Companions for Seven Lifetimes! - Nagesh Shewalkar

It was just past three in the afternoon. The sprawling hospital’s outpatient department was quiet during the mid-day break, and with visiting hours for inpatients not yet started, the corridors were nearly empty. It was a moment of calm for the hospital staff. Just then, a sprightly gentleman, who had crossed seventy but wore none of its weariness, walked in. Finding the reception desk empty, he looked around until a nurse, who had been sitting nearby, approached him. She asked politely, “Sir, are you here for a check-up?” “Oh, no, no! I’m here to see my wife.” “What is her name?” “I am Vishnupant! And my wife is the Rani of Jhansi…” “Meaning? I don’t understand.” “Well, my wife’s name is Laxmibai, you see, so I call her the Rani of Jhansi. I have, ever since we were married. She loves it too. Now, where is she? She must be waiting for me…” “Sir, she is not conscious. How can she be waiting for you? Besides, your son, daughter-in-law, and grandson are with her…” “Yes, yes, they are all there! But am not with her, am I? One minute! I know she is critically ill. But she is waiting for me. If you don’t let me go to her, she will never let go of her life,” Vishnupant insisted. A doctor who had just arrived overheard them and gestured to the nurse, ‘Let him go.’ “Sir, take the lift to the fourth floor. Kakoo is in room number four, opposite the lift. Shall I accompany you?” “No, thank you. Even if there were no lift, I would climb all four floors to see my Lakshmi,” Vishnupant said, walking towards the lift with a firm stride and unwavering confidence.

The lift stopped on the fourth floor. As he stepped out, he saw his son, daughter-in-law, and grandson sitting on chairs in the hallway, their faces etched with anxiety. His son was on the phone with someone. The moment his grandson saw him, he rushed over. “Pantoji, what is this? You came all alone? You didn’t tell anyone at home? Kaka is on the phone asking if you’ve come here. Everyone is so worried…” On the phone, his son said, “Hey, Pant is here at the hospital. I’ll call you back…” Before he could say another word, Pant interjected. “My soul was yearning to see Lakshmi! And you children wouldn’t let me come. So I came! No, don’t say a word. I would do anything to see my Lakshmi. I’ve spent my whole life in this city; how could I possibly get lost? And nobody is going to kidnap an old man…” Talking, Pant started walking towards his wife’s room. His son and grandson were about to follow when his daughter-in-law gestured for them to wait. Vishnupant gently pushed the door open and stepped inside. A dreadful silence met him. He thought to himself, He sat down on the edge of her bed. He gently tickled her stomach and under her arms, but there was no response. After a few moments, Pant took his wife’s hand in his and began to pat it softly. With his other hand, he caressed her cheek, but she remained still. Pant said, “I can sing a little, you know. It was you who encouraged this hobby of mine, and it has served me well. Whenever you would put on that fake anger, I would hum a song softly… right next to your ear. I’ll sing it now…”

“Release this anger, my love, enough of this pretense, Break this silence, won’t you? I wither without you, what was my crime? Why have I become your target? Break this silence, won’t you…?”

