
Dattu: "She didn't spell it out. Just suggested we'd see how things go." He leaned back, satisfaction oozing from every pore. "But the way she looked at me when she said it... I know that look. Women don't make promises like that unless they're willing to follow through."
Vishnu stood abruptly and paced the small room, processing this information. His plan had succeeded – perhaps too well. He had wanted his father to gain Devika's sympathy, to create another avenue of control over her. But the speed with which she had offered herself as a solution unsettled him.
Dattu: "What's wrong? Isn't this exactly what we wanted?"
Vishnu turned, composing his features.
Vishnu: "Yes, of course. It's perfect. I just didn't expect her to be so... forward."
Dattu laughed, a knowing sound that grated on Vishnu's nerves.
Dattu: "These Kerala women – proper on the outside, fire underneath. Just like your mother was." He raised his glass in a toast. "To your brilliant plan, son. By this time next week, I'll have tasted what you've already had."
Vishnu nodded stiffly, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. The thought of his father enjoying Devika's attentions – attentions he had worked so hard to earn – left a bitter taste in his mouth. Yet he had engineered this very situation, manipulating both Devika and his father for his own complex purposes.
Vishnu: "Remember, I'll be back in class tomorrow. She'll expect to see me there, fully committed to my studies."
Dattu: "Yes, yes. I'll be the model of reform. Limited drinking, full support for your education." He winked conspiratorially. "And she'll be so pleased with my progress that by Saturday night..."
Vishnu turned away, unable to bear the hungry anticipation in his father's eyes. He had opened Pandora's box, and now he would have to live with the consequences.
Vishnu: "I'm going to my room. I need to review the material I've missed."
As he walked away, Dattu called after him, voice thick with victory and alcohol.
Dattu: "Don't worry about your teacher, son. I'll take good care of her while you're busy with your biology books."
In the privacy of his small bedroom, Vishnu sat heavily on his bed, conflicting emotions warring within him. The trap had been set and Devika had walked right into it – yet somehow, he felt like the one who had been caught.
Saturday evening arrived with an unexpected heaviness. Devika stood before her wardrobe, contemplating her choice of attire with unusual deliberation. For the first time since arriving in Pune, she found herself consciously selecting a saree not for professional propriety but for its effect—a deep maroon cotton with a simple gold border, traditional enough to maintain dignity yet dbangd to accentuate her form.
The bus journey to Dattu's neighborhood felt interminable. Each stop brought a new wave of doubt, a fresh opportunity to turn back. Yet she remained seated, watching the city transform from gleaming shopping complexes to humble settlements, the weight of her decision pressing against her chest like a stone.
When she finally stood before apartment 204, the sun had already begun its descent, painting the crumbling building facade in shades of amber. She knocked, her knuckles barely making contact with the weathered wood.
The door swung open immediately, as though Dattu had been waiting just behind it.
"Madam! You came!" His face lit up with undisguised pleasure, eyes traveling swiftly over her form before settling on her face. "Please, please come in."
The apartment had undergone a transformation since her last visit. The usual clutter had been cleared away, surfaces wiped clean. A small vase with two marigolds stood on the center table, a touch of brightness amid the faded furnishings.
"I wasn't sure you would come," Dattu admitted, closing the door behind her. He wore a freshly pressed shirt, his hair combed neatly, the scent of cheap cologne hanging around him.
"I made a promise," Devika said simply, setting her small handbag on the table. "And Vishnu has attended all his classes this week, as you promised he would."
Dattu beamed with pride, as though his son's attendance was a personal achievement. "Yes, yes. He is very serious now about his studies. He left this morning to study with friends at the library."
Devika nodded, pleased that at least part of her bargain was bearing fruit. She glanced around the modest living room, noting the bottle of whiskey and two glasses set out on the side table.
"I see you've prepared for the evening," she observed, her tone carefully neutral.
Dattu followed her gaze, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his weathered features. "Just one drink, madam. As we agreed." He hesitated, then added hopefully, "Perhaps you would join me? Just one small one?"
Devika shook her head, her expression gentle but firm. "No, thank you. But I'm happy to serve you, if you like."
Relief flooded Dattu's face. He settled into his chair, watching eagerly as Devika moved toward the small side table where the bottle waited.
She leaned forward to pour the amber liquid, aware of Dattu's gaze fixed on the curve of her waist where her saree dipped slightly. The cotton fabric clung to her form as she bent, revealing the subtle fold of her hip. When she straightened and turned to hand him the glass, she caught the heat in his eyes, quickly masked behind a veneer of gratitude.
"Thank you, madam." His fingers brushed against hers as he accepted the drink, the contact lingering a moment longer than necessary. "Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable."
Devika settled onto the worn sofa across from him, arranging her saree carefully around her legs. "How has your week been, Mr. Dattu? Have you managed to reduce your drinking as we discussed?"
