MADMAN

He had just finished college. Raring to meet the outside world, he tightened his grip on the shoulder bag. He had worked hard to become an engineer. His parents were banking on him. After four long years he would see his mother’s beautiful face and hear his father’s baritone. Staying away from home was taxing but the patient man he was, he bore it with grace.

Back home he was embraced and welcomed. But mother had other plans for him. She had found him a pretty girl. The match had been fixed, only his consent was pending. With that given, the wedding was fixed for the next week. Within a month of his wedding he received an invitation to work with a firm in Delhi. With goodbyes bid, clutching the hands of his bride he reluctantly left his home.

In Delhi, they shifted into a small apartment. Early morning when he would leave for work, she would tidy the house, wash the dishes, iron out his clothes and keep lunch ready. Their world seemed beautifully perfect until one day she started acting different. She would no longer look into his eyes and talk. Her eyes would gaze beyond him to a world of her own. Her soft brown eyes now frantically darted to and fro, as if looking for someone.

He left for work depressed. When he returned she was lying haplessly on the floor- her black curls entangled, her clothes torn. He took her to the doctor who referred her to a psychologist. The referral alarmed him; he still held her hand affectionately- she was his. And nothing would change that. She was diagnosed with severe depression bordering on schizophrenia. The diagnosis did not matter he had vowed to cherish her in sickness and health, in good and bad times. He would adjust- sacrifice time with friends for time to care for her, work less hours to spend more with her. He never thought of himself. His life was lived for others and now - for her.

Weeks ran into months, months into years, but she showed no signs of recovery. He had learnt to economize time well. His day was woven around her. Parties were avoided so were walks in the park or visits in the library. He would get up early in the morning, complete the household chores. Feeding her with his hands, patiently draw back the strands of hair that fell on her face, as she mindlessly drew circles on the plate refusing to part her lips. He would ensure she was comfortably tucked in with windows clamped shut and curtains drawn before he left for work.

Once after a hard day’s work, he returned to a littered home. There were shards of glass all across the floor and further down beside the bed she lay surrounded by a dark pool of blood. She had slit her wrists. A neighbor called the cops. They were late as usual. As her spirit left her body, sanity left him.

Framed for the murder of his wife, he would speak nothing in his defense but pathetically rant, “But I loved you!” Locked in a mental asylum, he was no longer an engineer, a devout son or a loving husband. He was just - a madman.