The Invincible Moonsheen – Part-49 (Telugu Original “Venutiragani Vennela” by Dr K.Geeta)

The Invincible Moonsheen

Part – 49

(Telugu Original “Venutiragani Vennela” by Dr K.Geeta)

English Translation: V.Vijaya Kumar

(The previous story briefed)

Sameera travels to America to meet Udayini, a close friend of her mother and the head of “Sahaya,” a women’s support organization. Sameera, now four months pregnant, explains the painful circumstances driving her toward a divorce. Before letting Sameera make a definitive choice, Udayini asks her to listen closely to the life story of “Tanmayi.”

Tanmayi and Shekhar married with their elders’ acceptance after meeting at a relative’s wedding. Immediately after, Shekhar’s true, abusive nature surfaced. Within their first year, they had a kid. Despite facing relentless hardships, Tanmayi earned her M.A. and enrolled in a Ph.D. program. After an exhausting struggle, she finally separated from Shekhar and secured a lecturer post near Hyderabad. Unexpectedly, her childhood friend Prabhu  proposed to Tanmayi. She accepted on one condition: a strict one-year waiting period during which they must not meet.

***

On a quiet Sunday morning, the domestic calm is broken when Thaiba steps into the house, looking over curiously.

“What are you doing, Madam?” Thaiba asked.

“Come in, Thaiba, sit down,” Tanmayi welcomes her with a warm smile, keeping herself busy.

Thaiba watches the surroundings for a moment before noting, “The boy has adjusted so well here. He is speaking the local slang excellently. But your way of speaking hasn’t changed even a tiny bit.”

Tanmayi notices the slight hesitation in Thaiba’s voice, sensing that this visit isn’t just for casual pleasantries. “Tell me, Thaiba,” she invites gently, placing a vessel of tea on the stove.

Leaning tentatively against the kitchen doorframe, Thaiba speaks softly. “It’s nothing, Madam. I want to tell you something. Consider me your younger sister.”

“Alright, tell me then,” Tanmayi replies, smiling encouragingly.

Thaiba lowers her voice. “It’s nothing… Madam, you should get married again.”

The words strike Tanmayi like a sudden shock. A quiet panic stirs within her. Is she saying this because she saw Prabhu coming over once or twice in the beginning? she wonders silently.

Paying no heed to Tanmayi’s sudden stillness, Thaiba presses on. “If a woman lives alone, anyone will look down on her, Madam. I swear on my mother, I know exactly how painful that vulnerability is, which is why I am telling you. Whispers and gossip are already floating around about you in college. If you get married, everyone’s mouth will be shut tightly.” She looks intently into Tanmayi’s face, searching for a reaction.

“Whispers about her in college?” A wave of distress washes over Tanmayi’s heart. The realization that she is the subject of staffroom gossip stings deeply. Yet, refusing to give in to petty curiosity or pry into malicious rumors, she steadies her voice and says firmly, “Let them talk. I know who I am. Besides, no one truly understands another person’s struggles. I have no interest in finding out about such things, Thaiba.”

“Let that be, Madam. Look into the matter of marriage,” Thaiba persists, refusing to drop the subject.

Tanmayi sighs, the weight of her past heavy on her shoulders. “I don’t know, Thaiba. Do you think everything works out perfectly for everyone?”

“One has to make it work, one must try,” Thaiba says quickly, seizing the moment. “There is a man from our village whom I call brother. He came here a month ago. He served in the military until recently. Ever since he saw you, he has been pestering me to ask you for marriage. He belongs to your caste, and he has a lot of wealth. If you agree to the marriage, he says he will set up a business in this town and settle down right here.”

The sheer absurdity of the situation breaks the tension, and Tanmayi unexpectedly bursts out laughing. The thought of Thaiba playing matchmaker for her is thoroughly surreal. She hadn’t even noticed this man. How incredibly strange for a total stranger to see her from afar, take a liking to her, and send a formal marriage alliance.

Seeing Tanmayi laugh, Thaiba takes it as a positive sign, leaning forward eagerly. “So, Madam, will it work out?”

Tanmayi shakes her head, her amusement fading back into reality. “Uh-huh. I laughed because you brought up someone so out of the blue.”

Before she can explain further, Thaiba cuts in excitedly, “If you like the sound of it, I will call him right now. They can come over by this time tomorrow to talk.”

Tanmayi sighs deeply, realizing she needs to draw a firm line. “No, Thaiba. Marriage is not that simple. The person who shares my life must first connect with my soul. I cannot imagine a complete stranger beside me. My temperament doesn’t allow for it.”

