19-07-2026, 09:03 PM
(This post was last modified: Yesterday, 08:15 AM by garamrohan. Edited 2 times in total. Edited 2 times in total.)
The walk to the temple was long, and for the most part, we were silent. When we finally reached the ghat, the atmosphere changed. The smell of the river – a mix of silt, aquatic life, and incense – floated up toward us. The steps were crowded with pilgrims, but there were quieter areas further down, where the stone ledges overlooked the thick, overgrown greenery that bordered the water.
Mummy was clearly looking for a similar secluded place. She joined her hand before the god from the outside. She further walked past the main temple entrance, bypassing the queue of devotees, and as I followed her, I noticed that she was on a road to the informal garden that had been maintained by the bank of the river. I followed her until we reached a secluded bench tucked away beneath the shade of an old banyan tree. From here, the city sounds were muffled, replaced by the rhythmic lapping of the river and the distant, shrill cries of birds in the trees.
She sat down, exhaling a breath she seemed to have been holding for days. Her hands were folded in her lap, her knuckles white. I stood by the edge of the ghat, looking toward the main road, still checking my watch, hoping that perhaps we would leave soon so I could catch the tail end of the match.
"Sit," she whispered, patting the cold sheet of the bench.
I sat, but I was restless. I tapped my foot against the ground, the sound echoing in the relative quiet. She didn't look at me; she was staring out at the vibrant, tangled greenery that dipped into the river and was probably thinking of all the things that had happened to her so far.
"Mummy," I started, feeling a sudden need to break the tension, "Shall I bring some snacks to eat?"
She turned to look at me, and her expression told me that she wasn’t interested in eating. But she would have liked the privacy if I am not sitting next to her but somewhere around the temple area.
“Bring it for yourself, Babu," she said, her voice barely audible over the river. "I want to just sit here quietly."
“Stay here, Mummy,” I said, “I’m going to find something to eat. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
I took a turn by the temple, crossed pilgrims lines and started climbing the steps toward the street vendors. I had reached half-way up, when I ran head-on into Jiju. He was leaning against a pillar, his eyes locked on something far. I turned my face to realize that he was looking at the spot where Mummy sat by the river. He didn’t look like he had just walked over; he looked like he had been stalking her from a distance.
“You’re leaving her alone?” Jiju asked. His voice wasn’t casual. It was sharp, demanding.
“I’m just getting food,” I replied.
“Go meet your friends,” he said, brushing past me without keeping eyes off the place where mummy was sitting. “Or study. I’ll keep her company. She shouldn't be sitting in such a lonely spot anyway.”
His intention hit me like a physical blow. I knew he wasn't merely concerned for her safety; he was seizing an opportunity to relieve tension between them that he has caused. I didn't go for food. I doubled back, creeping through the narrow, dark alleys that ran parallel to the path. I hid behind a thick tree nearby mummy, my heart thumping against my ribs.
Mummy was still on the bench, dense shrubs and trees at her back. I slowly moved inside the dense shrub. I was surely out of sight now. She was staring at the swirling, dark water of the river, her shoulders hunched as if she were carrying the weight of the entire world. She looked tired, vulnerable, and completely lost in a haze of misery.
Then, I heard heavy, uncoordinated footsteps. I had laid down on my stomach and my eyes were expecting Jiju’s appearance soon.
But… He was not Jiju.
Rambo was standing there. A man known to every kid in the neighborhood by this name only — a psycho, dirty beggar to everyone and a sexual weirdo in addition to that for my mummy . He staggered toward the bench, his eyes bloodshot, a jagged grin plastered on his face full of lust.
My breath hitched. Was I going to witness another forceful exploitation of my mummy? but then I saw Jiju. He was standing twenty feet away, his body coiled, watching. He wasn't rushing to help. He was just waiting and observing.
Rambo reached the bench and hovered over Mummy. She didn't hear him until he slammed his hand down on the stone beside her. She jumped, letting out a sharp, strangled cry.
“No cry... No cry… I want maja.. Lots of maja,” Rambo slurred, leaning in, his ugly face inches from hers. He reached out to grab her arm, his fingers digging into her skin.
Mummy shrieked, scrambling back, but she was trapped between the bench and Rambo, who had bent over her. “Leave me alone!” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Get away!”
Rambo shook her by shoulder, grunting and denying to leave her.
In that heartbeat, Jiju moved.
He didn't run; he exploded. He covered the distance in three long, brutal strides, his face twisted into a mask of pure, concentrated rage. He didn't shout a warning. He slammed his shoulder into Rambo’s chest, sending the man sprawling backward against the stone wall.
Before Rambo could even find his footing, Jiju was on him.
