Indian Dramatic Love Story
And after 37 years of marriage, I was left by the very man with whom I had spent almost my entire life.
On the day of the divorce, my ex-husband, Mr. Ravi, handed me a bank card.
In a calm voice, he said:
“This has 3,000 rupees (USD$ 34 or Malaysian Ringgit 137). It should be enough for you for a few months.”
As if 37 years together were worth only that.
As if I had now become a useless object.
I watched him turn around and walk out of the courtroom without looking back.
A lump formed in my throat, making it hard to breathe.
I kept the card.
Not because I needed it… But because it felt like a wound carved into my heart.
After the divorce, I lived in a small, damp room on the outskirts of Delhi.
I did whatever I could to survive: cleaning houses, washing cars, collecting bottles on the streets.
Those were the darkest years of my life.
Many times I writhed in hunger. Many nights I went to sleep on an empty stomach. But I never touched those 3,000 rupees (USD$ 34 or Malaysian Ringgit 137).
Not because I was proud… But because I didn’t want to accept that “charity” in my hands.
I hated that card. I hated the injustice. I hated the idea that after a lifetime, I was nothing more than a burden.
Time passed slowly, like a blunt knife that cuts deeper with every moment. My body aged rapidly. There were days when getting out of bed itself was a struggle.
My children visited occasionally, gave me some money, but they had families of their own.
I never told them about my pain or weakness. I didn’t want to become another worry.
Then one day… I collapsed in front of the door to my room.
The doctor said plainly: “Severe malnutrition. Treatment is necessary. She must be hospitalized.”
I knew I had no choice.
For the first time in five years, I thought about that card. “Just 3,000 rupees (USD$ 34 or Malaysian Ringgit 137) … but at least it will help for a few days.”
The next morning, I went to the bank. With trembling hands, I gave the card to the young cashier.
“I want to withdraw all the money, please.”
In my mind, I had already accepted that I would take a few notes and return to my harsh life.
But the girl stared at the screen for a long moment…
Then she looked at me. Shock was clearly visible in her eyes.
“Ma’am…” she swallowed hard, “your balance is not 3,000 rupees (USD$ 34 or Malaysian Ringgit 137). .”
My heart started pounding. “Then… how much is it?”
She printed the statement and handed it to me.
I looked at the paper. And it felt as if the whole world had stopped.
₹983,000 ((USD$ 10,959 or Malaysian Ringgit 44,738)
Nearly one million rupees.
I forgot how to breathe. I thought I must be reading it wrong. I looked again. The number was the same.
“Who… who deposited this money?” I asked in a trembling voice.
The cashier turned the screen toward me. There was a name I knew all too well. Ravi.
Monthly transfers. For five years. Not a single month missed.
I returned home in silence. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I just stared at the ceiling and cried.
I remembered his sad glances. His strange silences. The nights when he stayed awake, thinking I was asleep.
And what if… he hadn’t left me because he stopped loving me? I needed answers.
The next day, I went to his elder brother’s village near Panipat, Haryana.
The house was small, surrounded by fields.
“Teresa… are you there?” I called out in a broken voice.
She came out, and tears filled her eyes when she saw me.
“Maria… you came.”
“Where is Ravi? I need to speak to him.”
Teresa stayed silent. Then she went inside and returned with a small wooden box. Her hands were trembling.
“Maria… Ravi is no longer with us.”
It felt as if my heart had been ripped out.
“No… how is that possible… it’s only been five years…”
She broke down crying. “He had terminal cancer… even before the divorce.”
My world collapsed.
“He didn’t want you to see him like that,” she continued. “He didn’t want you to watch the man you loved die. That’s why he left. That’s why he set you free.”
She handed me the box. “This is for you. He said to give it to you only if you ever came here.”
Inside was a letter. Written in his own hand.
"When you read this, I will no longer be here. Forgive me for leaving you in such a cruel way. It hurt me more than you can imagine.
"I didn’t want you to see me in my final days. I wanted you to live without chains, without tears.
"This money is so that you never lack anything. Eat well. Live well.
"You don’t need to forgive me. Just be happy.
"If there is another life… I would choose you again."
I collapsed to my knees. I cried like a child.
For five years, I had hated him… While he was fighting death, Sending money every month, Until his hands could no longer help.
I thought he had abandoned me. But the truth was something else: He loved me so much… that he chose to walk alone.
Standing before his photograph in the family temple, I touched the frame with trembling hands.
“Why didn’t you tell me…?” But now, he could no longer answer.
The day I held that card with 3,000 rupees, I thought I was a lonely woman.
Five years later, standing before his memory, I learned the truth: I was never alone. I was loved… until the very end.
Shuttercock Pictures are for illustration purpose only.
Adapted from the story shared by our Facebook friend from India recently.
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