Story of Dreams, Departure and Unfulfilled Goodbyes

Madanvar, as he was lovingly called, lived a simple life in the heart of Srinagar. He was a proud father to Aakash and Prerna and a devoted husband to Shobhaji. Together, they worked tirelessly to give their children the best education, with Shobhaji often dreaming aloud, “One day, our kids will become great doctors. They will save lives and bring honor to our family.” Madanvar would nod with a smile, his heart swelling with pride, “God willing, we will do whatever it takes.”

Years passed, and the hard work of both parents and children paid off. Aakash and Prerna became successful doctors, but their success came at a cost. Both settled abroad, far from the humble town where they grew up. They married, started their own families, and gradually drifted away from their roots.

Back home, Madanvar and Shobhaji were left alone in their once lively home, now in a posh area of Uptown, which echoed with silence. The warmth of their house had turned cold, leaving them with only memories for company.

One evening, Madanvar sat on the verandah, watching the sunset. He turned to Shobhaji, who was beside him, and asked, “Shobai, do you think our children will ever return?” Shobhaji sighed deeply, “I don’t know. They are busy with their lives now. We raised them to fly high, and now they have flown far away.”

Days turned into months, and months into years. One cold winter night, Madanvar passed away quietly in his sleep. When Shobhaji found him, she was devastated. In her grief, she called her neighbor Tikka Ji, who, once a proactive socialist, was now too fragile to help. Even in her sorrow, Shobhaji knew she had to give him a proper cremation. She looked around the empty house and whispered, “There is no one left to help, no one to call.” Desperate, Shobhaji hired a group of non-locals working nearby to perform the final rites. However, instead of cremating him, they buried him in a nearby graveyard.

A year later, Aakash returned to Kashmir with his wife and children. As they entered the now rundown house, he called out, “Mataji, we’re here!” Shobhaji, frail and aged, came out to greet them, her eyes tired and her face lined with sorrow. Aakash hugged his mother but quickly noticed his father’s absence. “Bhabi, where is Pitaji?”

Shobhaji’s eyes filled with tears as she replied, “Your father... he passed away last winter, potra.” Aakash was stunned. “Pitaji is gone? How did this happen, Bhabi? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Shobhaji wiped her tears with the edge of her phiran. “I didn’t want to worry you, Aakash. You were so far away... I managed somehow. The non-local workers helped with the last rites, but due to the curfew, they hurriedly buried your father in a nearby graveyard.”

Aakash, his voice heavy with guilt, said, “I want to see Pitaji’s grave, Mother. I need to pay my respects.” Shobhaji looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “You’ll have to wait, Aakash. The non-locals who buried your father know the exact location of his grave. They’re not here now. They will return only in the summer, and by then, you will have left... Until then, I can’t help you find it.”

Aakash was devastated. “Bhabi, how could it come to this? Pitaji deserved better than this.” Shobhaji, her voice trembling, responded, “We did what we could, potra. Your father always wanted to see you one last time... but he left this world waiting.”

Tears welled up in Aakash’s eyes as he looked at his mother. “I’m so sorry, Bhabi. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me the most.”

Shobhaji placed a hand on her son’s shoulder, her voice soft but firm. “Your father always believed in you both, Aakash. But remember, no success is worth losing your family. We gave you the wings to fly, but we hoped you’d always return.”

Aakash nodded, choking back his tears. “I won’t leave you alone again, Bhabi. I promise.”

Shobhaji smiled weakly, her heart heavy with the loss of her husband but filled with the hope that perhaps now her son had finally understood the true meaning of family.

The next few days were spent in quiet reflection. Aakash wandered around downtown, visiting old haunts and trying to reconnect with the life he had left behind. But the weight of his father’s absence hung over him like a dark cloud. He had returned too late, and his father’s final resting place remained a mystery, known only to strangers who would return months later.

He tried to persuade his mother to accompany him, saying he didn’t want to see her end like his father’s. But Shobhaji was firm. “I promised your father we would be together even in the afterlife. Go, your family is beckoning you, Aakash.” And Aakash left the next morning.

(The story is true but the names have been changed) 

The author is former ADG Doordarshan & Secretary Cultural Academy J&K