My Dream

My Dream

An enthusiastic seven-year-old Ramrakh Punwar dressed in his best formal wear and picked up his bag copying his father who would dress up every morning for work. The maids smiled watching the young boy’s antics, but it didn’t stop him, “I’m going to be just like Daata hukum,” he told his caretaker who nodded her head in agreement.

Raoji’s fingers moved the pages of his wedding album that had arrived from the photo studios. Every frame captured told a story, story of the Punwar family reuniting, his wife’s happiness, children having fun, the trickery of Champak Lal, Kokoia ji’s lessons and most importantly his failure as a father. Daata hukum was the term he used to address his father, and he had wished desperately for his children to acknowledge him by the same name. He had been called Daata hukum once by Ajabde when she was seven or eight years old only to be on the receiving end of his anger. She had gone silent after it and never approached him again. Then one day tired from his behaviour she had called him out only to be called a murderer. She had shut herself entirely down and acknowledged him formally. He had become Raoji for her just like he was for outsiders except for today he was called Daata hukum,

Hira greeted Rao ji as did the other kids who were taking a small break from their dance practice. Rao Ramrakh was out for his morning walk when he came across the kids practising their routines, somewhere exercising their sports and few were relaxing. He turned to leave when Hira called him, “Have a good day, Daata Hukum.”

He had been surprised, but his heart skipped a beat when she told him the reason, “Ajabde jija says that being the Rao of Bijolia makes you our father figure, but we cannot call you papa for that will be confusing for everyone. Jija said we could call you Daata hukum.”

He had patted her head in gratitude and on his way he was greeted as Daata hukum by almost all of the kids.

His eyes smiled sadly at the picture in the album; it was from the haldi ceremony. Ajabde was hugging her mother from the side with their cheeks touching and a smile that radiated pure joy.  He closed the album and opened the first drawer of his desk to press a small black lever like button that made the middle row of the bookshelf open to reveal a safe. Rao ji opened the safe that had a pair of scissors, glue stick, numerous newspapers and an album. As a kid, he took out everything and sat down on his table to work on his most ambitious project,

My Dream was written on the album and on opening it the first image came of a newborn baby - Ajabde means unique soul. 

The album was filled with Ajabde’a achievements and dreams. He had hidden the album from everyone for years not showing the love and care he ought to have shown but did not and was now paying the price of it. A knock on the door took him by surprise as he hurriedly hid the album back and closed it.

“Hukum, you are accompanying Ranisa for a visit at the orphanage,” the butler reminded him.

Ajabde strolled around her home thinking about Pratap’s confession. Their ride back had been silent, and he gave her space to think and ponder over his words. He had asked if they could have a fresh start and then when she was ready they would talk about marriage. The sound of glass diverted her mind as she made her way to the place where a maid stood scared with her head bowed down and one of the senior ones was scolding her. Seeing her, the maids were dispersed, and the senior caretaker handed over the album that had fallen out due to the maid’s mistake.

Rao ji frowned on seeing the album missing. He had called the butler and the head caretaker to ask them about it

“Ajabde baisa has it. One of the maids accidentally dropped a couple of books while cleaning. Rao ji?” 

Before the caretaker could finish Rao Ramrakh Punwar was out of his study like a madman. He needed to get the album back before Ajabde read it, but she was nowhere in the house. He checked everywhere only to see Ajabde walking out of the residence holding the album.

The clouds were getting darker, and it was only 3:00 pm. Jiwa was on the roof instructing the maids to pick up the clothes, drying chillies and pickles and keep them indoors. Her eyes fell on the young woman walking out of the haveli gates and then shortly after her father in law also walked out.

She rushed inside saving herself from falling, “maajisa” she called out to her mother in law who had just returned from the orphanage, “Maajisa, jija aur daata dono bahar gaye Ek saath.”

Hansabai’s eyes widened as she took in the news while in the background thunder roared.

“There’ll be a storm for sure, as my dream is coming true” she spoke up a little scared.