Testing Times for Nikita and Roger

Sunday also dawned on a note of hope. Peter had had a good night again. But my mental pain had begun. I had been noticing (I hoped I was wrong in my observation) that he had been uncomfortable at the sight of me in the Infirmary. I imagined that he felt uneasy with me spending the night in the Infirmary alongside his wife. I could relate to his agony. After all, he was Nikita's legally wedded husband. Was it that he saw me as an impediment to his rebuilding bridges with her? I saw this as a real possibility. I also could relate to her dilemma if such were the case. When a long strayed husband wants to come back to her fold, she would not feel comfortable with an encumbrance in my form. But I also knew that she had loved me without limits. She had been more caring of me than a wife. She had given to me in a short time span more than my own married life had given me over 25 years. And yet, their relationship had a bigger and stronger foundation. How could I delude myself and not recognise this? I felt that she was getting torn between two opposing forces.

What was I to do? On the one hand, I argued as to how I could abdicate my responsibility towards both of them merely on a premise. And on the other, I did not wish to tear her apart. Time had come for me to think and act. Whether I could think cogently and act was the moot point. My inner voice told me that I must stand beside her at this time of adversity that had caught up with us. I also knew that I must not do anything that stood in the way of her fulfilling her duty towards her husband. It was fine, in theory. How was I going to implement such thoughts? I knew nothing about it. I concluded that I must talk it over with the person who has taught me the meaning of life, love and sacrifice. But was this the right time? Would I not be ill-timing my naïve and crass queries? But my belief that she had immense faith and trust in me encouraged me. I also knew that the coming night would be the only time to talk for many days, for, he was to shift to the private room the next day. And if I did not talk to her that night, I would be pushing her into avoidable pain and anguish over the next few weeks.

With trepidation, I rang her up. After the preliminary enquiries about Peter's well being, I asked her if I could spend the night in the hospital. I quickly added that I wanted to discuss something with her. I do not know why I felt the need to qualify my request. Perhaps, I wanted to spare her thoughts of any ill-intention on my part. She wanted to know what it was and I asked her to just relax, as it was related to him and our future course of action for his speedy recovery. I prayed that she might not misunderstand me, taking my desire to be there with her as a manifestation of the animal within me. But she agreed. She has been always so trustful of me. Is she really human or she stands at a much higher pedestal?

As we sat on the chairs in the ante room of the ICU and talked about the day and the coming period, she wanted to know what it was that I desired to discuss with her. I told her to wait. We were still to have our dinner and I did not want her to lose her appetite because of my misconduct. We decided that I would not see him in the ICU, for he was likely to link up later my presence in the hospital this night with the fact that we had a separate room on the second floor.

At the usual time, we left the ICU and went to the room. It was a most difficult walk for me in several years. How was I going to say it all? Will words elude my tongue? Will she understand me or she will just get annoyed at me? Was it right for me to bring up this subject at all? But then, I had blind faith in this woman. She has been my beacon of wisdom these last few years and she had to continue to be that. Once in the room, she wanted to know what it was. I insisted we had dinner first. We had dinner. I was happy that she ate well. And then I asked her to relax. I put her head on my lap and told her to take what I was going to say in the right perspective. I pre-qualified my statement with the declaration that for me, she was of prime importance, that nothing mattered to me more than her welfare and well being. I told her to keep in mind that I cared and felt for her, that I could never mean ill-will towards her. And then, my blabbering began, one of the most disjointed statements ever in my life.

I told her that I understood her position and that I wished very much to be with her in this hour of grave crisis. I also said that no matter what the future held in store for us, I would always belong to her. And then, I gradually tried to unfold the future. I said that the coming months would be difficult. I also explained how important it was for me to see that Peter gets well and fast. I told her that even though the ultimate goal of my life was known to her, I wanted him to be well and healthy. I said that I wanted very much that when our little daughters get married in due course, he should be around. I tried to tell her that I wanted him to agree to give her to me one day, some day. And then I told her that she should not get torn between two opposing forces, and that I understood her responsibilities towards him.