It wasn't a fight; it was a demolition.
Jiju’s fist connected with Rambo’s jaw with a sickening crack. Rambo crumpled, but Jiju grabbed him by the collar, hauled him up, and drove a knee into his stomach.
“Don’t you ever touch her,” Jiju roared, his voice echoing off the temple walls.
Rambo swung wildly, but Jiju ducked and landed a savage blow to his temple. Rambo fell, blood streaming from his nose, his head hitting the stone floor with a dull thud. He tried to scramble away, but Jiju pinned him, his knuckles white as he hammered blow after blow into the man’s ribs.
“Damad ji, stop!” mummy screamed, “You’re going to kill him!”
A few of the people walking nearby started shouting. A couple of them ran to intervene, their faces blurred with shock. They started pulling at Jiju’s arms. It took them a lot of effort to pry him off Rambo. Jiju was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his clothes disheveled. He looked like a man who had finally found an outlet for the poison that had been simmering inside him for days.
“He is a mad man, mister. Why are you fighting with him? Let it go!” Someone tried to convince Jiju.
Rambo lay still, a crumpled heap of broken skin and heavy, ragged breathing. Someone started calling for an ambulance. Rambo was beaten very badly. He had got damaged mentally more than physical ruin.
The moment he caught his breath, he somehow managed to stand on his legs and rushed towards the temple. Two men followed him advising to stop and go to hospital.
Mummy was still on the bench, shocked by the sudden attack by Rambo. She was shaking violently, her eyes fixed on Jiju.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
Mummy couldn't speak. She just nodded, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and something else—a sudden, horrifying realization of the man she was avoiding had just saved her.
As the paramedics loaded the semi-conscious Rambo onto a stretcher, the crowd began to whisper. They looked at Jiju not as a hero, but as a man whose violence had been far too efficient, far too practiced.
I lay hidden there, paralyzed. Looking at mummy and Jiju who had now taken a seat beside her. I realized then that the fight wasn't unexpected at all. Jiju was indeed a man we needed in our life to get rid of Rambo. But while this was true, it didn’t prevent me thinking – “but at the cost of what?”
---
The sun was on the horizon and it was already getting dark. There was nobody around, not even a handful of people that had arrived when Rambo got beaten. The evening arati’s distant bells were now the only sound, muffled and mournful.
I remained pressed under the excellent cover of the shrubs, my breath hitching in my throat. From here, I could see them. Mummy was sitting on the bench, her silhouette rigid, looking like a statue etched in sorrow. She had dressed in a beautiful pink saree and blouse and looked extremely alluring despite being so tense. Jiju was accompanying her, his posture no longer the aggressive predator from the fight, but something soft, patient, but dangerously bold.
He reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder before finally coming to rest there. His touch was light, a silent promise of comfort. Mummy recoiled slightly, her face turned away, but she did not pull away completely.
"I didn’t come here to hurt anyone," Jiju began, his voice a low, melodic murmur that barely carried over the lapping river. "I came because I couldn't stand the silence you built between us. Every time you turn your back, every time you pretend I’m a ghost in your house, it kills me."
Mummy finally looked at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You don't understand. Everything is complicated. You are Meenakshi's husband... you are family. You should have thought a thousand times before acting so wrongly in the kitchen."
"I am a man who sees you," Jiju interrupted, his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic line against her shoulder. "I see the way you carry the weight of that house. I see the way Papa ji treats you like a servant, and it makes my blood boil. Do you think I don't feel for Meenakshi? I do. But what I feel for her is pure love, sensuality. What I feel for you... it’s different. It's more than that, It’s a mixed feeling – of ache and care for your suffering, and intense love for you, Mummy ji."
"Stop," she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction. "It is wrong. It is immoral."
"Is it immoral to want to see you smile?" He leaned closer, his proximity stripping away the remaining defenses she had kept up since that morning in the kitchen. "I am seeing you all these days, terrified by that Papa ji. Do you really think I’m like him? I protected you because I felt you were mine to protect, I protected you from that madman and will not back away from fighting the world for you. I want to be the one who lightens your load, not adds to it."
Mummy stood up abruptly, adjusting her slipping purse on her shoulder. "I have to go. Everyone will be waiting for us.. Where is Babu? Have you brought Minakshi home?", she worried.
“I had asked Babu to go home when I met him on the stairs. And papa is to bring Minakshi home today.” Jiju said in a calm tone.
Mummy tightened the purse under her arm and took a step toward the temple but Jiju was faster. He caught her hands, his grip firm but gentle, pulling her back toward the bench. The intimacy of the gesture made my head spin. He didn't force her, but he held her attention with a magnetic intensity that seemed to paralyze her.
