The hospital door opened. A woman with a khopa and a pink saree walked in, her face looking as if she had been sent by the angels to walk upon the earth. She made it heaven again.
Her dark eyebrows would grab the attention of even the gods if they weren't careful. She walked slowly into the hospital room with worry on her face and a beating heart. There he was—Shyam—lying in the hospital bed like he owned it.
"Oh! Varnika, asho asho."
(Oh! Varnika, come come.)
"Kemon achho? Oshudh kheyechho na ki na?"
(How are you? Have you taken the medicines or not?)
Varnika, who was Shyam's wife, was from Anrol, one of the rural villages of Brangal. But her beauty still shone even though she came from such a place. Now both Shyam and Varnika lived a quiet and peaceful life in the crowded city of Lilmuri.
Not just them, but also Shyam's parents lived there. Varnika didn't care whom Shyam lived with—as long as it wasn't another woman.
She sat down beside Shyam on a chair that looked awfully uncomfortable.
"Boso kemon kore ekhane?"
(How do you even sit here?)
Varnika asked, trying to find the perfect angle to sit.
"Onek soja, ami bosie na oie chair tate."
(Very simple, I don't sit on that chair at all.)
"Achha?"
(Really?)
"Haa, obosso tumi ato make-up keno porechho? Ami to kanai hoye jabo."
(Yes, anyway. Why are you wearing so much makeup? I'll become blind.)
"Ami make-up porina!"
(I don't wear makeup!)
And so their chat took turns from this to that and so on. Shyam had been working overtime more lately, which is why his health had declined quite a lot. Even still, he wanted to recover as fast as he could to make up for lost time.
He had been an employee at Subcode Echo for many years now—so many that he was now the manager of the Data Division.
As the manager, he always wanted to set a good example of how a proper employee should work. But in the end, his health had failed him. Still, his wife Varnika stayed with him. She was the only woman Shyam ever truly loved, though he did try to fall for a girl he had loved back in primary school.
But she had rejected him harshly. Charulata—Shyam's childhood ex-crush—always looked down on him, as if she were the queen of the streets and Shyam was just a stray. But Shyam didn't break. He kept moving on, kept growing, and kept being the kind person he was.
Even after many years, he still remembered just how deeply he had loved Charulata. It doesn't matter now, though. Now he has Varnika to take care of. She saw things Charulata never did, and for that reason, Shyam was grateful.
Now she had become the priority—the one he worked so hard for, the one he could die for.
So was Ira, his young daughter. She was just 4. Shyam didn't want her to have a bad childhood—one where she'd be bullied by seniors or judged for her intelligence. He wanted her to enjoy her life to the fullest. But as a father, he could only advise her, and nothing more. One day, she would have to break herself out of the cage and fly free. Explore. Live. See the world with her own two eyes.
"Gelam tahole, kheyal rekho. Dactar bolechhilen kal apnar chhuti hobe, looking forward!"
(Well, I'll be off now! Take care. The doctor said you'll be discharged tomorrow—looking forward to it!)
She left. With Shyam not around, she had found a part-time job to support the family. Beautiful as she was, she was also very hardworking and willing to do everything in her power to keep the family happy, healthy—and a little sarcastic at times.
The long shadows from the Azadirachta indica tree just outside the hospital made the scenery seem mysterious.
"How long?" Shyam whispered.
Suddenly, his phone rang.
"Hello Ritvik, ki holo?"
(Hello Ritvik, what happened?)
"Are, ami ki amar best friend ke emni emni call o korte parbo na? Odhikar ney naki?"
(Hm? Can I not call my best friend without a reason? Do I not have the permission?)
Said Ritvik, one of Shyam's childhood best friends. He and Shyam had been together since KG school.
Ritvik was the kind of person who would prioritize their friendship over his girlfriend.
But the fact remained that he had none. Shyam had a wife and a daughter, and yet Ritvik was still single.
"Amio achhi re, bhule gechhis naki amaye ekta bou peye?"