“That’s not a big problem, Madam. Why don’t you just talk to him once? Tell him you’ll think about marriage later and want to be friends first,” Thaiba suggests casually.

“No, I can’t do that, Thaiba. I don’t have the strength or patience to rush into a marriage and fight another battle all over again,” Tanmayi replies steadfastly, her decision final.

Just then, the front door opens and her son walks in. The heavy atmosphere immediately lifts. Thaiba showers the boy with affectionate kisses, then stands up to leave. She turns back one last time, saying, “Look at this boy, Madam. See how sweet he is. You should think about this, if only for his sake.”

Tanmayi watches Thaiba leave, then turns her gaze to her son—an innocent five-year-old child. She pulls him close, gently stroking his head as a shadow of worry returns. If she marries a stranger, what if he doesn’t treat her boy well? Could even Prabhu, despite his deep affection and protective nature, truly become a father to him?

Yet, she recalls a moment when the topic of her son had come up, and Prabhu had said without a shred of hesitation, “As far as I am concerned, he is a part of your body.” Siddhartha had later explained the beauty of those words, telling her it meant Prabhu would never view the boy as separate from her.

While her son prattles away cheerfully, entirely oblivious to the adult worries surrounding him, Tanmayi falls deep into thought.

***

The moment Thaiba leaves, a sudden urge takes over Tanmayi. She sits at her desk to write a letter to Prabhu. Ever since Siddhartha casually mentioned that Prabhu’s family was actively searching for marriage alliances for him, she had been highly distracted and restless. But now, reflecting on Thaiba’s clumsy matchmaking attempt, she sees things with sudden clarity.

There is absolutely no reason to feel hurt by Prabhu’s family seeking a bride. When a person reaches a certain age, traditional proposals are inevitable. How could that be Prabhu’s fault? If Prabhu placed any value on those alliances, he wouldn’t have brought the matter up with her in the first place. She realizes how foolish she has been, letting unnecessary anxieties cloud her faith in a man with such a pure heart.

Even so, a small, stubborn knot remains in her heart it still hurts that he is keeping certain details from her.

The following day at college, she confesses these mixed emotions to Siddhartha.

“As the bond of love deepens, selfishness naturally creeps in like this,” Siddhartha explains calmly. “The desire to entirely possess the person you love intensifies. It is this very selfish thought that sows the seeds of discord.”

Tanmayi looks up at him, questioning.

“What does it truly mean to love? Think about it for a moment, Tanmayi,” he says reflectively.

“Wanting to spend all of one’s time happily together with the other person,” Tanmayi replies softly.

“I am not asking what kind of life you desire when living in love,” Siddhartha clarifies gently. “Think about it again—is there any love greater than wishing for the ultimate happiness of the person you love?”

As he speaks, a profound, serene brilliance—honed by his disciplined yoga practice and the spiritual knowledge he gained at the Vivekananda School—shines in Siddhartha’s eyes. For a striking, surreal moment, he appears to Tanmayi almost like a manifestation of Lord Krishna himself. She rubs her eyes, momentarily captivated by his presence.

Clearing his throat slightly to break the spell, Siddhartha adds, “To put it more clearly, it means letting the person we love live happily and freely, in exactly the way they choose.”

His words carry the absolute truth. But it leaves a lingering question in her mind. Does everyone possess such a great heart? She poses the question directly to him.

“Good question. Only when the heart is that grand does it become true love,” he says with a gentle, reassuring smile.

Listening to Siddhartha often feels like experiencing a sudden spiritual awakening. Yet, Tanmayi recognizes her own human frailty; even though she understands these profound truths deep down, she frequently fails to apply them when caught in the grip of emotional turmoil.

“Thank you, Siddu!” she says, genuinely appreciative.

“All the best,” he replies warmly, turning to leave for his next class.

***

The peaceful afternoon shatters the next morning. From the moment she wakes up, Tanmayi is struck by a severe, agonizing pain radiating through her lower abdomen. Grimacing, she swallows a painkiller and forces herself to set out for college on her moped.

She doesn’t even cover half the distance before the pain surges back with violent, blinding intensity. Tanmayi, who always prefers natural healing and fundamentally detests taking pills unless absolutely unavoidable, realizes the medication has failed.

Why is it still hurting so badly? Is the pill not working?

Lost in an absolute haze of physical suffering, she notices she has reached the lane leading to the local hospital. Just as she is about to pass the turning, her head swims violently. Recognizing that her body is reaching a breaking point, she steers her moped directly into the hospital courtyard.

