Story of Sathya

Find out why Truth is Stranger than fiction

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 37; the thirty-seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is “Truth is stranger than fiction”

“Maa, today I have a strong desire to listen to your bedtime story,” I pestered my mother to narrate me a story. I always remember that my mother used to narrate stories that happened around her. She used to tell me about the home she visits every day. Every day she came back, she would tell about the woman, her husband, and her daughter. “No, darling! Not today,” she replied.

“Mom.Not fair,” I grimaced and continued, “You have to tell me.”

“Please understand,” she said and added, “I am tired today.” She seemed tired. She used to visit every house in the neighborhood and would accumulate food that she finds. She would get those for me. I could say that I gorge over a variety of food items collected by my mother.

Noooo…Momma…you have to tell me,” I got vexed for once.

“You can never understand your mother’s plight, darling,” she said with a straight face.

“Fine, you will know when I die because of fatigue and tiredness,” she said, her voice low.

“Mom. Please don’t say that for God’s sake,” I said and continued, “I only have you…I have neither my father’s support nor any relative who would provide me with guidance in case of your absence.”

“So you care for me, right?” she asked. “Yes, maa.””

If it is so, then allow me to take rest,” she said.

But maa!” I said and continued, “I only told you what my heart desired.”

“Ok. Maa, you sleep,” I smiled at my mother.

“Good Night, darling,” she said, closing her eyes. I looked at my mother as she slept. She looked like an angel. I wish I could do something to support her. I was being young and I was depended on my mother for all my basic amenities. I contemplated for a while on ways I could do something to help my mother. I feel unhappy to see her loitering around every house and street in search of food. My eyes turned moist for once. 

“You remember I used to talk about  Brinda.” I heard my mother’s voice.

“Maaa…I thought you were asleep,” I riposted.

“Can  I sleep after seeing tears in the eyes of my loved ones? she asked and said, “A mother’s heart is vulnerable and fragile to see her children in distress,” she smiled.

“Yes, I do remember her,” I said and continued, “You always used to tell me about her life.”

“What happened to her, mother?” I curiously asked her.

“Nothing happened!” She replied.   I remember that Brinda used to love a guy. Maa would tell me about that girl. I was so impressed by her narration that my heart would yearn to meet this beautiful girl. It seemed her parents never wanted her to get married to the man she liked. Of course, any parents would think about the betterment of their children.

It’s sad that people these days have to be constantly reminded about the responsibilities that they owe towards their loved ones. Unconditional love is special and one cannot forsake their loved ones who have been following you since you were young. “What happened to Brinda?”  I asked.

“Today, I overheard what she told to her parents,” she replied. Mother said that Brinda was planning to elope with the guy she loved. She was already planning something. It seemed mother was soon turning into an eavesdropper who overheard all that Brinda spoke to her boyfriend.

I knew it was inappropriate to intrude into someone’s privacy but she was my mother. I can’t explain the goods and bads to her.

“But isn’t that wrong, mom?” I, like an innocent child, asked her.

“It is wrong. How could one think of betraying someone who cared and loved you,” she said and asked, “you won’t forsake me no, darling?’

I looked into her eyes and said, “Maa, do you really think I would do that.”

We remained silent for a while and said, “Mum, you are everything to me.”

“How can I hurt you by doing anything of that sort,” I smiled at her.

“I trust you, darling!” she replied. Brinda was a part of our everyday discussion. Mother would not get tired of talking about her every day. “But Ma, you used to tell me that Brinda loved her parents.”

Who never does?” Mother replied.

“Everyone loves their family and at one point in time when you meet someone, you do get blinded by someone’s extreme care and love.” she added.

“That’s not good, maa,” I said. “I know..” she replied and said, “Love is cruel… and the truth is stranger than fiction, darling.”

“I am not in a position to even inform her parents about her plans,” she said and continued, “How I wish to prevent her from eloping?”