It appeared to me that she absorbed all that I said. All this while, I kept on fondling her cheeks with my fingers and lightly kissing her on her lips. I wanted her to know that I cared and felt for her. And I knew she understood. I told her that from now on, till such time as she determines, if ever she did, our relationship could be of a type that she would determine, or may be treating me just as an elder, so that it did not come in the way of her duties. She immediately remonstrated and stated that our relationship was on a different plane and it stood on its own. I kept pleading with her never to misunderstand my poorly worded statements that night and always appreciate the context. She assured me that she understood.

After I was done with my statements, I offered to go down and sleep in the reception area. I wanted to avert any embarrassment to her, should anyone come in the night to the room and find me there. I argued that Peter's friend, who was in the hospital the previous night, might just decide to walk in to find how he was doing. But she vetoed the suggestion and insisted that I sleep there in the room itself. We slept, again me lying down alongside her, comforting her with my proximity and touch. Again, after a few hours, I moved to the sofa. I got up at about five in the morning and she stirred in her sleep too. She asked me the time and asked me if it would be ok if she got up at about 6 am. She asked me to come and lie down next to her. I did. She was as caring as ever. I put my arm below her head, as I have often done in the past whenever we have slept together. I kept kissing her on the side of her head, on her forehead, on her lips, just to reassure that I was there with her. I wanted her to know that I was with her, that I loved her and cared for her just as much.

She held my right hand softly and after a while, placed it on top of her breast. I felt proud that I did not spring into arousal today. I kept fondling her cheeks and her left arm with my left hand. Then, unnoticed, I moved my right hand away. It felt so good that I could feel for my woman. Despite the very delicate situation we were in, I could relate to her mental state. After a while, she again took my right hand and placed it atop her right breast once more. I was not too sure whether she wanted me to massage her womanhood and I did not want to take a chance. I again slipped my hand away after a while. But yet again, she placed it back on her perch. I decided to break the ice. I had a hunch she wanted me to touch her, like I always do, just to make me feel secure and wanted. If she wanted me to touch her in a physical way, I must. After all, I have been living like a husband to her for the last few years. I asked her if she wanted me to hold her and she nodded. I could appreciate that besides her desire for me to feel secure, she wanted to feel like a woman herself for a while. I obeyed. I massaged both her breasts. They were tender as ever. But the massage today was more delicate than ever before. I was so happy that there was no sexual or carnal connotation to the act. It was pure, simple and unadulterated love and affection for her.

I knew it was now appropriate for me to have an arousal. And I did. I asked her to hold me and she immediately did – not from above my pant and brief, but she unzipped my pant and took my manhood out of its cage in her soft hand. She asked me if she could release me and I nodded my assent. And right there, lying on that little bed-cum-sofa, she exercised my erect penis and made it release semen in spurts. She asked me to rub her. I knew instantly that she asked me to do so just to spare me any pangs of guilt. This was a very unique process of mutual gratification. There was no sexual connotation to it, whatsoever, just a reassurance of how much we cared for each other. She cleared up the mess dexterously, as she has done for several years now, each time we are together and we got ready for the day. It was the day Peter was to be shifted out of the ICU into the private room. We were both so excited about the chain of events involving his constant progress. God had been so kind. Our prayers were being answered.

His progress had been gradual but steady. Hope was building up. She was doing her duty as a wife admirably well. We knew there would be about 6 to 7 nights in the hospital before he was released. I told her that I would share the work. There was no question, nor need, for both of us to be in the Infirmary at night together. We decided to take turns. She did some nights, and a friend of his did a few more. On the remaining three nights, I was there. The first couple of nights and days were difficult, as he had severe pain in the intestine because the dried up faecal matter at the farthest end had blocked the exit for the stool. I felt for him and it was such a relief when the doctors cleared the passage, mechanically. Nights in the Infirmary were a challenge. Yet, it was so satisfying. I was feeling tremendous responsibility each night of my stay in hospital with him. I was a trustee, custodian of Nikita's trust in me, and I must be more careful than I had ever been before in looking after Peter.

