Lekhny Story -08-Mar-2024

The Burden of Silence

In the bustling city of Harmonyville, there lived a man named Rajiv Dutta. He was an unassuming figure, always clad in a faded brown jacket and a perpetually furrowed brow. Rajiv was the glue that held his family together—a role he had assumed since his father's untimely demise.

The Dutta household was a microcosm of life's complexities. His mother, Mrs. Dutta, was a frail woman with silver hair, her eyes etched with the pain of loss. His younger sister, Ananya, was a dreamer, her laughter echoing through the narrow corridors of their modest apartment. And then there was AlokRajiv's teenage brother, who had a penchant for mischief and a heart that overflowed with curiosity.

Rajiv's days were a delicate balancing act. He worked long hours at the textile mill, his hands stained with the colours of countless fabrics. His paycheck was meagre, but it was enough to put food on the table and pay the rent. Yet, beneath his stoic exterior, Rajiv harboured secrets—burdens that weighed him down like an anchor.

The first secret: The mill was on the brink of closure. The owner, Mr. Kapoor, had confided in Rajiv about the impending layoffs. Rajiv knew that if he lost his job, the fragile equilibrium of their lives would shatter. So, he worked harder, his tired eyes scanning the classifieds for any glimmer of hope.

The second secret: Ananya's college fees were due. She dreamed of becoming a journalist, and Rajiv couldn't bear to see that light dim. He sold his old guitar—the one he had played during happier times—to pay for her education. But he never told her. Instead, he smiled and said, "Everything's fine, Anu. Keep chasing your dreams."

The third secret: Alok's health was deteriorating. The boy had a heart condition, and the medical bills were mounting. Rajiv juggled between work, hospital visits, and late-night Google searches on affordable treatments. He didn't want Alok to worry, so he masked his own fear with a brave face.

The fourth secret: Mrs. Dutta's letters. Rajiv had discovered a stack of yellowed envelopes hidden in her wardrobe. They were addressed to his father, who had left them unanswered. Mrs. Dutta believed her husband was alive, wandering the Himalayas in search of enlightenment. Rajiv read those letters, absorbing the pain etched in every word. He couldn't bear to tell her the truth—that his father had perished in an avalanche years ago.

And so, Rajiv carried these secrets like precious cargo. He became adept at weaving half-truths, painting a façade of normalcy. When Ananya asked about the guitar, he said he'd given it away to a struggling musician. When Alok questioned the hospital visits, Rajiv blamed it on a persistent flu.

But the weight of silence was relentless. It pressed against his chest, threatening to suffocate him. Rajiv wondered if he was doing justice to his family or merely postponing the inevitable. He yearned for someone to share the burden, to say, "Rajiv, it's okay not to be fine."

One stormy night, as rain lashed against their windowpane, Rajiv sat by his mother's bedside. She clutched a faded photograph of his father, tears streaming down her cheeks. Rajiv hesitated, then whispered, "Ma, Papa isn't coming back. He's gone."

Mrs. Dutta looked at him, her eyes searching for solace. And in that moment, Rajiv realised that sometimes, the greatest responsibility is not in hiding the truth but in sharing it. For it is through vulnerability that bonds are forged, and burdens become bearable.

And so, Rajiv vowed to be honest—with himself and his family. He would face the storm head-on, even if it meant unravelling the carefully woven tapestry of lies. For in the end, it was love, not silence, that held them together.