Death only consumes the physical existence of a beloved, but not the memories and the love, they share with their dear ones.

The Memories

"Ma'am, this enveloped letter was found in Major Mehrotra's tent while we were packing his belongings. Since its addressed to you, I thought it would be best to deliver it to you, with his other belongings and trunk."

She heard the man, who was dressed in the Olive Green army uniform, say this to her. Today, her deceased husband's belongings were to be delivered to her. And this man, who was her husband's junior, had come to deliver his late troop leader's trunk and letter to her.

"Thank you." she managed to say, telling herself to not break into tears infront of her husband's junior, who had always considered her husband to be one of the strongest men, physically and mentally as well as emotionally.

"Don't say thanks, Mrs. Mehrotra. This was the least I could do. I owe this life of mine to your late husband, Major Kabir Mehrotra. If he hadn't had pushed me aside and took the bullets instead, I would've died there. I'd always owe him this." said the man in Olive Green uniform, whose name was Lieutenant Jay Chauhan. "If you and your family ever need any help, please let the army or me know. I'd be very glad to be of some help to Major Thapar's family."

"Sure, thank you again," she said, with only a faint smile.

"I should take your leave now, Ma'am," said Lieutenant Chauhan.

"Okay." she said. And Lieutenant Jay Chauhan left after this.

Once he left, she closed the door. For a few minutes, she stood transfixed to the same spot, feeling the warmth of her husband surround her as she stared at the envelope in her hands. Her husband's first and last letter to her.

For a small fraction of second, she felt her husband standing beside her, admiring her like he usually used to do, with his love filled black eyes and a disarming smile. But it was just for a fleeting second, as soon she realised that he was gone, for forever, away from her. After all, just this morning only she had completed the last rite of her husband's, the immersion of his ashes in the holy river Ganga.

Tears brimming in her eyes, threatening to roll out, she slowly walked to her room. Behind her, she carefully dragged her husband's trunk. As she walked, the photographs on the walls, of her late husband with his family and her, made a few tears to roll down her eyes. It wasn't easy for her, not at all easy to cope with this loss, when she had just learnt to love him more than herself.

Wiping the tears away from the back of her hand, she climbed the stairs, passing a small smile to her parents-in-law, both of who were just as woeful and broken as her. If she had lost her husband, then they had lost their only son, their daughter's only brother. Their pain was just as tormenting as hers, or maybe hers was bigger than theirs. Perhaps because they still had their time with him, while she, in last three years of marriage, only had gotten to spend just some months with him, half of which had gone in getting to know each other since they were an arranged marriage couple.

The door of the bedroom, which till three days back, was her and her husband's, was pushed open by her and she walked inside, only to be welcomed by the several framed photographs of her and her husband's on the wall of their bedroom, across the door. It was her husband's idea to cover the wall with their pictures, and in future with their kid's. She had accepted his wish, and even fulfilled the remaining wish, too, of putting their six-month-old daughter's pictures on the wall, one with him holding their newborn daughter with the biggest and most contented smile on his face.

Tears rolled down her eyes, as her husband's words rang in her ears that he had spoken to her on the day their daughter had born. He had been home after a long exercise, and she had gone into labour. His happiness had known no bounds when the doctor had announced to him that he had become father to a little daughter, whose name he had decided long back ... Kaisha, Kabir and Anaisha's daughter. And it was also the only time he had ever told her the three words of love.

"Anaisha, you know what, I'd take special leave from work for my angel's first birthday, which I'll celebrate in the grandest and most extravagant manner possible. You can't even imagine how much happy I'm today. I love you so much for this little bundle of joy you've given me!"
Alas, only he had more time to see his wish fulfilling.

She settled on the floor beside the crib in which her daughter was sleeping peacefully, completely unaware that she won't ever get to see her father. This again made Anaisha's eyes brim with tears and she couldn't anymore hold herself together. It worsened further, when she caught the reflection of herself in the mirror. She was in a white salwar suit. It was his favourite colour but she wasn't very fond it. Yet, ironically, his death had made her accept this colour, and now it was becoming her favourite as well.