He took a slow sip, savoring both the liquor and her attention. "Yes, madam. Only two small drinks all week. Sleeping has been difficult without it, but..." He gestured toward her with his glass. "The thought of your visit kept me strong."
An awkward silence settled between them. Devika glanced toward the small kitchen alcove, searching for a diversion.
"Have you eaten dinner? I could prepare something simple, if you'd like."
Dattu's face brightened. "You would cook for me? There's not much in the kitchen, I'm afraid. Some rice, dal..."
"Let me see what I can find." Devika rose, grateful for the activity. The kitchen was barely large enough to turn around in, its shelves sparsely stocked with basic staples. She located a pot, some rice, and half a bottle of mustard oil.
As she worked, measuring rice and setting water to boil, she felt rather than saw Dattu's presence at the kitchen doorway. His eyes never left her as she moved about the small space, each bend and stretch offering him new angles to admire. When she reached for spices on a high shelf, her saree rode up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin at her waist. Dattu's sharp intake of breath was audible even over the bubbling pot.
"You remind me so much of her," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "Lalita used to cook like this, her hands moving so gracefully." He took another sip of his drink, larger this time. "She wore her saree just like you do, low on the hips, proper but still..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but his meaning hung in the air between them.
Devika turned to face him, spatula in hand. "Perhaps you should sit down, Mr. Dattu. I'll bring the food when it's ready."
He nodded, reluctantly returning to his chair while she finished preparing the simple meal. When she emerged with a plate of rice and lightly spiced dal, Dattu had already refilled his glass.
"It's not much," she apologized, setting the plate before him.
"You cooked it with your own hands. That makes it a feast." He looked up at her, eyes bright with something between gratitude and desire. "Would you..." He hesitated, then continued in a rush. "Would you feed me? Just one bite. Like a blessing."
Devika stiffened, the request catching her off guard. She remembered feeding Seenu in his office, the power she had felt in that moment. This felt different somehow—more vulnerable, more honest in its need.
After a moment's hesitation, she sat beside Dattu and took the plate onto her lap. She scooped a small portion of rice and dal, cupping her hand beneath to catch any drips, and brought it to his lips. Dattu closed his eyes as he accepted the food from her fingers, a look of pure contentment washing over his weathered features.
"Thank you," he whispered, opening his eyes to look directly into hers. "Such kindness for a broken old man."
Devika set the plate aside. "You're not broken, Mr. Dattu. Just lonely. There's a difference."
He nodded solemnly, finishing his second drink in one swallow. As Devika rose to return the plate to the kitchen, Dattu caught her wrist, his rough fingers gentle against her skin.
"Would you pour me one more? The last one, I promise."
Devika hesitated, then nodded. "One more. Then I should go."
She leaned to pour the drink, acutely aware of how the position offered Dattu a clear side view of her form. The fabric of her saree stretched across her curves as she bent forward, and she heard his breathing quicken.
When she handed him the glass, he didn't immediately take it, his eyes fixed on her face.
"You know," he said slowly, "when a man has been alone as long as I have, he forgets what it's like to simply touch another person." His voice dropped lower. "To feel the warmth of skin beneath his fingers."
Devika remained still, the glass extended between them.
"May I..." He swallowed hard. "May I touch your cheek? Just once. To remember what it feels like."
The request hung in the air, charged with unspoken longing. Devika thought of refusing, of setting down the glass and walking out. Yet something in his eyes—a raw vulnerability beneath the desire—made her hesitate.
"Just my cheek," she said finally, her voice barely audible.
Dattu nodded, taking the glass and setting it aside. He rose unsteadily to his feet, standing before her. With trembling fingers, he reached out, gently brushing her cheek with calloused fingertips. His touch was feather-light, almost reverent.
"So soft," he murmured, his fingers trailing down to her jawline, then lower to the curve of her neck.
Devika stepped back, breaking the contact. "That's enough."
Dattu's hand fell to his side, but satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. "Thank you," he said simply. "For that small kindness."
The clock on the wall showed nearly nine. "I should go," Devika said, gathering her bag. "It's getting late."
Dattu nodded, making no move to stop her. "Will you come again? Next Saturday?"
She paused at the door, weighing her answer. "If Vishnu continues attending his classes, yes."
Relief washed over his face. "He will. I promise you."
An awkward moment stretched between them—Devika poised to leave, Dattu clearly reluctant to see her go. On impulse, she leaned forward and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his weathered cheek.
"Goodnight, Mr. Dattu."
The surprise on his face melted into a smile that transformed his entire countenance. "Goodnight, madam. Until next week."
As Devika walked toward the bus stop, the evening air cool against her skin, she found herself troubled not by what had transpired, but by how easily she had stepped into this new role—the merciful goddess, dispensing small intimacies like blessings to those who worshipped at her altar.
What was she becoming? And more disturbingly, why didn't she feel more conflicted about it?
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)