Serial Novel
The Second Choice


Chapter II
By Lakshmi Menon

Pavithra was not in the habit of taking an afternoon siesta. Yet, with her wedding album open in front of her, she drifted into an uneasy slumber until her daughter Anu called out.

“Mummy… Mummy, are you sleeping?” Anu had entered the room with her school bag still slung over her shoulder. Pavithra woke with a start, rubbing her eyes. It was mid-afternoon. She went to the kitchen, warmed some milk, and returned with a glass of Horlicks and a plate of biscuits.

“Wait, Mummy,” Anu protested, watching her mother. “I haven’t even changed my uniform.”

Pavithra felt ashamed. She had never allowed Anu to eat before changing her school dress and washing her hands and feet.

While changing, Anu pestered her. “Show me the album, Mummy. Tell me when and where the photos were taken.”

But Pavithra wasn’t ready. She knew those pictures would only reopen wounds that refused to heal. After Anu had finished her milk and biscuits, Pavithra gently urged, “I’ll show you another time, sweetie. Now go and rest for a while.”

“No, Mummy! I want to see them now.” Anu clung to her sari pallu with childish persistence.

That night, over dinner, father and daughter ate in silence. Finally, Narayan Nair spoke.

“I’ve decided to bring old Meenamma back home.”

Pavithra looked up in surprise. Meenamma had been more than a servant; she was family, a distant relative who had cared for Pavithra like her own child. After Pavithra’s wedding, when Narayan Nair had left to live with his brother in Madras, he had placed the old spinster in an orphaned old-age home.

When Pavithra returned as a widow, he had wanted to bring her back, but Pavithra had refused, choosing to bury herself in housework rather than in memories.

“Tomorrow I’ll fetch her,” he repeated.

“No need!” Pavithra snapped, but Narayan Nair ignored her protest. Soon, Meenamma was back.

“Pavithra, dear,” Meenamma said softly, her voice brimming with affection, “you must agree to this proposal. You’re too young to live as a widow forever. Be practical, child.”

“Please stop!” Pavithra cried, covering her ears. “Why do you want to hurt me like this?”

It was the first time she had ever raised her voice at Meenamma. The old woman’s face clouded with hurt, and guilt pricked Pavithra immediately.

“I’m sorry, Meenamma,” she murmured, not meeting her eyes.

She went to her room, trying to distract herself with sewing a frock for Anu. But her hands shook, and the stitches blurred. From the veranda came familiar footsteps.

Through the window, she saw Ram Pillai hurrying towards the house. The village marriage broker, diary tucked under his arm, had arranged countless weddings. He still held a grudge that Pavithra had chosen her own husband once, robbing him of a commission. Since her return, he had been pressing Narayan Nair with proposals.

“It was drizzling when I got off the bus,” he began at the door, wiping his forehead. “I had to wait in the tea shop without an umbrella. That’s why I’m late.”

Pavithra froze. She knew her father would summon her any moment.

Ram Pillai’s face glowed with excitement. “Venu too was against a second marriage. But when I told him about Pavithra, he was touched. He’s shown real interest.”

Narayan Nair had already explained. Venu, thirty-two, was a widower in all but name. His wife, paralysed since childbirth, lived with her mother, and he had raised his seven-year-old daughter alone. He had refused remarriage for years—until now. He believed only a woman like Pavithra, who knew grief and responsibility, could truly understand his life.

Pavithra sent Meenamma with tea, unwilling to face the broker. Yet, despite her resistance, a quiet thought stirred inside: Wouldn’t this marriage give Anu a better future? How will I raise her alone, with no income, no support?

And then, as if in answer, her late husband’s smiling face hovered before her eyes like a pendulum. Tears slipped down her cheeks. Was he watching her even now, urging her silently to say yes—for her sake, and their daughter’s?


................. to be continued ...
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