Oh Bhais ki Taang
Bhola reached Dholakpur by late afternoon, the village lanes dusty and familiar under the scooty’s tires. The moment he parked outside his brother Jay’s modest brick house, the door opened. Jay—broad-shouldered, a few years older, skin darkened by years in the fields—stepped out with a wide smile, clapping Bhola on the back. Behind him stood Komal, his wife, wiping her hands on the edge of her dupatta, eyes warm.
“Arre Bhola! Aa gaya tu? Chal, andar aa,” Jay said, pulling him into a rough hug.
(Bhola, you came? Come inside)
Inside, the house smelled of fresh rotis and ghee. Komal had already laid out lunch: sarson ka saag, makki di roti, dahi, and a bowl of homemade gur. They ate together at the low wooden chowki—quiet, comfortable, the kind of meal that needed few words. Jay asked about Chandigarh, about Sahib and Bhabhi, about the city’s endless noise. Bhola answered simply, smiling, keeping the details light.
After lunch, Jay yawned and retreated to the inner room for a rest—“Thak gaya hoon, thodi der so jaunga.” (I am tired now. Going to take rest for a while). Komal waited until his snores drifted out, then motioned Bhola to the small courtyard behind the house, where a neem tree cast dappled shade.
She sat on a charpoy, patting the space beside her. Bhola sat, suddenly aware of the weight of the conversation coming.
“Bata, Bhola… kaisi hai teri Simran Bhabhi?”
(Tell me Bhola, how is Simran?)
Bhola nodded slowly.
“Sab theek hai, Bhabhi. Bahut behtar hai ab. Woh pehle jaisi hi ho gayi hai—hasti hai, khati hai, ghoomti hai. Energy wapas aa gayi hai.”
(She is fine Bhabhi, much better than before. Infact she is just like she used to be before the accident. Energetic and happy)
Komal studied his face, eyes sharp.
“Ravi… kuch alag sa notice kiya? Koi farak?”
(Ravi… did you notice anything different?)
Bhola hesitated. His mind flashed to the laundry basket—the bra cups always damp these days, heavy with something milky; the panties stained with thick white streaks that weren’t just arousal. The scent when he lifted them—sweet, floral, human. His throat tightened. He wanted to tell her. But the words stuck.
How could he say it? It felt… wrong. Too intimate. Too close to something he wasn’t supposed to notice.
He shook his head, voice low.
“Nahi, Bhabhiji. Sab normal hai.”
(Nope. Everything seems normal)
Komal sighed, not unkindly, then leaned closer.
“Ravi… sun. Ab main tujhe kuch bahut zaroori baat batati hoon. Dhyan se sunna.”
(Ravi… listen carefully, I am going to tell you something important.)
She paused, letting the courtyard quiet settle around them.
“Yeh powder jo maine tujhe diya tha… uska naam hai Jeevdhatu. Bahut purana hai yeh. Tere purvajon ne banaya tha—pehle gaayon ke liye. Gaay ko iska pani pilate the, toh woh bina garbhavastha ke bhi bahut zyada doodh deti thi, aur lamba time tak. Aajkal jo dairy farms gaayon ko injection lagate hain doodh ke liye… woh is Jeevdhatu ka hi modern roop hai. Par farak yeh hai—Jeevdhatu insaan ke liye bhi kaam karta hai.”
("This powder I gave you... it's called Jeev Dhatu. It's very old. Your ancestors made it—back then—for cows. Cows were fed water containing it, and they would produce a lot of milk even without getting pregnant, and for a long time. The dairy farms that inject cows these days for milk... that's the modern version of Jeev Dhatu. But the difference is—Jeev Dhatu works for humans too.")
Bhola’s eyes widened slightly.
Komal continued, voice steady.
“Agar aurat ko yeh diya jaye, toh uske doodh ki kami nahi rahegi. Woh bahut zyada doodh degi—zaroorat se bhi zyada. Aur saath hi… woh aurat baccha banane ke liye zyada utsaahit ho jayegi. Uski sehat bhi bahut achhi ho jayegi—sharir majboot, energy full, man khush. Isiliye maine tujhe yeh Simran Bhabhi ke liye diya.”