Stumbling up to the reception counter, the receptionist takes one look at her pale face and asks quickly, “Is everything alright, Madam?”

Before Tanmayi can voice a reply, a fresh spasm of agony rips through her. Clutching her stomach, her legs give way, and she collapses heavily into a nearby chair.

The hospital staff springs into action, rushing her immediately into the examination room. The lady doctor on duty begins to palpate her lower abdomen, pressing gently but firmly across various spots. The moment her fingers press into the lower left quadrant, Tanmayi gasps.

“We need to perform a scan immediately,” the doctor announces, her expression turning serious.

“Where do I need to go for the scan, Doctor?” Tanmayi asks, her voice trembling through the sharp pain.

“You don’t need to go anywhere. I will do it right here. Don’t worry,” the doctor reassures her, pulling the scanning equipment closer.

Even while suppressing the intense waves of pain, the responsibilities of her job weigh heavily on her mind. Tanmayi checks her watch. “How long will it take, Doctor? I am running late for college.”

The doctor completes the ultrasound in silence. Pulling off her latex gloves with a sharp snap, she looks directly at Tanmayi. “Your left ovary is severely infected. You must be admitted immediately. We need to perform surgery.”

“Surgery?!” Tanmayi recoils, the word striking her with terror.

And to have it done immediately feels impossible. Her mind races frantically. Her parents are away on an extended pilgrimage. If she is hospitalized right this second, who will look after her little boy? Who will take care of her during recovery? Darker, colder fears begin to creep in: What if the surgery goes wrong? What if I don’t survive? What will happen to my son? A deluge of terrifying thoughts engulfs her, sending a violent shiver down her spine.

Voice trembling, she lays out her desperate anxieties to the doctor.

The doctor’s expression softens with a gentle smile. “Don’t panic. A highly reputed surgeon will be coming down from the city specifically for this operation. Four or five days after the surgery, you will be able to return home and comfortably manage light chores.”

Trying to gather whatever false courage she can muster to buy herself time, Tanmayi pleads, “Doctor, I will come back and get admitted tomorrow. Please just prescribe some strong painkillers for today.”

The doctor’s tone turns strictly urgent. “The cyst has enlarged significantly. Even a minor jerk or a bump while riding your vehicle could cause it to rupture. If that happens, it will become immediately life-threatening. Be very careful. For now, I am administering an injection and giving you some tablets to stabilize the pain.”

Though she nods compliantly, Tanmayi finds herself completely trapped by her physical limitations. Moving away from the examination room, she lacks the strength to leave the building and slumps into a corner chair in the waiting area.

Life-threatening. The word echoes in her mind. Despite the doctor’s professional reassurances, the tremors racking her body only worsen. Her sweet son’s innocent face flashes continuously before her eyes. If she ceases to exist, who will protect him?

She remembers the terrifying day he was born—a delivery so severely complicated that the medical team warned they might only be able to save one life. Back then, she had selflessly begged God to take her and spare her child. But now, ironies of fate dictate that for him to survive, her survival is absolute.

Closing her eyes tightly against the sterile hospital light, she prays desperately: Oh God! Keep me alive at least until he can stand on his own two feet.

“Tanmayi!”

A familiar, anxious voice cuts through the fog of her prayers. She opens her eyes to see Siddhartha rushing toward her. The sight breaks her restraint, and hot tears well up instantly.

“Siddu!” she chokes out, but her throat tightens, burying the rest of her words.

With great difficulty, she manages to ask, “You… here…?”

“Some college students mentioned they saw you turning into the hospital lane,” Siddhartha explains, his breath shallow from rushing. “Thaiba also told me that you had left home as usual this morning. When you didn’t show up even as the lunch hour was passing, I grew worried and came looking for you. Are you alright? What happened?”

Swallowing her tears with a massive effort, Tanmayi explains the sudden, terrifying diagnosis.

“Do not be afraid. Keep your courage up. Nothing will happen to you,” Siddhartha comforts her, his voice a steady anchor.

Tanmayi nods helplessly, falling into a tense silence. The dread remains a heavy weight. What if something happens to me? No matter how hard she tries to banish the dark thought, it lingers.

“I’ll be right back,” Siddhartha says gently, stepping away to speak directly with the doctor.

Ten minutes later, he returns with a clear plan. “Listen to me and get admitted right away. I will go and bring Thaiba here. Do not worry about the boy at all. Thaiba and I will take care of him until you fully recover.”

Relief washes over her, followed immediately by practical panic. “They said the surgical expenses need to be paid in installments—some at the time of admission, some after the surgery, and the rest at discharge. If you don’t mind, could you please take my card and withdraw the money from my bank account for the admission?” she asks weakly.

