Why, Paro, why?

Why is Paro being so pushy? Why doesn't she give Rudra time to absorb, assimilate the situation? Why is she forcing him to accept his mother?

Paro's POV ... sadly completely ignored in this track.

How do I explain to you, Major saab? How do I explain why I'm pushing Maasa down your throat? Why am I forcing old memories down your throat?

Do you understand, Major saab, what it is to be truly alone in the world? You say you were alone ... but even at your worst of times, you never were.

Look around you today ... see this family of yours. Your father, your mother, your kaaka, your kaaki, who is also your maasi, your three cousins, a bhabhi who cares for you ... and a wife who loves you. Wait, you know that last one. But what about the others? You can doubt your parents' love for the moment ... but what about kaakasa? The man whom you pestered for his old badge, and he gave it to you? What about Samrat, whose colors you used for making your picture? Maithili bhabhisa, whom you ask now for advice on where to buy my mangalsutra, whom you asked for help even when you hated me ... when you left me out in the rain, and then needed help to change my clothes? Even Sumer, whom you hate ... but you asked ... no, told him to marry me, for money ... and he agreed. Kaakisa, who is related to you twice over, who never stops taunting you ... and you never stop taunting her back. But you can get away with it ... because you belong here. No one can throw you out. This is your home, your right, your inheritance. You are surrounded by people, by family ... people you can count on, you can scold, get angry with, blackmail, threaten ... they belong to you, you belong to them. If tomorrow you were to walk out of here, those ties would not snap. They would still be your uncle, your aunt, your cousins ... and your parents will still be your parents. You walked back into this house after fifteen years, and no one could say a word to stop you, because this place is yours. You belong here.

Whom do I have? Only you, my husband, who is my only connection with this house. If tomorrow you were to get angry with me, throw me out, the way your father threw your mother out, would any one of these people come to help me? They might want to, but would they? And would I have the right to return?

You tell me you cannot forget that fifteen years ago, your mother left you. But you have so easily forgotten the thirteen years of love she gave you before that. How easy was it for you to forget that, Major saab? Have you stopped to think, for a moment ... after you heard the truth ... about how she stayed for those thirteen years? How much pain, abuse, hurt she put up with, for your sake? Why did she not leave earlier, when you were much more vulnerable? She stayed till you were thirteen, because then you were almost grown up, you could fight back, if your father ever tried to lift a hand on you. She stayed till you were capable of defending yourself ... the way she never was.

But it is difficult to forget the pain of betrayal, you say. You say you cannot forgive the pain, the hurt, the betrayal she gave you.

Yet when I speak about the pain, the hurt, the betrayal of the man I was married to so briefly, you tell me to forget it ... because he was never my husband. My first marriage was fake.

Is that supposed to make the pain of betrayal any less for me? Briefly, maybe ... but I wove dreams for those few days ... and they were shattered twice over ... once when you killed him in front of my eyes, and a second time, when I heard he was planning to sell me. Yet you tell me ... forget that pain ... because it was never real. I never had any happy times with that man, so his death should not hurt me. The shattering of my dreams should not hurt me, because they were only dreams.

And so you tell me to forget that man, that marriage, that betrayal.

When I ask you to forget the pain of betrayal ... because today you have learned it was not even a betrayal ... then why can you not make an attempt to forget? And if you cannot, why not give me the same right? Why is your pain, your anguish, real ... and mine of no consequence?

You say my parents loved me, and I should be happy about that. That even though they died when I was six, I should be happy with the knowledge that for all those six years, they loved me.

But you cannot forget your mother for leaving you after thirteen years. She loved you for those thirteen years, didn't she? Then why is that love not enough for you to last a lifetime? You say you cannot forget that your mother left you. Then why do you say I should forget my parents? I was only six when they left me. Is six years of love enough to last a lifetime? Do I not have the right to miss them, to mourn the fact that they left me when I was so young? Only because they left unwillingly, that death snatched them away, not another man?

Today you have both your parents with you. All these years, when you did not know where your mother was, you had your father with you. You knew your mother was out there somewhere in the world. Where there is life, there is hope. And all these years, there was that tine hope in your heart, that one day your mother would return, you could ask her all your questions, you could vent out your anger, your hurt on her ... and she would listen. And today that hope is realized. She is back ... you have got your answers ... you have vented out your anger on her and your father because they are there. They are alive. They can hear you. And because they love you, they will listen to you ... bear your anger because they know it is justified.

When I get angry that my parents are not there, whom do I vent out on? What use is it even if I do? They are dead ... they will never come back. I have not the faintest hope that they can ever return. There is no one to hear my pain.

And when I tried to tell you that I feel the hurt, the pain of abandonment as keenly as you do, you brushed it aside ... because your pain was bigger.

Is your pain really so much bigger, Major saab? Is my pain so little?

Today you want time .. time to get used to this new reality, the new truths flooding your life, confusing you. I understand that. Love and forgiveness cannot be forced.

But I also know how lives can change overnight. I have seen it firsthand. One day I was a happy smiling child, with two loving parents, and not a care in the world. The next day I was an orphan with no one of my own, dependent only on the kindness of relatives and strangers. Did I regret anything? Only that before they left, I hadn't given my mother that extra hug and kiss, told my father I loved him. Instead I made a list of demands ... a doll, imli, with salt ... How I wish instead, I had taken an extra hug, an extra kiss. How I wish I had asked them to go the next day instead. But I didn't. And I lost them forever.

You are lucky, you have been given a second chance. But tomorrow you might not be so lucky. If God forbid, tomorrow something was to happen to either one of your parents, you would be left with lifelong regret that you did not make amends when you had the time. I was not given that second chance. When my parents went, they went forever. I was not allowed a last moment to tell them that I loved them, that I would always love them. But you have been given that chance. Don't lose it, Major saab.

I know you feel I'm pushing you. Maybe I am. Because I don't want you to be left with regrets ... and not have another chance to set things right.

Because while there is life, there is hope.

But when death comes as the end, hope dies too.

(The gorgeous Paro collage is by UltimateRudra - Shweta ... thanks, Shweta! 🤗 )