"We are in public," she complained, her voice now a fragile tremor.
"Let's stay together for some more time. Nobody is here to watch us," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips before flickering back to her eyes. "And even if they were, I wouldn't care. I have spent months watching you wither under that roof. I only want to see you happy. I want to give you the love you were denied for all these years."
Mummy’s resistance was crumbling. The logic of her world, the "pativrata" ideals she clung to was being eroded by the sheer force of his sincerity.
Jiju smiled, a soft, indulgent expression. He said in a firm voice. "I have so much more to say to you, and I don't want to keep it for later."
He again put his hand lightly on her shoulders, embracing her decently – a gesture of ownership and care that she didn't fight. My heart hammered against my ribs as I kept watching, drawn by a morbid, forbidden curiosity.
Inside the canopy, the light was very dim now. Jiju turned to her, his face softening as he took her face in his hands. He wasn't the man who had fought Rambo; he was gentle, his movements reverent, as if he were handling something sacred. He leaned in, his lips brushing her cheek, a delicate, lingering touch that seemed to melt the last of her resolve.
I watched, frozen, as his hand slid over her upper arm, his fingers brushing against the soft, delicate skin of her arm. He whispered something in her ear – maybe a secret, something that made her eyes flutter shut.
Then, he moved to her lips, and this time, the kiss was not the impulsive, shocking act of the kitchen. It was slow, deliberate, and deeply romantic.
Mummy’s hands came up, tentatively resting on his chest, whether to push him away or pull him closer, I couldn't tell. She surrendered. As his lips moved against hers, I saw her body sag, the years of hidden fatigue and unspoken hurt finally finding an outlet. He wasn't just a man seeking intimacy; he was also filling a void that had been hollowed out by silence and coldness.
He pulled back only an inch, his forehead resting against hers, his breath hitching. He whispered something I couldn't hear, his fingers continuing to caress her jawline with a tenderness that made my skin flush. In that moment, the boundary that mummy had maintained between them had completely evaporated. It got replaced by a raw, undeniable connection between two of them that made the rest of the world feel irrelevant.
The air grew heavy and humid, charged with a tension that felt final. They were no longer typical mother-in-law and son-in-law; they were two souls who had found refuge in the very relationship they weren't supposed to seek. And as I turned away, the image of them – tangled in the shadows of the vines, kissing full of love and intimacy, and finding warmth in each other's arms – burned itself into my memory.
I had got the answer of the question poking into my head sometime back. What was the cost of getting rid of Rambo?
This was the cost.
Mummy was clearly looking for a similar secluded place. She joined her hand before the god from the outside. She further walked past the main temple entrance, bypassing the queue of devotees, and as I followed her, I noticed that she was on a road to the informal garden that had been maintained by the bank of the river. I followed her until we reached a secluded bench tucked away beneath the shade of an old banyan tree. From here, the city sounds were muffled, replaced by the rhythmic lapping of the river and the distant, shrill cries of birds in the trees.
She sat down, exhaling a breath she seemed to have been holding for days. Her hands were folded in her lap, her knuckles white. I stood by the edge of the ghat, looking toward the main road, still checking my watch, hoping that perhaps we would leave soon so I could catch the tail end of the match.
"Sit," she whispered, patting the cold sheet of the bench.
I sat, but I was restless. I tapped my foot against the ground, the sound echoing in the relative quiet. She didn't look at me; she was staring out at the vibrant, tangled greenery that dipped into the river and was probably thinking of all the things that had happened to her so far.
"Mummy," I started, feeling a sudden need to break the tension, "Shall I bring some snacks to eat?"
She turned to look at me, and her expression told me that she wasn’t interested in eating. But she would have liked the privacy if I am not sitting next to her but somewhere around the temple area.
“Bring it for yourself, Babu," she said, her voice barely audible over the river. "I want to just sit here quietly."
“Stay here, Mummy,” I said, “I’m going to find something to eat. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
I took a turn by the temple, crossed pilgrims lines and started climbing the steps toward the street vendors. I had reached half-way up, when I ran head-on into Jiju. He was leaning against a pillar, his eyes locked on something far. I turned my face to realize that he was looking at the spot where Mummy sat by the river. He didn’t look like he had just walked over; he looked like he had been stalking her from a distance.
“You’re leaving her alone?” Jiju asked. His voice wasn’t casual. It was sharp, demanding.
“I’m just getting food,” I replied.
“Go meet your friends,” he said, brushing past me without keeping eyes off the place where mummy was sitting. “Or study. I’ll keep her company. She shouldn't be sitting in such a lonely spot anyway.”