("If a woman is given this, she won't have any shortage of milk. She'll produce a lot of milk—more than she needs. And also...she'll be more excited to have a baby. Her health will also improve—strong, energetic, and happy. That's why I gave it to you for Simran Bhabhi.")
She watched his face, reading every flicker.
“Ab bata, sach bata… kya tune kuch alag notice kiya usmein?”
(“Now tell me, tell me the truth… did you notice anything different in her?”)
Bhola swallowed. The images rushed back—the wet bras, the stained panties, the faint sweet smell that lingered on his fingers longer than it should. His cheeks warmed. He looked down at the ground, voice barely above a whisper.
“Haan, Bhabhiji… kuch alag hai.”
(Yes I did)
Komal nodded, not surprised.
“Kya?”
(What)
Bhola hesitated one last time, then spoke—quiet, careful, almost ashamed.
“Unke… bra hamesha geele rehte hain. Aur panty mein… safed daag. Bahut zyada. Jaise… doodh jaisa.”
("Her… bras are always wet. And her panties… have white spots. A lot. Like… milk.")
Bhola was surprised how he said all these to Komal. He was feeling shy.
Komal exhaled slowly, a small, satisfied smile touching her lips.
“Haan. Yeh shuruaat hai. Jeevdhatu ka asar shuru ho gaya. Ab yeh rukega nahi. Aur yeh sirf doodh nahi… aur bhi cheezein badlegi. Bas tu dhyan rakhna. Jo maine kaha tha—kabhi kabhi zyada ho jata hai. Agar kuch ajeeb lagne lage, mujhe bata dena.”
("Yes. This is the beginning. The effect of life force has begun. It won't stop now. And it's not just milk... other things will change as well. Just be careful. As I said—sometimes it gets too much. If something starts to seem strange, let me know.")
Bhola nodded, heart pounding.
“Ji, Bhabhiji.”
They sat in silence for a while, the neem leaves rustling overhead. The village felt smaller suddenly, the weight of the powder heavier in his mind.
Bhola shifted on the charpoy, the neem leaves rustling above them. His voice came out low, almost hesitant.
“Bhabhiji… yeh sab hone ke baad aap kya ummeed karti hain? Simran Bhabhi mein kya changes aayenge?”
("Bhabhiji...what do you expect after all this? What changes will come in Simran Bhabhi?")
Komal looked toward the fields for a long moment, then back at him.
“Woh baccha banane ki ichchha karegi. Bahut zyada. Uska sharir taiyaar ho jayega—doodh aayega, sharir garam rahega, man bechain rahega. Par…”
She paused, brows knitting slightly and thought to herself, “Yeh doodh abhi kyun aa raha hai? Is waqt toh nahi aana chahiye tha. Woh abhi pregnant bhi nahi hai.”
("She'll want to have a baby. Very much. Her body will be ready—the milk will come, her body will be warm, her mind will be restless. But…" She paused, brows knitting slightly and thought. "Why is the milk coming now? It shouldn't have come at this time. She's not even pregnant yet.")
She fell silent, thinking deeply, eyes distant. Then understanding dawned, slow and sharp.
She kept thinking, “Achha… samajh aaya,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Yeh bahut hi rare breed hai. Is tarah ki auratein pehle doodh banati hain, phir baccha banane ki talaash karti hain. Woh apna mate dhoondh rahi hai. Aur jo bhi uska doodh pi lega… woh uska mate ban jayega.”
(She kept thinking, “Oh… I get it,” she murmured, almost to herself. “This is a very rare breed. Women like these first produce milk, then look for a child. She is looking for her mate. And whoever drinks her milk… will become her mate.”)
Komal continued thinking to herself, “Main bhi aisi hoon. Lakhon mein ek aise hotein hain. Humari biology aisi hai—hum bahut zyada fertile hote hain, par humein bahut hi strong purush chahiye. Bahut hi virile. Jo humein poora kar sake. Main lucky thi… ki Jay aur Maan Singh ji (father-in-law) unn dino yaha the. Par ye sab abhi Bhola ko nehi bata sakte hai. Kisi aur din sahi.