“Mum, I do admit that this society doesn’t listen to us,” I said and added, “We have a lot to say but they don’t listen to us.””

Summers have already started and some people are so cruel that if we knock their doors for thirst, they would shoo us.” Mother exhibited a frown as she uttered each word.

“Maa, I want to meet Brinda,” I said. “Okay fine, I will take you with me when I visit homes tomorrow,” she smiled and we crashed for the day. The next morning we woke up early and I got ready. “Are you ready, darling?” Mother asked me.

“Yes, ma,” I smiled.

“Let’s go,” she asked. It was the first time I was visiting a region outside my neighborhood. I was flabbergasted to see the little ones of my community strolling around the gardens and playing with the beautiful kids. I observed a group of society kids playing Cricket.

“Maa, look at that beautiful flower,” I said and screamed, “Flamboyant.”

“Don’t go close to it,” she said, pulling me away from the flower.

These flowers shelter the hazardous green bee’s who tend to hurt everyone,” she said.

“Do you see that blue building? she asked.

“Yes, I do see that,” I nodded. Mom told me that Brinda lived in that house with her parents.

“Let’s peep,” she said to me. We soon went close to the window from where we could get a clear view of Brinda’s room.

Vishal, I am packing my bags now,” Brinda was talking to someone on phone. I assumed that it was her boyfriend whom she loved.

“Yes. My parents would not be home at that time…you could come home to pick me,” she told him.

“Oh she is so bad,” I said to my mother. I derived one thing about her. She was too beautiful. She looked so simple with her long wavy hair and that was enough to mesmerize anyone. I seemed to have fallen for her beauty.

“Maa, she is adorable,” I said to my mother to which she smiled at me. Time passed and we both were dawdling at a nearby garden.  We returned back at 6 pm. We peeped in from the window of their main room.  

“Mom, dad, I guess you were going somewhere,” Brinda smiled at their parents.

“Brinda, our plans have been revised at the last minute…we are having a guest at our home at 6,” Her father said.

“Yes, we have seen a guy for you,” her parents replied to her in unison.  

“Maa.I told you I can’t think of anyone except Vishal,” she riposted. I could see tears rolling down her cheeks. The bell rang at 6 pm.

“Brinda, I guess our guest has arrived,” her mother said and rushed to open the door.

“Wipe your tears,” her dad said to her.

“Namaste Aunty!” the guy sought blessings from Brinda’s mother. He bent down to touch her feet. It was the traditional way of seeking blessings from elders. He looked as if he belonged to an affluent family. He had a dashing personality. I desperately wanted Brinda to listen to her parents and marry this handsome lad.

“Maa…he is so smart and handsome,” I said to my mother.

“Indeed,” she replied. Brinda finally arrived in the main room with a platter containing tea glasses and biscuits for the guest. As she came, her eyes met the eyes of the guest. She dropped the platter and one could witness the broken shards of glass pieces. 

“So how is our selection?” Her parents asked her. “Vishal…I love you,” Brinda hugged the handsome man.

“Maa…it’s the guy whom she loved,” I said, smiling at my mother.

“It’s her boyfriend,” she replied.

“Mom, Dad! I love you,” she hugged her parents.

“As I always said, truth is stranger than fiction,” my mother said to me.

“Things are changing and people want to see their loved ones happy. Brinda’s parents have certainly identified her plight and they have appropriately done the right thing to see her happy,” Maa said and continued, “People are so unpredictable at times.” We both smiled at each other.

“Maa, fly…Brinda is coming towards us,” I alerted and warned my mother.

“These sparrows can never stop chirping….such an irritating creature,” she said to her parents and closed the window slide. 

With a jiffy of a second, we escaped. “Darling, life is indeed harsh for us. We don’t deserve such crude treatments but they can’t understand us nor would they understand our chirpings,” mother said, exhibiting a sad face.

“We, birds are special,” I said and we both flew back to our nest.

truth is stranger than fiction
The Solitary Writer
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