His intention hit me like a physical blow. I knew he wasn't merely concerned for her safety; he was seizing an opportunity to relieve tension between them that he has caused. I didn't go for food. I doubled back, creeping through the narrow, dark alleys that ran parallel to the path. I hid behind a thick tree nearby mummy, my heart thumping against my ribs.
Mummy was still on the bench, dense shrubs and trees at her back. I slowly moved inside the dense shrub. I was surely out of sight now. She was staring at the swirling, dark water of the river, her shoulders hunched as if she were carrying the weight of the entire world. She looked tired, vulnerable, and completely lost in a haze of misery.
Then, I heard heavy, uncoordinated footsteps. I had laid down on my stomach and my eyes were expecting Jiju’s appearance soon.
But… He was not Jiju.
Rambo was standing there. A man known to every kid in the neighborhood by this name only — a psycho, dirty beggar to everyone and a sexual weirdo in addition to that for my mummy . He staggered toward the bench, his eyes bloodshot, a jagged grin plastered on his face full of lust.
My breath hitched. Was I going to witness another forceful exploitation of my mummy? but then I saw Jiju. He was standing twenty feet away, his body coiled, watching. He wasn't rushing to help. He was just waiting and observing.
Rambo reached the bench and hovered over Mummy. She didn't hear him until he slammed his hand down on the stone beside her. She jumped, letting out a sharp, strangled cry.
“No cry... No cry… I want maja.. Lots of maja,” Rambo slurred, leaning in, his ugly face inches from hers. He reached out to grab her arm, his fingers digging into her skin.
Mummy shrieked, scrambling back, but she was trapped between the bench and Rambo, who had bent over her. “Leave me alone!” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Get away!”
Rambo shook her by shoulder, grunting and denying to leave her.
In that heartbeat, Jiju moved.
He didn't run; he exploded. He covered the distance in three long, brutal strides, his face twisted into a mask of pure, concentrated rage. He didn't shout a warning. He slammed his shoulder into Rambo’s chest, sending the man sprawling backward against the stone wall.
Before Rambo could even find his footing, Jiju was on him.
It wasn't a fight; it was a demolition.
Jiju’s fist connected with Rambo’s jaw with a sickening crack. Rambo crumpled, but Jiju grabbed him by the collar, hauled him up, and drove a knee into his stomach.
“Don’t you ever touch her,” Jiju roared, his voice echoing off the temple walls.
Rambo swung wildly, but Jiju ducked and landed a savage blow to his temple. Rambo fell, blood streaming from his nose, his head hitting the stone floor with a dull thud. He tried to scramble away, but Jiju pinned him, his knuckles white as he hammered blow after blow into the man’s ribs.
“Damad ji, stop!” mummy screamed, “You’re going to kill him!”
A few of the people walking nearby started shouting. A couple of them ran to intervene, their faces blurred with shock. They started pulling at Jiju’s arms. It took them a lot of effort to pry him off Rambo. Jiju was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his clothes disheveled. He looked like a man who had finally found an outlet for the poison that had been simmering inside him for days.
“He is a mad man, mister. Why are you fighting with him? Let it go!” Someone tried to convince Jiju.
Rambo lay still, a crumpled heap of broken skin and heavy, ragged breathing. Someone started calling for an ambulance. Rambo was beaten very badly. He had got damaged mentally more than physical ruin.
The moment he caught his breath, he somehow managed to stand on his legs and rushed towards the temple. Two men followed him advising to stop and go to hospital.
Mummy was still on the bench, shocked by the sudden attack by Rambo. She was shaking violently, her eyes fixed on Jiju.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
Mummy couldn't speak. She just nodded, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and something else—a sudden, horrifying realization of the man she was avoiding had just saved her.
As the paramedics loaded the semi-conscious Rambo onto a stretcher, the crowd began to whisper. They looked at Jiju not as a hero, but as a man whose violence had been far too efficient, far too practiced.
I lay hidden there, paralyzed. Looking at mummy and Jiju who had now taken a seat beside her. I realized then that the fight wasn't unexpected at all. Jiju was indeed a man we needed in our life to get rid of Rambo. But while this was true, it didn’t prevent me thinking – “but at the cost of what?”
---
The sun was on the horizon and it was already getting dark. There was nobody around, not even a handful of people that had arrived when Rambo got beaten. The evening arati’s distant bells were now the only sound, muffled and mournful.
I remained pressed under the excellent cover of the shrubs, my breath hitching in my throat. From here, I could see them. Mummy was sitting on the bench, her silhouette rigid, looking like a statue etched in sorrow. She had dressed in a beautiful pink saree and blouse and looked extremely alluring despite being so tense. Jiju was accompanying her, his posture no longer the aggressive predator from the fight, but something soft, patient, but dangerously bold.
He reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder before finally coming to rest there. His touch was light, a silent promise of comfort. Mummy recoiled slightly, her face turned away, but she did not pull away completely.
"I didn’t come here to hurt anyone," Jiju began, his voice a low, melodic murmur that barely carried over the lapping river. "I came because I couldn't stand the silence you built between us. Every time you turn your back, every time you pretend I’m a ghost in your house, it kills me."
Mummy finally looked at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You don't understand. Everything is complicated. You are Meenakshi's husband... you are family. You should have thought a thousand times before acting so wrongly in the kitchen."
"I am a man who sees you," Jiju interrupted, his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic line against her shoulder. "I see the way you carry the weight of that house. I see the way Papa ji treats you like a servant, and it makes my blood boil. Do you think I don't feel for Meenakshi? I do. But what I feel for her is pure love, sensuality. What I feel for you... it’s different. It's more than that, It’s a mixed feeling – of ache and care for your suffering, and intense love for you, Mummy ji."
"Stop," she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction. "It is wrong. It is immoral."
"Is it immoral to want to see you smile?" He leaned closer, his proximity stripping away the remaining defenses she had kept up since that morning in the kitchen. "I am seeing you all these days, terrified by that Papa ji. Do you really think I’m like him? I protected you because I felt you were mine to protect, I protected you from that madman and will not back away from fighting the world for you. I want to be the one who lightens your load, not adds to it."
Mummy stood up abruptly, adjusting her slipping purse on her shoulder. "I have to go. Everyone will be waiting for us.. Where is Babu? Have you brought Minakshi home?", she worried.
“I had asked Babu to go home when I met him on the stairs. And papa is to bring Minakshi home today.” Jiju said in a calm tone.
Mummy tightened the purse under her arm and took a step toward the temple but Jiju was faster. He caught her hands, his grip firm but gentle, pulling her back toward the bench. The intimacy of the gesture made my head spin. He didn't force her, but he held her attention with a magnetic intensity that seemed to paralyze her.
"We are in public," she complained, her voice now a fragile tremor.
"Let's stay together for some more time. Nobody is here to watch us," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips before flickering back to her eyes. "And even if they were, I wouldn't care. I have spent months watching you wither under that roof. I only want to see you happy. I want to give you the love you were denied for all these years."
Mummy’s resistance was crumbling. The logic of her world, the "pativrata" ideals she clung to was being eroded by the sheer force of his sincerity.
Jiju smiled, a soft, indulgent expression. He said in a firm voice. "I have so much more to say to you, and I don't want to keep it for later."
He again put his hand lightly on her shoulders, embracing her decently – a gesture of ownership and care that she didn't fight. My heart hammered against my ribs as I kept watching, drawn by a morbid, forbidden curiosity.
Inside the canopy, the light was very dim now. Jiju turned to her, his face softening as he took her face in his hands. He wasn't the man who had fought Rambo; he was gentle, his movements reverent, as if he were handling something sacred. He leaned in, his lips brushing her cheek, a delicate, lingering touch that seemed to melt the last of her resolve.
I watched, frozen, as his hand slid over her upper arm, his fingers brushing against the soft, delicate skin of her arm. He whispered something in her ear – maybe a secret, something that made her eyes flutter shut.
Then, he moved to her lips, and this time, the kiss was not the impulsive, shocking act of the kitchen. It was slow, deliberate, and deeply romantic.
Mummy’s hands came up, tentatively resting on his chest, whether to push him away or pull him closer, I couldn't tell. She surrendered. As his lips moved against hers, I saw her body sag, the years of hidden fatigue and unspoken hurt finally finding an outlet. He wasn't just a man seeking intimacy; he was also filling a void that had been hollowed out by silence and coldness.
He pulled back only an inch, his forehead resting against hers, his breath hitching. He whispered something I couldn't hear, his fingers continuing to caress her jawline with a tenderness that made my skin flush. In that moment, the boundary that mummy had maintained between them had completely evaporated. It got replaced by a raw, undeniable connection between two of them that made the rest of the world feel irrelevant.
The air grew heavy and humid, charged with a tension that felt final. They were no longer typical mother-in-law and son-in-law; they were two souls who had found refuge in the very relationship they weren't supposed to seek. And as I turned away, the image of them – tangled in the shadows of the vines, kissing full of love and intimacy, and finding warmth in each other's arms – burned itself into my memory.
I had got the answer of the question poking into my head sometime back. What was the cost of getting rid of Rambo?
This was the cost.
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