(I too am here. Have you forgotten me after getting a wife or something?)
Tuhina, Shyam's other best friend, said in a sarcastic way—though it sounded more like a warning.
"Are na na, toke ki bhabhe bhulbo? Du hajar taka dhar niea rekhe diachhis je."
(No, absolutely not. How can I forget you? You've taken two thousand rupees in debt from me, after all.)
"Aah, tui na! Bhule ja na takar kotha, bondhuttar maajhkhane taka kemon kore ase?"
(Ahh, just forget about the money already. Why bring money in between friendship?)
"Achha amae check-up er jonne jate hobe ami aschhi thik acche."
(Well, I have to go for a check-up now. I'm off, alright.)
He absolutely did not have any check-ups today. He just didn't feel like yapping right now. He stared out the window, hoping that everything would go back to normal.
Hoping to get back the life he had… and probably not die.
Luck plays a big part when it comes to death or life.
With a small sigh, he went back to sleep and spent almost the entire day doing just that. The next morning, he was finally discharged. His father, Devprakash Roy, came to pick him up.
"Kemon chhilo hospital er onubhoti?"
(How was the hospital experience?)
"Ektuo bhalo na baba."
(Not good at all, Dad.)
They drove home through thick and frustrating traffic. Somehow managing through the road, they safely made it to the entrance.
"Chhuti peye gechho Shyam?"
(Finally discharged, Shyam?)
Asked a voice that sounded like someone old—maybe 70? She sat outside her house near an unusually big jasmine flower plant that looked more like a tree.
"He Shobhna kaki, sesh porjonto."
(Yeah, Aunt Shobhna. Finally, at last.)
"Akhon daru party tahole naki Shyam?"
(So, now an alcoholic party then, Shyam?)
Another person said while watering the plants.
"Na na Madhab kaku, dactar daru khete mana korechhen koe ek din er jonne."
(No no, the doctor told me not to drink alcohol for a few days at least.)
"Achha tai naki? Thik achhe tahole."
(Is that so? Okay then.)
After that, Shyam and his dad entered the house.
It was peaceful and quiet.
"Ira!" Shyam called for his lovely daughter.
"Baba! Amar jonne ki enechho?"
(What have you brought for me, Dad?)
"At least ask for my health first, Ira," Shyam murmured as he brought out the doll he bought on the way home.
"Cute!" Ira said and ran off to her room to add it to her doll collection.
Shyam sat down on the sofa and called his coworker, Pranay.
"Hello Pranay," he said, taking a sip of the coffee Varnika brought for him.
"Yes sir?" Pranay replied.
"Is everything okay in the studio?" Shyam asked. He hadn't called Pranay once since he was admitted to the hospital.
He was worried for both the studio and Pranay. When Shyam was not around, Pranay was supposed to take care of the management side. That's why Shyam wanted to make sure he wasn't overpressured.
"Yes sir, everything is totally fine. You can rest freely, sir. I'll take care of things here."
"Okay then, thanks Pranay," Shyam said before ending the call.
"Maa koi?"
(Where is Mom?)
Shyam asked Varnika, since he hadn't seen his mother since coming back home.
"Mondir e giyechhen shashuri ma, apnar aoshuger prarthona korte."
(She went to the temple to pray for your health.)
Shyam asked nothing more after that.
He spent the entire day trying to rest while Ira brought random stuff for inspection.
He liked it—playing with his child and getting to stay with his lovely wife all day long. He felt like nothing could make him happier now.
The day passed, and night arrived—darkness filling the streets. After dinner, Shyam and Varnika went to sleep while Devprakash watched TV. Everyone was asleep. Nothing could go wrong now.
Nothing. Could. Go. Wrong. Now.
Eyes open.
"So bright," Shyam whispered, trying to adjust to the light.
"Varnika, close the curtains please," Shyam said as he tried to fold himself into the blanket.
But the surprising part was—there was no blanket.
Shyam opened his eyes fully, but what he saw was nothing like his room.
Not even close.
"What the—?"