The Last Love Letter

Chapter 17

Subah drove straight home from the hospital. There was something bothering her. Bala’s coffee helped a bit, but the problem still remained out of reach.

She went up to her studio and set up a new canvas. After spraying it down with water and painting on a grey background, she began to play with different shades of black and brown, changing brushes as she pleased. She had no idea what she wanted to paint. After a while, she stepped back a few feet and stared at the patterns and images she had formed. There was nothing she could see, but it was always like that. She just needed to look harder and longer.

Memories from her visit to the hospital began to swim in her mind. She stared at the canvas again, and this time, when she started painting, her strokes were more precise and the shades more sure.

After some time, Bala came to announce dinner and Subah decided to stop work for the time being. Her decision to stop was as abrupt as the one to start. In any case, it had been a long day and she needed to get back to work early the next day. She gathered her thoughts and followed Bala down the stairs to the living room.

Subah couldn’t sleep properly that night. As she tossed and turned, her thoughts kept returning to her visit to the hospital and the painting. Eventually, she realized what was happening to her. When Rohit had left to get coffee, Akash’s hand had accidently grazed her shoulder, and for the briefest of moments, she had seen an image—of her and Akash on a beach, holding hands and looking at the sunset, their faces aglow as if they’d absorbed light and were now releasing it, their eyes twinkling at the prospect of a lovely, dark night, one that would be spent in each other’s arms.

Subah sat up. Was it a dream? But she had not slept at all. Why was she having such crazy thoughts? She turned the lights on, got out of bed and looked at herself in the mirror. For the first time, she couldn’t meet her eyes. The eyes that stared back were asking questions. They belonged to the person she was before she met Akash.

What had she done to deserve such thoughts? She walked to the kitchen and prepared a cup of tea for herself, trying to make as little sound as possible, so that Bala, who slept in the adjacent bedroom, didn’t wake up. As she took her tea over to sit on a dining-room chair, she heard a shuffle of feet.

‘Subah, what’s wrong?’ Bala came over and stopped near the table, her eyes falling on the cup of tea. ‘You could have asked me to make this.’

Subah waved her hand. ‘No, why should I disturb you if I can’t sleep?’

Bala sat in the chair next to Subah’s and looked at her with questioning eyes.

‘What?’

‘I know what’s happening to you, Subah.’

Subah’s eyes flew up. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing. Just that…please don’t be too harsh on yourself. Sometimes we need to let the current of circumstances take us towards our destiny.’

‘Perhaps…’ Subah didn’t like where the conversation was going, and as soon as she finished her tea, she yawned uncontrollably, suddenly very sleepy. Whatever had been bothering her was no longer in control of her senses. She was who she was—an independent woman who would do everything in her might to save women from men.

The next day, a woman named Anita, who had been registered with her NGO and was undergoing training in a six-month tailoring course, called Subah. Half an hour later, Subah was at her institute. The subject of the call had disturbed her, and she wanted to discuss the problem the woman was facing and sort it out.

At the institute in Noida, where Anita was staying while she trained, Subah looked at her and asked, ‘Why?’

‘Madam, he has realized his mistake, and now he is really in love with me.’

A year ago, a badly beaten and tortured Anita had escaped from her home, where she had been raped every night by her drunken husband, and somehow reached the police station. Her husband had chased her, but with all her remaining strength, she had reached Chanakyapuri police station from the village of Shahpur Jat, where she had lived ever since she was married two years ago.

The police had called Subah, who had taken on responsibility for her, first for treatment and then for helping her get back on her feet. Since Anita was uneducated, tailoring was one of her few options. During the monthly reviews of all the women her NGO was training, Subah had gotten good feedback about Anita. Until this morning.
First, the director of the institute had called to say that Anita wanted to quit, and then Anita herself had called and repeated the same thing. And now, meeting Subah’s eyes, she was saying that the man who had raped and tortured her for two years had fallen in love with her again. She said that he had visited the institute and pleaded with her, saying he was sorry. And this woman had accepted his apology and wanted to start afresh. She now thought Subah was blocking her path to freedom and love.

‘What if he does the same thing to you that he did before?’

‘Madam, please, he won’t. He is in love with me. While I was away from him, he realized my value. I can see it in his eyes. He has never looked at me this way before.’

In the end, when all her logic and concerns had been brushed aside, Subah gave up and allowed Anita to withdraw. Her NGO had lost money, and this woman was preparing to go back to hell. But there was little she could do.

As Subah walked back to her car, her phone rang. It was Rohit. Worried about Sara, she answered the call immediately, her mind transitioning from the institute she was in to the hospital where she’d been the day before.

‘Hi, this is Rohit.’

‘Hi, Rohit. How are you?’

‘I called to say hi and ask how you were doing.’

‘I’m doing okay. How’s Sara?’

‘Sara is fine, in fact recovering faster than the doctors had predicted. It’s a good sign. If all goes well, she should be home in a day or two.’

‘I’m so relieved to hear that! Her dad and mom will rest easier now.’

‘Dad, yes, but mom…I can’t say, as she is too far away.’

‘Far away? What do you mean?’ Subah was frustrated. How irresponsible of a mother! At least the father was there to take care of his daughter. Her anger at the mother painted the father in a better light.

There was silence for a few seconds. Then Rohit asked, ‘Don’t you know?’

‘Know what?’

‘Sara’s mother died a year ago.’

That hit her hard. For a second, Subah was silent and expressionless as a stone, and then she started to shake, her body trying to keep itself from falling as an earthquake seemed to pass through it.

‘Are you there?’

The question brought her back to the present, but she had not regained her senses enough to know that the question needed to be answered. Rohit repeated it, panic rising in his voice.
‘Yes, I’m here. Look, I’ve got to go.’