Her vision was blurry, so she wiped her tears, but it was a vain attempt and she didn't try it again. She opened the trunk, and the first thing that caught her eyes, was the pair of his favourite shades, the gold rimmed RayBan Aviators. He was very possessive of them and had gotten extremely mad when she had misplaced them in their hotel room during their honeymoon. But later, he was guilty of shouting at her and soon had made up with an ice cream treat that he arranged at 2 at night after much argument with the hotel staff.

A blush crept up on her tear-stained cheeks as she recalled how he had pecked her lips for the first time that night as, he couldn't resist her any longer. That night, it was the first time, that she had felt so passionately desired by a man, the same man who was a stranger to her till a few rituals back. It was the night, he had made her, his and only his. And maybe it was the first time she had seen the unconditional love for herself in his eyes, which he never openly spoke to her.

Coming back from that memory, the next thing that she found in his trunk was an old, unopened pack of cigarettes, that he had carried with himself on their wedding night. She had very clearly told him that she didn't like smokers and he had vowed that day to never smoke again; but he still kept the pack as a memory. Kabir and his silly reasons! She smiled.

After these two, she found the Rolex watch of her ex serviceman grandfather, that she had gifted him after their wedding before he left for his field posting. He had considered it his privilege to receive such a personal belonging of her grandfather.

"You know for someone who's watch fetish, this is just fabulous and perfect gift! And I'm more privileged to know that it once belonged to your grandfather, who, himself was such a brave man."

That smile on his face was still like a fresh memory to her and made her smile as well. She kept the cigarette pack and the shades back in the trunk and took out the packed set of Parker pens she had gifted him, which he never opened, only kept with himself to remember her while on posting.

She kept it back and took out the only white shirt of Kabir that he had taken with himself while leaving for his posting last time. Rest, all the other clothes were his tracksuits and army uniforms, olive green and the combat one. His uniform shirt's shoulder had a golden emblem insignia on it, which he used to proudly wear as to show his hard earned position of a Major in the Indian army.

She hugged his shirt, trying to smell the essence of his soul, which she knew had departed the time his body was cremated. Her pain aggravated as the regret of never confessing her love to him, completely broke her. She wished, that just once, just one moment, should've been given to her, to tell him, how much she loved him, how much she cared for him, how much she missed his presence when he was away at work, how badly she used to wait for the four minute conversation they had every time he called on Sundays, how many sleepless nights she had spent in the anticipation of receiving a bad news, how much she wanted him to be there with her during her pregnancy, how much she wanted him to know that she knew he loved her ... she wished!

A small voice in her told her, that maybe that chance was given to her when he was departing last time. Maybe, she had only missed it ...

"So...I'll see you next time, probably on Kaisha's first birthday. Take care of yourself and Kaisha....Bye."

The pause before the 'bye', she understood now, was the opportunity he had given her to tell him about her feelings. Only if she had acted upon it, instead of what she had said.

"Oh...okay. Be back soon."

He did come back, sooner than she expected, with the only difference that instead of coming on his own legs, he came back with the tricolour flag wrapped around him.

The sight of her husband wrapped in the tricolour, made tears cascade down her cheeks even more furiously than they had before. His face was serene and calm, with a satisfied smile on his lips, but he wasn't breathing, for which she would've traded anything.

For some minutes, she sat still like that, feeling him around herself again. It was finally when her daughter woke up and cried for her mother, that she came out of the trance. She packed his belongings back in his trunk and picked her daughter up in her arms.

Her daughter stopped crying and smilingly looked at her, with the same black eyes and charming smile as her father. She settled on the bed with her daughter still in her arms. Her daughter's innocent face, made her feel disconsolate as this innocent kid would never meet her father. All she had to remember her father, were the pictures that had been clicked when she was some-day-old.

"I'm sorry, baby! I'm sorry for the pain that's awaiting you. I'm so sorry," she told her daughter in a broken voice, clutching the enveloped letter in her hand tightly. She had deliberately kept the letter for last, to read it with her daughter. It was the least she could do to let her daughter know about her father, who would've loved her to know about him. But it was true, that this letter would be even more debilitating than his belongings.

In media section: Saathi Rey, Kapoor and Sons (Since 1921)

A/N: Hey, so it's just a short story by me, which I'll complete tomorrow by posting the second part. It has no relation with TSOUHD, so don't confuse it.

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