Vishnu Sahasranamam, as rendered by the renowned Mrs. M. S. Subbhalakshmi, floated throughout Subbaraman’s well-kept three-bedroom home. The morning sun spilled its radiant light into the aesthetically pleasing residence.
Seventy-year-old Subbaraman, the Retired Principal of the Polytechnique Institute, sat in the Puja room with closed eyes and a prayer on his lips. His wife, Vanaja, eloquently recited the Sahasranamam alongside the melodious tune emanating from the recorder. Despite being sixty-five, Vanaja appeared younger than her years, sporting natural black hair that featured hints of salt and pepper.
The scent of the Venn Pongal that Vanaja was preparing lured Santosh out of his room. He inhaled the aroma appreciatively. ‘Venn Pongal!’ he exclaimed with a smile. ‘Will there be Medhu Vada as well?’, he inquired playfully, casting a wink at his mother. ‘And perhaps some Kesari,’ he added, his mouth-watering.
‘If you give your approval for marriage, I will make Medhu Vada, Kesari, and anything else you desire,’ Vanaja responded, gazing hopefully at her thirty-year-old son.
‘Amma, let Suchi marry first, and then I will certainly agree. You can seek out any girl you deem suitable,’ Santosh reassured his mother.
The mere mention of her daughter’s name brought tears to Vanaja’s eyes.
Subbaraman paused his prayers momentarily, glancing at the shelf holding his daughter Suchitra’s photograph. Her captivating smile and beauty in her favorite magenta attire that complemented her fair complexion caught his eye. The image captured her thick, cascading black hair flowing down past her waist, neatly tied in a ponytail.
Santosh felt a pang of regret, realizing he had inadvertently brought a somber mood to the household by mentioning his sister’s name.
For the past five months, Suchitra had been at the forefront of their thoughts each day. Although they cherished happy memories of her individually, they had tacitly agreed not to talk about her, holding onto hope collectively.
They awaited her return, eager to celebrate the day together.
Honoring Suchitra’s sincere request not to contact her, the family had abided by her wishes. She would send an email every week updating them about her progress.
Their last conversation with Suchitra took place at Meenambakkam Arignar Anna International Airport five months prior.
“I will come back when the time is right. Appa, the funds you and Santosh have amassed for my overseas treatment will not be wasted. I understand the hard work it took to earn it. I plan to stay the full six months allowed by my visa, if needed, ensuring my treatment yields results.” With a hug, Suchitra bid farewell to her parents and elder brother, gradually disappearing from view as she entered the airport terminal.
“There is an email from Suchi stating her return from Texas today,” Santosh’s enthusiastic announcement drew Vanaja from the kitchen. Subbaraman hastened his daily rituals, seeking forgiveness from the Lord, before rushing to his son’s room.
“Please read the message out loud,” Vanaja requested, wiping her teary eyes.
“She simply mentioned that she will be arriving home today,” Santosh replied.
“Which flight and what time?” Subbaraman inquired eagerly. The five-month wait had felt long and drawn out.
“No flight details are mentioned, Appa. Perhaps she prefers not to be met at the airport,” Santosh whispered despondently.
“Does that mean…?” Vanaja’s voice trailed off into a sob.
“No, do not entertain such thoughts. I have faith in the Lord, whom I pray to daily for Suchi’s well-being. I believe things have worked out positively for her,” Subbaraman declared firmly.
“Suchi is resilient. Her strength and determination are truly admirable. I am certain she wishes to surprise us with her sudden return,” Santosh remarked.
“Keep the door open. I want to greet Suchi as she arrives,” Vanaja insisted optimistically.
As lunchtime approached, Vanaja frantically prepared all of Suchi’s favorite dishes, eagerly anticipating her daughter’s arrival. Subbaraman anxiously paced while Santosh struggled to contain his rising anxiety, reflecting the family’s shared anticipation.
At around 3:30 p.m., a rental car pulled up to their driveway. Suchitra emerged, looking stunning in her transformed appearance. Her nose looked chiseled, and sharp, than before. Her forehead looked broader due to a different hairdo. Her once-black hair now auburn, yet the determination in her eyes remained unchanged. Dressed elegantly in her favorite magenta salwar kameez, she exuded grace like never before. The family welcomed her transformation with open arms.
Vanaja gently touched Suchi’s face and chest, relieved to hear her daughter laughing instead of crying like she had five months earlier.
“Why are you staring? I am Suchitra Subbaraman,” the twenty-five-year-old said happily, embracing her mother.
Looking at her father, Suchitra bowed and said, “Appa, I promised not to waste your hard-earned money. The pain was excruciating. I was all alone, and at times felt emotionally drained, but I faced it with perseverance and fortitude. I knew I had to recover, not just for myself but for my family.”
The girl who bravely fought against severe burns now stood before them, a symbol of resilience and courage.
As a motorcycle pulled up outside, a young man introduced himself, “Hello, I am advocate Prakash Pillai. One Ms. Suchitra had called me….,” he dragged.
Suchitra nodded, and ushered him in.
Subbaraman, Vanaja, and Santosh believed that Suchitra had made the decision to impart a fitting lesson to Alagappan, the middle-aged manager of the supermarket where she was employed. The scars from the acid attack carried out by her scorned lover may have healed, but the emotional pain will endure until he faces the consequences of his actions.