Disclaimer: This is my first ever an attempt to write a short story and I hope you will like it. The characters and events in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Reader’s discretion is advised.
This is a story of Dawa, an occasional drinker and Dema, a dominating wife. People considered Dawa, a daily drinker. He drank when he had money to spare and in times of no-money days, he stayed home. He drank for fun. One thing that stood above all things in his life was ‘friends’. All this while he had been in the company of friends through thick and thin- in grief and in pain-in fun and in laughter! He was unaware that a momentary care and concern from his supposed wife would make him witness multiplicity of family problems later. The drunk had truth in his argument but, however genuine and truthful a man may be, who would consider it to be worthy if a man drinks occasionally. He was working for a consultancy firm. He had been married for just about a year.
Dema on the other was also a working woman. Every kith and kin were surprised at her. How can a pimp-like-husband get such a nice lady for wife? Nice! Dema happened to be the youngest among her siblings and her childhood resembles to that of a ‘rags to riches’ story. One weakness that women have is the tendency to shed tears easily. Over some petty reasons she would cry and let people around know of her self contained righteousness. If women had temper, Dema would embody the epitome of all temperament. Out of outbursts on some previous dissatisfaction over some issues, she would make faces and after having nothing to say, she would weep all night as if to let neighbors and other people know of her fictitious righteousness.
On many of the brawls over continual nights, people always thought badly about Dawa branding him with drinks and alcohol. A man who made his wife weep, and most commonly unhappy became a subject of gossip in the community. For a working couple, although salaried, they had difficulty making ends meet and he on one occasion tweeted, “Why are there many months after every salary?”
Dawa would forget the next day what had just happened but Dema would ignore him for days without exchanging a word. These incidences made him resort to drinking even more, whenever he had the opportunity. Friends of Dawa had him warned about drinks to avoid problems and complications. But only Dawa knew of the cold at home. He was dying a slow death. Meanwhile, Dema garnered favorers from people who knew them. All blame went to Dawa for his habit.
After months of the status quo, Dawa succumbed and died in his sleep with a bottle of beer by his bed holding a note on his chest;
When I was single I usually drank for fun and after being with you for a year, I don’t remember drinking for fun. Had you told me not to, I would have but you never took a heed to understand me and your judgment always came in some form of squabble, that too for a year. This made me lose all speck of faith that I had in you. I could not afford to lose you but I never thought of losing myself for you. I want you to know that all this while I was living for you and now to make you worthy of your womanhood, I will die for you.”
The reason for his apparent death was alcohol and every one believed in this shrewd truth. But Dema went on to remarry and there too, the brawls continued. For Dawa, nobody remembered him except his own soul. The life of a seemingly happy individual ended in an instant. The ways of the world made him give in to what he resorted to and ultimately, those associated with the dead were at ease for the loss. Such is the way of the world. Now, at this juncture friends of the dead were confused whether to believe in Dema’s life or Dawa’s death. Dawa lived a melancholic life, that’s for sure but is Dema living a life of contentment…that is for my fellow readers to decide!