Women's Day Special (Heroine in the Background) Brig PS Gothra(Retd)
“Dadima, are you afraid that I will get killed? Or do you hate the Army otherwise?” Sanjay asked. He had always enjoyed teasing her, but today was different. He was seeking her permission in earnest, having qualified for the technical stream to join the Army.
“No, I am not afraid. One can get killed anywhere. If I were a man, I would have loved to join the Army myself. But then, I wouldn’t have gotten married.” She paused, looking into the distance. “The Army has given us so much, but I am against your joining because of that beautiful girl you are seeing. I don’t want her life to be ruined by your decision.”
“Dadima, I have never been able to understand your conflicting stance.”
She took a deep breath. “Sanjay, your grandfather was in the Royal Indian Army. During the Second World War, we received news that after a Japanese attack, he was missing and presumed dead. Many soldiers were captured and forced to join the Azad Hind Fauj. Some managed to communicate with their families, but we never heard from your grandfather. After ten months, my in-laws, under societal pressure, decided I should marry my brother-in-law in a Chaadar ceremony — a truncated ritual for widows where the man places a sheet over the woman, publicly marking her as his responsibility.”
“How old were you?” Sanjay asked, his voice softer now.
“I don’t know, but by then, I had three children — your father and two aunts.”
“Did they ask for your consent?”
She let out a bitter chuckle. “No. Everyone assumed I had no say in the matter. A day before the ceremony, my brother-in-law’s wife confided in me. She pleaded, saying that our good relations would be destroyed if I shared her husband. I agreed with her and refused to go through with it, causing an uproar. Everyone was furious. They feared that in my youth, I might seek companionship elsewhere. A family meeting was called, and they decided my punishment.”
“Punishment?” Sanjay whispered, his stomach twisting at the word.
“I was cast out,” she said, her eyes glistening. “My children and I were moved to the outhouse, recently vacated by a servant. I was assigned all the household chores — cleaning, sweeping, washing clothes, and cooking for a family of thirty-five. It was exhausting.”
Sanjay clenched his fists. “That was cruel. Your only crime was losing your husband.”
She sighed. “Still crueler was that when my son turned five, they refused to let him attend school. They believed it would give me an excuse to leave the house and interact with men. My sister-in-law initially sympathized, but soon, even she was forbidden from speaking to me. I became utterly alone. My parents visited once a year, but social norms kept them from rescuing me. I was breaking, but every second night, I dreamt of Guru Nanak reassuring me that things would improve. That kept me going for three years.”
“You should have run away,” Sanjay murmured.
“I thought about it many times,” she admitted. “But if I did, my children would lose their inheritance.”
“Dadima, I’m sorry for teasing you all these years,” he said, shame creeping into his voice. “But my father and aunts are well-educated. How did that happen?”
She exhaled sharply, her mind drifting back in time. “One day, I was scrubbing utensils with ash when I saw a pair of military boots in front of me. I ignored them, assuming it was one of the men from the village trying to proposition me again. But the boots didn’t move. Irritated, I struck at them with a utensil and snapped, ‘Go away!’
“Then came a voice I never thought I would hear again: ‘How can I go away? I crossed seven seas and fought the Japanese to return to you.’
“I looked up and gasped. It was your grandfather. He was gaunt, his uniform tattered. Four years had passed since I last saw him. I had lived as a widow, ostracized and shunned, yet here he stood, very much alive. For a moment, time stopped. In an instant, I went from being an outcast to a wife again. I stood up, my hands still covered in ash, and embraced him, sobbing. My dirty hands soiled his uniform, silently telling him the story of the pain I had endured. He saw our ragged clothes, the misery we had lived through. I cried and screamed at him, asking why he had left me alone to suffer.”
Sanjay listened, his throat tight with emotion. “Did he say, ‘I love you’?”
Dadima let out a wry laugh. “Back then, men didn’t say such things in public. All he said was, ‘You’ve spoiled my uniform.’”
“And you felt guilty?”
“Not at all,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. “I simply replied, ‘Is it?’ Because all my suffering had been to uphold the honor of that very uniform.” She fell silent for a moment before continuing. “But my life changed that day. We reclaimed our place in the family, and my children received the education they deserved. Over time, even they forgot the suffering we had endured. I never spoke of it, not wanting them to resent their grandparents. But today, I feel unburdened after sharing it with you.”
Sanjay held her frail hand, his heart aching for the woman who had endured so much. “Dadima, I promise I won’t join the Army.”
She weakly squeezed his hand. “Go ahead, join the Army. Society has changed now.”
As she spoke, Sanjay felt the warmth leaving her fingers. He tightened his grip, as if trying to hold onto the past, onto her indomitable spirit.
A true story of Mrs. Sumitra Devi.
#WomenEmpowerment #IndianArmy #MilitaryFamily #CourageAndSacrifice
#LoveAndLoss #StrengthOfAWoman #WarStories #SurvivalStory #FamilyLegacy #Resilience
A very heartfelt story!! Can’t believe it truly happened!!
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