Rikara OS: Phir le aaya dil

Forty long years. That was how long it took Rudra Singh Oberoi to track down his Chulbul Bhabhi, ever since she left the Oberoi Mansion after the ugly spat between Omkara and her.

None of them knew what exactly the issue was, for the reclusive artist never spoke of her, again. Art, to him, had now been a distant dream; something that no longer appealed to him. Gone were the colors from Omkara Singh Oberoi's life; gone was the long-hair flowing down his shoulders; gone was the confidence and fire in him; the artist in him had died the night Gauri had left him forever. All that remained with him were shredded pieces of a tiny card that professed her love for him. The hard hitting realization squeezed his heart every single day, and Omkara had left no stone unturned to look for her. But she had vanished, leaving no trace of her, until today.

"Om Bhaiyya..." Rudra called out to his weak and frail brother, who was now bound to a wheelchair. Omkara opened his droopy eyes and saw her in front of him. Seconds later, his eyes welled up with tears and his hands shivered when he saw her dressed in her bridal outfit; the very same one that she had worn on the day he had filled the partition on her forehead with his blood; where the entire village of Bareilly had been a witness to their rushed wedding.

Every moment that they had spent together flashed before his eyes. Forty years did not seem like decades ago. It felt like it was just the other day he had brought her into his house to get rid of Swetlana. And then, fate kept bringing them together, with varied reasons playing the catalyst. And it was all going fine, until his heart began to flutter every time she was around him. It was as if he had gotten addicted to her; she had become his drug. Her voice, her smile seemed to draw him closer and closer to her. Yet his fear had always tugged on the strings of his heart. His heart and mind had always been in an endless conflict, and he had almost chosen his heart, until that fateful day.

He had hurled all sorts of accuses at her, calling her varied names that a husband should never have called a wife; that too, a wife with such a pure soul who had nothing but undying love for him in her heart. He had seen and assumed the worst, calling her a characterless, shameless gold-digger, accusing her of infidelity and adultery. She had wept her heart out that night, pleading him to listen to her. He had only walked away from her without a glance, only to have her yell out the truth to him. She fell on her knees, proclaiming her love for him. His heart had been shattered to pieces to see the one he loved, so broken, the reason being none but his own self. And just when he thought that the proclamation of her love for him would be a new start for them, she had put an end to their relationship. The only tangible remains were the three pieces of that torn card, which went on to become his most prized possession over the years; the torn pieces of his broken marriage, of her broken soul, which he held close to his heart, every single night and cried in repentance and pain, praying and hoping she would be happy and blessed wherever she was.

For the first time in seven years, Omkara made a feeble attempt to stand up from his wheelchair and walk; walk up to his bride, his Gauri. As usual, there was absolute silence between them. Words had never favoured them anyway! Rudra's son- Vishal Singh Oberoi- tried to help his uncle from stumbling, but Om held his hand up in protest. Rudra held Vishal's hand and pulled him back. "Let Om Bhaiyya walk to his wife..." he said in a shaky voice, and Vishal obliged with a teary smile.

Om sat next to her and watched her peaceful expression. There was no pain, nor any smile; just content and peace. Picking a pinch of vermillion placed at the altar, he filled the partition on her forehead again; knowing that she still remained devoted to him alone, even after all these years. "It's time..." he heard his elder brother, Shivaay, speak. Bitter tears of pain and regret fell from Omkara's eyes. "I'm sorry, Gauri..." was all that he could tell her, even though he knew she couldn't hear him any more. Rudra, Shivaay, Vishal and Dandi, held the four ends of the casket and walked in a silent procession to the crematorium.

Omkara watched the flames eat her lifeless body up, with tears still streaming down his cheek. All the members of the 'Om' orphanage of Lucknow's almost non-existent town, whom Gauri had looked after these several decades, had come from various parts of the city, to pay their last respects to their beloved Gauri Maa. "Alvida, Gauri..." Omkara whispered to the winds as she became one with the elements of the earth.

That night, Omkara burnt his most prized possession- the torn pieces of their broken marriage; the pieces that proclaimed her love for him. As Rudra and Shivaay tucked him into bed, he whispered to his brothers, "It's time..." Rudra said nothing, but hugged his brother and cried bitterly on his chest; Shivaay just ran his hand over Omkara's head as he swallowed a hard lump forming in his throat.

"Veteran Artist Omkara Singh Oberoi passes away at the age of 70. Mr. Oberoi passed away at his residence after suffering from a cardiac arrest. The news of his sad demise was confirmed by his brother- Rudra Singh Oberoi- this morning"