Page 114 of Mrs. Pandey
We hadn’t spoken about what lay between us. She didn’t ask, and I couldn’t bring myself to force the conversation. She was too consumed with Iraaj, pouring every drop of her fragile strength into being his mother again. As for me I was torn in ways I could not confess.
When Ira was finally discharged, she moved into her own quarters. Her mother pleaded with her to return to Udaipur for a while, to heal, but Ira refused. She didn’t want to be separated from our son. And though Iraaj remained with me, she never demanded him back. That silence of hers was more unsettling than any fight we had ever had.
I would sound cruel if I admitted I didn’t want to return him. I wanted to keep them both, mother and son close, bound to me. But every time Ira’s eyes met mine, I could see it: that unspoken finality. She would never agree.
Legally, we were still husband and wife. The divorce hadn’t been approved yet. She knew it as well as I did. But she was simply waiting, patiently, almost coldly, for the formal words that would finally free her from me. I tried speaking to her, tried reaching past that wall, but every attempt was met with silence or a careful deflection. Ira was no longer the woman I had once known. She was different now, distant, colder, and untouchable.
One evening, I found myself outside her quarters. I had brought along Iraaj, who was asleep in my arms after a long day of play. The lights from her room spilled faintly into the corridor, and as I approached, I noticed the door was slightly ajar.
I should have knocked. I should have walked in. Instead, my steps froze when I heard her voice from within.
“I’ve already submitted the papers,” Ira’s voice was soft but steady, carrying a weight of both sorrow and resolve. “I can’t serve anymore, Aryan. My body won’t allow it. VRS is the only option.”
Her words hit me like a blow to the chest. VRS. Voluntary Retirement.
My pulse thundered in my ears as silence stretched inside. Then Aryan’s voice broke through, low but urgent.
“Ira, don’t decide like this. At least wait until the doctors give their final word. You’ve fought tougher battles than this. Don’t let this break you.”
There was a pause before she spoke again. When she did, her voice carried a calm finality that made my stomach twist.
“No, Aryan. This isn’t a battle I can fight with sheer will. I’ve thought about this for weeks long before I even opened my eyes in that hospital bed. My body has changed. My limits are different now. If I push myself back into service, it won’t just be me who breaks. It’ll be Iraaj who suffers. I can’t…” Her voice faltered, then steadied again, quieter this time. “I can’t put my son through that again.”
I gripped the doorframe to steady myself, my throat tightening. For so long, the uniform had been an inseparable part of Ira, her identity, her pride, her fire. Hearing her give it up so calmly felt like watching a flame being smothered.
And yet, beneath the sorrow in her voice, there was love. Fierce, protective love for our son. A love that outweighed everything else, even her calling.
I couldn’t bear to listen any longer. My chest tightened, and before I knew it, I had pushed the door open. The faint creak broke the moment inside. Both of them turned, Aryan first and then Ira.
Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of surprise, before she schooled her face into a small, forced smile.
“Prashant…” she whispered, her voice unsteady. “When did you come?”
I shut the door behind me with deliberate calm, though inside a storm was clawing through me. Every nerve felt raw, every heartbeat too loud. My gaze locked on hers. “You’re giving VRS?”
Her lips parted, but silence stretched between us. The weight of it pressed against the walls, against my ribs. Aryan looked between us once, then quietly rose to leave, closing the door behind him. Suddenly it was just us, two people still married on paper, yet separated by oceans.
Finally, she spoke. A single word. “Yes.”
It sliced through me more cruelly than a blade.
I stepped closer, searching her face, desperate for a trace of hesitation I could cling to. “Without even telling me? Why so sudden?” My voice cracked, then sharpened. “You love your duty, Ira. You’ve lived for it, bled for it. How can you just… walk away?”
Her shoulders tensed, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she lifted her gaze, eyes shimmering, voice steady but tired.
“Prashant, please try to see it from my side. My health isn’t the same...you know it as well as I do. I can’t push this body into fieldwork again. Even desk duty feels like a mountain some days. If I keep clinging to the uniform, I’ll only set myself up to fail, fail my team, fail myself.”
Her words trembled, but she pressed on, each syllable heavy with conviction. “And more than anything, I can’t risk leaving Iraaj again. Not after everything. Not when he’s finally learningto sleep with my arms around him. I won’t vanish from his world again. I won’t make him grow up with only memories.”
Her voice cracked again, shattering something inside me.
I dragged a hand through my hair, pacing the small space between her bed and the wall, anger and helplessness fighting for control. “You think leaving the force will make you stronger? Ira, this uniform… it’s not just your duty...it’s you. I’ve seen you fight through storms, face bullets, stare death in the eye without blinking. And now, you want to surrender without even trying?”
Her eyes glistened, a tear slipping free before she could stop it. Yet her voice didn’t waver. “I have tried, Prashant. More than you know. I fought to wake up. I fought to take one breath after another when my body screamed at me to give up. I fought to come back to Iraaj. And every morning since, I fight to stand, to walk, to smile at him like nothing’s broken inside me.”
She placed a trembling hand against her heart, her voice softening to a whisper.
“What matters now is him. Iraaj. If I lose myself chasing the battlefield again, I might lose all of this. I can’t take that chance. Not again.”