I would just sit up for a few hours after he went to sleep. I would just watch him breathe serenely and pray to God that he remain in good health for the rest of his life. When I would finally lie down, I would choose a particularly uncomfortable position, lest I should fall fast asleep. Each time he shifted in bed, I would get up and place my hand on his forehead and fondle him lovingly. I knew, even through the subconscious mind, he would feel comforted. It was so satisfying. I was living the trust she had reposed in me. A staggered sleep of three hours in the night would be good enough for me.

I was touched by her dedication and dutifulness. The thought of her getting torn between me and him would often come back to me, and I would quietly refer her to our discussion of that night. She would reassure me that all was well. And yet, a sense of guilt was building up within me. Was my decision of 12-15 November 1999, when I debated and responded to her declaration of a special feeling for me, correct? Did my decision lead in any way to distancing them from each other further? Was I the vehicle of their discord? Had their marriage begun to rock because of me? Was I right in getting into a relationship which was created "on the rebound"? I got no answers, and I slipped deeper and deeper into my gorge of uncertainty. Things back in the prison that is my home were pretty much bad. I have been blessed with such a partner who would not appreciate my anxiety, my fears, my doubts and my prayers. For her, this was a time when I was indulging in dalliance with Nikita. What crass stupidity! She would lose no opportunity to taunt me about my priorities. For her, it was my bigger duty to take her out for a long drive or to the market for aimless wandering than to look after someone so close and dear, in dire need of attention.

And yet, I tried to play my role to the best of my ability. I argued with myself that no matter what the future held in store for me, I could never let Nikita, the most noble woman on earth, down. She had given me so much, without ever asking for anything in return. That the little love and affection that I was able to shower upon her in my own humble way was so much valued and appreciated made me feel ever more indebted to her. I told myself that peripherals could wait, and must wait, and that I must do my duty with dedication.

I had been readying myself for Peter's discharge from the Infirmary. I did not want hostile reaction from our little one when I visited Peter at home. I told Nikita to tell a lie to our little doll about the sms. I wanted her to do that before Peter reached home, because she could possibly not bring this up when he back at home. I wasn't too sure about Mona's reaction. What if she refused to believe and started crying? Peter had to be spared such a scene at this stage, at all costs. Nikita promised to talk the matter over with Mona soon. And she did.

The day of release from Infirmary came. It was a big day for all three of us, besides our little kids. We completed the documentation and it was such a grand moment when I helped Peter into his own bedroom. And yet, human brain is such a funny organ. I was relieved very much and yet, to see him lying on the bed in that bedroom caused me some unknown discomfort. It soon occurred to me that I had, subconsciously begun to look upon this as my bedroom. Beginning last Christmas-eve, me and Nikita had merged with each other six times on this bed in the most intimate manner in recent months while Peter was positioned in Swansea. Here I was, stupidly looking upon Peter as an intruder in his own bedroom! I had often dreamed of sleeping on this bed, with Nikita lying next to me, and here she was, all ready to sleep, but next to him. I argued with myself about the futility and stupidity of such thoughts. After all, for me to sleep close to her was a dream, whereas for him, it was a right. I told myself I had to wait, may be endlessly. I was back to normal.

The rest of the day was emotionally wrenching. I went to office and had a chat with my boss who came over to my room. For the first time since the ordeal began, I confessed to somebody an aspect of my mental state that I had kept to myself. I told her of my proximity to Nikita, my affection for her. I then told her how the sight of my younger sister, who had lost her husband some years back, kept haunting me the last few days. My own little sister, who had been more like a child to me, had been dressed up as a widow. The picture flashed again and again before my eyes. I could say no more. My eyes were moist. He understood. He consoled me, a very fine human being that he is.

