A STORY OF LOVE AND DESTINY

“I have always believed in the power of destiny, Radhika! I sincerely hoped that one day I would call you my own. But I now realized that we are not destined to be together. Nobody can understand my feelings. I am tired of living in this constant fear of losing you. It’s better we part our ways here!” he said, looking into my eyes. 

His words stirred a kind of emotion I cannot explain. My vision became blurred as tears welled up in my eyes. 

“How could you do this to me in the name of destiny? Who decides our fate but ourselves, Imraan?” I protested. 

He took my hands and said softly, “Can you fight your destiny, Radhika? Can you fight against your family?”

His question made me uncomfortable. For the first time in my twenty-year-old life, I doubted myself. All through my growing-up years, I believed that I could carve my own destiny. That is what my father had taught me. And suddenly, everything seemed to fall to pieces.

We were sitting on the park bench adjacent to his university. The campus bore a desolate look as most students had left for the day. It was a beautiful summer evening, but not many people were around owing to the heat. It was the late 1940s. The British had left our country after ruling over us for almost eighty-nine years. Before leaving, they divided our country into Hindustan (India) and Pakistan.  The majority of the Hindus residing in Pakistan moved to India, and the majority of the Muslims from India moved to Pakistan to start their new lives, barring a few. Imraan was one of them. The new government that took the reign of independent India was in full vigor. They had the tedious task of building a nation from the fragments of colonialism. 

Imraan was my neighbor. Since I can remember, our families have been very good friends. Our diverse religions never came in the way of our friendship. We participated in their religious festivals with the same fervor, as they participated in ours. Our fathers were barristers, working together in the high court of Calcutta. Our mothers and aunts spent the afternoons in each others’ company, making pickles and papads or chatting over piping hot tea with onion fritters.  We, the children, played in the courtyard till we got exhausted. Imraan was a year older than me. He was very talkative and loved narrating stories. Since my childhood days, I would listen to his stories with wide-eyed astonishment. With time, he grew up to be a tall and handsome young boy.

When Imraan turned eighteen, he joined the prestigious Law College of Calcutta to pursue his graduation. He wanted to join his father in his profession someday. The following year, I did the same. My father believed in the power of education for women's empowerment, and he encouraged me to follow my dreams, which was rare for women in those days. My mother was against sending me to law college. However, it was Imraan who convinced her. 

Imraan and I fell for each other during those early years in college. In his words, “We were meant to be together!” It was also the time when the freedom movement was at its peak. There were riots everywhere. People were dying in masses. The Hindus and Muslims couldn’t see each other in the eye. Amidst all this chaos, we continued to see each other in college. Nothing affected the love that had blossomed in our innocent hearts. We were naive to think that nothing would come in the way of our relationship. But the communal riots that had engulfed the entire nation slowly took our families in their grip. Our decades of friendship gradually fell apart, and there came a time when the two families became enemies. 

Finally, in 1947, India got its much-deserved independence. In the same year, Imraan joined Calcutta University for his higher education. When it was time for me to join the University,  my father objected to it. He said my education was enough to get me a good matrimonial match. He told my mother to start teaching me household work so that someday I could be a good wife to my future husband. I didn’t know what to do. The possibility of meeting Imraan seemed bleak. Since our families stopped talking to each other, we could no longer visit each other’s houses. So, we made it a practice to meet after his classes at the university. I would go out of my home on the pretext of going to the library. My mother never suspected my intentions.

In one such meeting, I told Imraan my father’s decision. I expected that he would cajole me and assure me that he would take care of things. But instead, he spoke of ending our relationship.  I didn't know what to reply when he asked if I would go against my family’s wishes. That evening I left him on the bench without saying a word more. I pondered over his question the entire night. The next day I knew what my answer was. I eagerly waited for the evening. I stepped out of my house to go to the library. In my excitement, I forgot that it was a Saturday, and the library remained closed that day. 

On reaching the park, I found Imraan sitting at our usual spot. I ran to him and blurted out excitedly. “Yes, I'm ready to fight against my family Imraan. I will do anything to be with you. I’m their only daughter, and I know my family will eventually accept us. Will you accept me as your wife?”

Imraan’s face changed. He didn’t look happy with my proposal. In fact, he seemed scared. Before I could say anything further, I heard my name being called. I turned to see my father standing behind us. He slapped Imraan so hard that I cried out in fear. “Please leave him, Babuji. He didn’t do anything.” I kept on pleading with him while he kept on hitting Imraan. Then he dragged me to the waiting rickshaw. 

At home, I was subjected to emotional torture. I was locked up in my room, and nobody was allowed to see me. My mother would bring food to me, but she didn’t even look at my face. I would cry and beg for her forgiveness, but all in vain. She seemed to have turned into a stone. She neither responded to my pleadings nor to my emotional outbursts. Then the inevitable happened. My marriage was suddenly fixed with the son of my father’s friend. In a month’s time, I would be someone else’s wife and leave my home forever. I somehow wanted to inform Imraan that I was getting married, but I didn’t know how. 

That day when my mother came to my room, I hugged her tightly.  “Ma, please don’t treat me in this manner. I can’t take your silence anymore, Ma!” I exclaimed.

For the first time in a fortnight, I saw her wince.  She embraced me in her arms for a long time and then said slowly, "Don't worry, dear, everything will be fine. Just forget what has happened and think about your marriage. Rajiv, your future husband, is a very good person. You'll be really happy with him."

"But Ma, please let me meet Imraan just once. He must know that I'm getting married!" I said urgently.

"Imraan doesn't live here anymore. Their family has shifted to some other place," my mother replied sternly.

"But where, Ma?" I asked anxiously.

"That's none of your business Radhika. And stop taking Imraan's name. You're going to get married in a couple of weeks' time. You should not think about any other man other than your husband!" she replied in a serious tone.

With that, she slammed shut the door, locked it, and left. In a minute, my own mother, without any regard for my feelings, had declared Imraan, the person I loved, a stranger. She expected me to forget my entire childhood because forgetting Imraan meant wiping out everything associated with him. For the first time in my life, I succumbed to my fate. I realized that no matter how much we try, we cannot fight our destiny. 

I got married soon to the boy chosen by my parents. Needless to say, he was a gentleman. With the passage of time, I did start developing feelings for him. We had three beautiful children together. But I could completely forget Imraan. After all, it's not easy to forget one's first love!

Not every love story has a happy ending. Ours, too, didn't have one. In those days, the conservatism that was prevalent in our society didn’t allow young people to choose their life partners. We were all divided by race, caste, culture, religion, and status. Our fate was decided the moment we were born. I tried to change my fate. But I failed because this system called society was bigger and stronger than my will. 

Author’s Note: This story is a work of fiction. It is based during the time when India's struggle for freedom from British sovereignty had reached new heights. There was massive chaos and bloodshed everywhere. People fled their homes and cities for fear of losing their lives. Nobody trusted anyone from outside their community. As a child, I heard many stories from my grandmother, who had witnessed India’s freedom movement. Many families had fallen apart during that time in the name of religion. Maybe among them was a Radhika and Imraan, who were madly in love with each other but became a victim of circumstances! I say maybe because we would never know the truth!