(Komal continued thinking to herself, “I am like that too. There are one in a million like that. Our biology is like that—we are very fertile, but we need a very strong man. Very virile. One who can complete us. I was lucky… that Jai and Maan Singh ji (father-in-law) were here those days. But I can't tell all this to Bhola right now. Some other day.)
She looked at Bhola, eyes serious. She again started thinking,
“Agar Simran Bhabhi ko yeh ichchha hui aur Ravi Sahib mein woh taakat nahi rahi jo uske sharir ko satisfy kar sake… toh woh bahar dhoondhegi. Kisi aur ko. Aur phir yeh ghar toot jayega. Family khatam. To kya karein…kya karein”
(“If Simran Bhabhi desires this and Ravi Sahib doesn't have the strength to satisfy her body… then she will look outside. Someone else. And then this house will be torn apart. The family will be destroyed. So what should we do…what should we do?”)
Bhola could not understand what Komal was thinking.
Komal thought for a long time, fingers twisting the edge of her dupatta. Then she nodded, decision made.
“Ek hi rasta hai jo kaam kar sakta hai.”
(There is only one way left.)
She stood, motioning him to follow her inside. In the small kitchen, she opened a steel dabba, took out a fresh pinch of the familiar light-brown powder—Jeevdhatu—and another smaller jar of a dark grey powder that smelled faintly of ash and earth.
“Sun, dhyan se,” she said, turning to him. “Simran Bhabhi ko aur saat din ka dose de—bilkul pehle jaisa. Aur saath hi… Ravi Sahib ko yeh naya powder de. Iska naam hai Ghrunaspad.”
(“Listen, be careful,” she said, turning to him. “Give Simran Bhabhi another seven-day dose—exactly the same as before. And also… give Ravi Sahib this new powder. It's called Ghrunaspad.”)
Bhola looked at the dark powder warily.
“Yeh kya karega?”
(What does this do?)
Komal gave a small, knowing smile.
“Yeh uski virility badhayega. Taakat, stamina, aur… woh cheez jo ek mard ko mard banati hai. Yeh purane zamane ka hai—sirf kuch hi logon ke paas hota hai. Ek chhota spoon doodh mein roz raat ko. Bas. Woh taiyaar ho jayenge jab Bhabhi unki taraf dekhegi.”
("It'll increase his virility. Strength, stamina, and… the things that make a man a man. This is old-fashioned—only a few people have it. A small spoonful in milk every night. That's it. He'll be ready when Bhabhi looks at him.")
She poured a tall glass of thick, sweet lassi—freshly churned—and stirred in a generous double dose of Jeevdhatu for Bhola himself, but Bhola didn’t see this.
“Tu bhi thak gaya hoga. Yeh le lassi pi.”
(You must be tired. Drink this lassi)
Bhola took the glass, drank it slowly. The lassi was cool and sweet.
Komal watched him finish, then handed him the small packet of Ghrunaspad, wrapped carefully in cloth.
“Yeh sambhal ke rakhna. Aur yaad rakhna—sab kuch dheere dheere hoga. Par hoga zaroor. Ja, ab ghar ja. Apne Sahib aur Bhabhi ka khayal rakh.”
("Take care of this. And remember—everything will happen slowly. But it will happen for sure. Go home now. Take care of your master and sister-in-law.")
Bhola bowed, took the scooty keys, and rode back toward Chandigarh under the darkening sky, thinking how lucky Simran Bhabhi is to be helped by Komal Bhabhi.
Komal sew a seed today which is going to bear fruit in future but for that they have to wait. Patiently. And what fruit it will bear that is also a matter to discuss. Perhaps in a weeks’ time.
Shikha and Preeti on the other hand were going to get into a crazy drama of Niyoga. That’s something that needs delicacy. What does even Arjun think about all these? Lot of drama about to unfold.
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