“I will handle all the payments for now,” Siddhartha insists without a second thought. “You can repay me after you get well.”

Overwhelmed by his selflessness, Tanmayi raises her hands in a respectful, deeply grateful namaskar. In this dark hour, Siddhartha feels like a literal godsend.

“Why are you doing that, Tanmayi?” Siddhartha says, gently dismissing the formality. “If I were in your position, you would undoubtedly do the exact same for me. There is nothing extraordinary about what I’m doing. First, drink some of this coconut water. I will go make the formal arrangements for your admission.” He gives her a reassuring look and walks toward the billing counter.

Left alone in the room, an overwhelming urge to speak to her parents takes over Tanmayi. But reality checks her enthusiasm—they are deep in their pilgrimage and won’t return for another fifteen days. Hoping desperately that they will read it the moment they step across the threshold, she takes out a notepad and begins writing a letter.

“Dear Mother and Father…”

The moment the ink hits the paper, a wave of profound grief breaks through her defenses.

What can she possibly tell them? That she longs to see them right now? That before going under the surgeon’s knife, she wants nothing more than to embrace her mother one last time and say goodbye? That if she never makes it off the operating table, they must protect and raise her little boy?

As she sits there, a rush of vivid childhood memories floods her mind.

She remembers being a tiny girl, lost at a crowded temple festival. Her mother and father had vanished into the surging crowds. As she wandered the dusty paths crying, an old woman running a banana stall by the roadside noticed her distress and sat her down on a wooden stool. The woman comforted her, wiping her tears, and offered her as many bananas as she wanted to keep her occupied. An hour later, her frantic parents finally tracked her down, hugging her tight and showering her with tears and kisses—only to burst into sudden laughter upon noticing the massive, comical pile of banana peels that had accumulated in front of their daughter.

From that day onward, wherever they went, her father would proudly carry her on his shoulders. Whenever she returned home from anywhere, her grandmother Narasamma would reliably perform a traditional ritual to ward off the evil eye before letting her cross the threshold. Once, when an elementary schoolteacher had struck her, her father had marched straight to the school to furiously confront him.

Being an only child, they had shielded and nurtured her like the absolute apple of their eye. Her painful separation from Shekhar had broken both of them, aging them mentally and physically. Though minor disagreements occurred occasionally, her parents meant the entire world to her. She had been deeply upset about not joining them on this pilgrimage, yet, looking at her current situation, she realizes it is a strange blessing in disguise.

If this agonizing pain had struck midway through a remote journey, it would have created immense trouble and panic for everyone. She had never imagined in her wildest dreams that such a medical emergency would catch her off guard. Having only recently stabilized her life after the divorce, her savings are painfully meager.

Such are the brutal, unyielding practicalities of life.

From the very second month of securing her teaching job, she had started contributing to a Margadarsi chit fund, drawing comfort from their famous slogan, “When Margadarsi is by your side, happiness follows.” She had recently bid for and claimed a small chit organized at her college to purchase her moped. Now, to meet these unexpected surgical costs, she realizes she will have to bid early for her main Margadarsi chit as well.

Despite the dark despair settling over her, a tragic, ironical smile creeps onto Tanmayi’s lips. On one hand, she is terrified about whether she will survive the operation; on the other, she feels a desperate, almost guilty yearning to see Prabhu immediately. There are still two long months left in the strict one-year waiting period she had mandated. Would it be right of her to selfishly break her own vow, ask him to forget the condition, and rush to her hospital bed?

Unresolvable dilemmas keep gnawing ruthlessly at her mind.

Ultimately, resigning herself entirely to fate, she drafts a raw, honest letter to Prabhu. She also writes a formal leave application addressed to the college principal, requesting urgent medical leave. The faces of her close colleagues and mentors—Vanaja, Murali, Venkat, Mary, and her supportive University professor—flash through her thoughts. If something fatal happens to her under anesthesia, how would they ever know? Taking a fresh sheet of paper, she begins compiling a neat list of their names and emergency contact addresses.

Just then, the door bursts open and Thaiba rushes into the room, completely out of breath, her face flushed with worry.

“Oh Madam! The moment Sir told me, I got terribly panicked and ran as fast as I could! Here you are, calmly sitting and writing? Stop all of this right now, lay down comfortably, and rest. Don’t worry about the boy at all; I will take care of him,” she says, rushing to the bedside, sitting closely, and gently stroking Tanmayi’s hand to comfort her.

*****

(Continued next month)