A little while later, my elder sister rang me up. She had been wanting to talk to me for some days on some important matters, but had held back her discussion because of my preoccupation in the Infirmary. We discussed what she had in mind and then, the discussion shifted to Peter. I broke down again. She consoled me that I had done my bit. Without a thought, I told her that I was getting penalised for the one mistake that I committed years back, that of getting married. Somebody like me had no right to get married, and I would have been much better off single. I wished to tell her how much I would miss her after she migrates to New Zealand, when the time for me to begin a new chapter in my life might come, when better days might beckon me and when I might have as a partner someone who would give her due respect. But I did not want to hurt her and left the matter at a lot of uncontrolled sobbing.

The next morning, I woke up like a convict, as usual. I decided that I had to confront my jailor. I did not know where and how to begin. She sensed that something was amiss. I ultimately told her that I was pained in the extreme to see the kind of bitterness and hatred in her these last few days. And then the dam burst. I told her that she had even forgotten to be human. She decided to put me on the mat saying that she knew that Nikita loved me. She was perhaps expecting me to deny this. My answer surprised her when I said that she indeed did and that I loved her as much, or perhaps even more. I knew the "even more" was impossibility in terms. How could I ever love Nikita more than she loved me? But I still said this to particularly spite my jailor. I added for good measure that she would never be able to understand this relationship, as for her, the basis of a man-woman relationship could only be sexual. I cried at my misfortune of having been caught in such a futile and irrelevant marriage all these years.

I narrated to her my thoughts about what happened to my little sister, but I should have known that such things do not affect her. I also shared with her (why I did so I cannot figure out at all) my thoughts about how irrelevant I had become and why I had stopped all medication sometime back, but the only reaction was "Don't blame me for anything". I felt sad at having been caught in a futile marriage all these years. This was no relationship. She did not feel for me at all. Even a dog, pet for so many years, evokes deeper emotions from its owner. I knew I was worse than a dog. This had never been in any doubt. I felt even sadder that I ever began this today. But I had the relief of having declared openly before her our love, my love for my Nikita and my Nikita's love for me.

The visit to the Departmental Hospital later in the day was an ordeal. The doctor was brutally blunt in saying that the condition of the patient had been critical and that the level of risk and danger was high still. And yet, it was good to see that Peter had walked a few scores of steps to the doctor's room and back. He was inching towards normalcy. We promised to the doctor all the care and resolved to observe all the precautions suggested.

I tried my best to keep support from my side at the high level that I so much wished to, even though I always felt that I was not doing enough for her. She was so alone. Was it because of me that she had distanced herself from the rest of the world? If such was the case, the responsibility devolving on me became even greater. I would try and talk to her several times a day. I would try to encourage and buck her up as best as I could. But each time I did so, the pangs of guilt caught up with me. One reason I fathomed was that I had little meaningful communication with her. Apart from the routine enquiries about his health, there was very little else I could talk to her about. And I felt even guiltier talking about me and her, our relationship. I even felt guilty in reaffirming my love for her. Instead, I began to underline the fact that I cared and that I felt for her. I never wanted her torn between two forces. I tried my best to be of some help. I had promised myself that I would visit them each day, at least once, till I got a signal of being unwelcome. I knew I owed it to her. I knew I owed it to myself.

Even while we had begun to bask in the comfort of constant improvement, there was a nerve racking hiccup. I had retired to bed a bit early. My cell phone rang at about 1040 pm. It was Nikita calling. She told me in as composed a manner as she could manage that he was feeling discomfort. I immediately jumped out of the bed. As I walked into the toilet, I almost fell unconscious with a giddiness resulting from the news. And yet I quickly composed myself and drove off. I took me about 18 minutes to reach. My rush was compensated by a visible relief on her face. I felt so much wanted and loved to see her feel more secure with my arrival. She has always been so magnanimous in her treatment of me. She had given me importance and a place that no one before had. We quickly decided to go to the hospital for a check up. BP measurement was done and an ECG was taken out. It was heartening to note that there was no heart-related problem. At Peter's option, we decided to take him back home. As we began our journey back, I was touched when Peter asked me to stay back for the night. My little role the last few days had been fruitful. I knew, she wanted me to stay, and in any case, I would have stayed, spending the night on the sofa in the drawing room, but for him to say so was so much more reassuring.