Just then, he sensed someone enter the room. He turned to see the doctor standing there. “Doctor, I was just humming her favorite song. It’s been four days since she’s been lying in this environment. It’s the first time in her life that she has been silent for so long. I… I just arrived a few moments ago, and I was shaken to see her condition. So peaceful… I’ve never seen her like this. So I thought I’d sing her favorite song. But I didn’t get her usual response: ‘Bravo, Pant, bravo! This song is best heard only in your voice.’ For me, even the original singer’s voice pales in comparison to yours. I tell you, many nights have passed with her ‘once more’ requests and my humming! But she never tired of it. Doctor, just once… I just want to sing for her one last time and see her delighted, radiant face…” “It will happen, Pant. Your wish will be fulfilled. I’ll be back,” the doctor said and stepped out. He turned to the family waiting anxiously in the hallway. “Let him be with her. Perhaps his touch, his voice, will bring her back to us.” Inside, Pant sat beside Laxmibai and continued his monologue. “It seems you didn’t like the song today. What should I do now? When will you speak? You know, we always cherished each other’s likes and dislikes. Remember when I first came to see you for our arranged marriage? Even though you were a graduate, you wore a large, traditional on your forehead. It suited you. We both said yes. In an era when it was uncommon, our parents allowed us to speak to each other alone. I had no female friends, and you had no male friends, so we didn’t know what to say. Finally, I said, ‘A bright red would look lovely on your fair forehead…’ The faint smile that graced your lips at that moment made me feel like I had been struck by Cupid’s arrow. I have treasured that smile in my heart forever. After we got married, you stopped wearing the and started applying a large spot of , just like my mother. I often told you to wear a instead, but you wouldn’t listen, bound by tradition. When I finally convinced my mother, she gave her permission. And so, just for my sake, you started wearing a . I still remember the first time you came into our room wearing one; you were so wonderfully shy, hiding your face in your hands. Your cooking was another marvel. Everyone in the house, even my mother, praised your culinary skills. She lovingly bestowed upon you the title of ‘Annapurna,’ the goddess of food. I remember once, when my parents were out of town, you made your favorite dish—cabbage. I had never touched it in my life, but because you made it, I ate it with relish. You were given a license after that to make all the things I disliked, and I began to enjoy them all! Look, this must be the first time since our wedding that I am the one talking nonstop, and you are listening quietly. It’s usually the other way around. Your voice is so sweet that even your angry words sound like music. You never had any great demands—no craving for jewelry, no insistence on seeing a movie. We would watch a film once a month only because I loved it, and it was always a film of my choice. Your greatest joy was in hospitality. Remember that one time… the only time in our long journey together that we had a major fight? It wasn’t a big issue, but in the heat of the moment, the word ‘divorce’ escaped my lips. You turned red with rage, your body trembled, and tears streamed down your face. You refused to eat. Later, my mother found you sobbing. She asked me what happened, and when I told her, the scolding I got from her is something I’ve never forgotten! It took you eight or ten days to come around. Even my singing couldn’t placate you then. That one week was the most difficult period of my life. And do you remember when you became pregnant with our son? I didn’t want a child so soon. You fought back fiercely. My mother sided with you. She cornered me that evening and scolded me, ‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, wanting to kill an unborn child? What if I had done that when you were in my womb?’ I was so shocked by her anger that I dropped the subject. The moment our son was born and I saw him, my eyes filled with tears, realizing what I would have lost. Lakshmi, you love it when I call you the Rani of Jhansi! I first called you that a few days after our wedding. You didn’t understand why. When I finally explained that your name was Laxmi, and the Queen of Jhansi’s name was Laxmibai, you exclaimed, ‘Oh! My tube light just switched on!’ and you laughed and laughed until tears rolled down your cheeks. It was the first time I saw that carefree side of you, and I couldn't help but laugh along. Oh, Lakshmi, just look at me once. Cast that captivating glance of yours on me. Even at this age, when you look at me that way, my heart still skips a beat. Your smile is my tonic. It’s been four days since you’ve been here, and I feel like I am already dead. Nothing feels right. I can’t eat or drink. My daughter-in-law had to remind me, ‘Baba, if you don’t eat, you’ll fall ill. What will mother think when she comes home and sees you like this?’ Her words opened my eyes. So I decided, I must go and bring my sulking Lakshmi home. I came straight here without telling anyone. I performed such a great feat, and yet you won't even spare me a glance. Just a few days ago, you said, ‘I have no more wishes left. I have lived a full life with you. My only desire now is to go before you, to have you apply the final on my forehead before my last journey…’ And I gave you my usual reply: ‘That won’t happen. How will I manage without you? You’ve made me completely dependent on you! My day doesn’t start without your tea, and it doesn’t end without your tea. And you talk of leaving me? I won’t let you. I won’t even let Yama, the god of death, enter the house. That’s why I’m here. I’m here to see how you can possibly leave alone. We are companions for seven lifetimes, aren’t we? How can you go? If his messenger comes, I will tell him firmly: you cannot take my Rani of Jhansi alone. If you must take her, you will have to take us both.’ ” As he was speaking, he felt a distinct pressure on his hand. His wife’s hand was squeezing his. Astonished, he looked at the monitor. Her breathing pattern was fluctuating. He was overjoyed. His wife, who had been in a coma for four days, had moved. He looked towards the door; his children were frantically gesturing for him to come out. He tried to point them to the monitor, but they ignored it. He turned back to his wife. “Rani of Jhansi, you are listening to me. That machine shows you are breathing more freely now. Our son and daughter-in-law are asking me to leave. You don’t want me to go, do you? I know you so well. You don’t want to leave me, and I don’t want to leave you. Shall we do this then? Not you first, not me first. Let’s bid farewell to this world together. Come, let’s begin this unknown journey, you and I…” As Vishnupant spoke, he felt an invisible force pulling his hand. Before he knew what was happening, he collapsed onto Laxmibai’s body.

A few moments later, the door burst open and people rushed in. The doctor, who came in last, hurried forward. The machine monitoring Laxmibai had flatlined. He shook his head grimly. Then, he checked Vishnupant’s pulse and breath. He realized that Laxmibai had taken her final leave from the world, and she had taken Vishnupant with her. Looking at the stunned family members, the doctor said softly, “No more… Both! Sorry!” - Nagesh S. Shewalkar94231 39071 (This article is the translated version of the original story सोबती साता जन्माचे!written byNagesh Shewalkarpublished in the Sahitya Chaprak Diwali Ank 2025 )

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