“A ship from Indonesia is around the coast,” Ramesh let out a cheer in the courtyard.
Amma’s eyes lit up while Reena started jumping. A vessel slipped from Meera’s hands and under her scarf, tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Hey! Bhau might be here anytime. This is two days old newspaper,” said Ramesh.
Meera rushed into her room. She took out her silk red and green embroidered salwar kameez, Ratan had gifted.
As she stared into the gold frame mirror, she recalled how much he loved and cared for her even after three miscarriages. She can’t imagine she had lived five years without him. Although she knew that she was married to a man who was working in a far off land but this time it had been very long.
She had written several letters, each describing her suffering, without her love. But he had not replied any except the recent formal one, informing that he was coming.
While she mused holding her scarf and feeling its softness, Ramesh screamed in excitement, “Bhau! Amma….Bhau!”
Meera peeked from her small window. Ratan was standing with a Chinese tot holding his hand.
She couldn’t stop her racing mind while Amma cried her heart out, “I am so grateful Jhulelal Sai saved you.”
“Reena, take this boy,” Ratan said to his sister.
As he went to his room, Meera jumped and rolled her arms around his neck, her eyes welled, “Why didn’t you reply my letters? It was you who taught me to write, isn’t it?”
“Meera, (he gasped) you know Japan had colonized Indonesia. I never thought I will ever come back. Communications to British colonies were banned. An Indonesian helped me during my worst days but she died giving birth to our son!” Ratan replied looking deep into her eyes.
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