“Hey andhan ki maharani

Oh, Jai Laxmi Rani”
VERSES of a Hindu devotional song filled the air as the festival of Diwali approached. On this auspicious occasion, the souls of mortals across the Hindu world are touched by the beauty of the Goddess’s divine presence, for in their belief, she amplifies love, prosperity, and light. Thus, in the darkest night, her light is the illumination that guides and gives blessings as she is honoured through prayers, songs, and dances.

Stories of battle, fate, and love from the Hindu scriptures are told and retold, and for one devotee named after Laxmi—the Goddess of Light—a sad story unfolds. In a mandir, in a quiet area in the countryside, she sat, her eyes closed in prayer, mesmerised as always by the devotional songs. Often, her mind would travel back in time to the period of kings, mortal gods, demons, and battles. From a little girl, her mind had been impressed by the history of her Hindu culture and religion, and as she grew up, she read many texts that gave her a deep sense of understanding.

Epic stories from the Ramayana and Mahabharata held her in awe, and tonight, as the true devotee she was, she sang, recounting one part of the story where it all began—the significance of Diwali, of the palace in Ayodhya where Shree Ram, the mortal god, was born, his exile, and his return on the darkest night when earthen lamps were lit to illuminate his path.
As she walked home that night from the mandir, Laxmi reflected on the beautiful love story of the Hindu god Ram and his wife Seeta, and she wondered, “Will my husband, my Ram, ever return?”
For four years, she had held onto hope and faith that he would, that one day, he would find his way out of the dark world where he was lost and reunite with her. They had been a young couple, married for just over a year when tragedy intruded on their lives.

He had been riding home from work on his motorbike one night, having worked late, when a speeding Tundra, driven recklessly by a drunk driver, hit him. The massive brain injuries he had suffered left his life hanging by a thin thread for weeks. The shock had shattered her world, but her faith was deep, and she refused to accept the fact that his chances of survival were very slim.
“No,” she had cried, “He isn’t leaving me, he can’t leave me.”
She had prayed day and night, imploring the gods for answers, for a miracle. On the fourth week, his eyes opened, and slowly, day by day, he recovered from his injuries. But something was wrong.

He was not the same person.
The injuries to his brain had affected his mental state, causing memory lapses, and the conclusion from medical experts was that he might never fully regain his memory. It was a devastating blow for her, his family, and everyone who knew him as a young, ambitious man, but her faith did not falter. Her heart had spoken the first time when she saw him acting the role of Shree Ram in the Diwali motorcade. Finding love on an auspicious night was something she held dear, and just as Seeta had stayed with her husband in exile, Laxmi would stay with Ranbir until he found his way out of the dark world.
Tears misted her eyes as she reached home, and lying in bed, her hand touched the empty space beside her. She whispered, “I miss you so much.”

On the doctor’s advice, she had brought him home, for he needed love and care that were like a lifeline to him. She spoke in her soft voice and sang songs for him, hoping they would trigger the beautiful memories of the love they shared, but just fleetingly, he would remember. Things took a turn for the worse when he started having manic episodes that caused him to behave aggressively, and his doctor advised that he be placed under psychiatric care.

It had not pleased her heart to do so, but she and his family were left with no other option, having tried everything they could for him. The specialist assured them that progress would be slow but that one day, he might recover and be himself again. Four years had passed by, his progress slow, and during her visits, whenever he remembered her, he would hold her hands and cry, a deep plea in his eyes. Every day, she prayed, “Please Lord, send my husband back to me.”
Many people in his life had given up hope that he would ever recover, and some advised her to move on with her life.
“You’re young and beautiful,” they had said, “With your whole life ahead of you. Why wait for him when there’s no coming back?”
“Because I believe,” she had said firmly, “I believe in the miracle of prayers.”
They had scoffed at her, calling her foolish for giving up so much in her life.

“How can I give up on a love blessed by the gods?” she had asked herself.
For the past three years, since he was under psychiatric care, she had lit a diya for him on Diwali night, waiting as the oil burnt low, hoping he would come home and call her name. But her Ram had still not found his way. She turned, hugging the pillow beside her, and her eyes closed in sleep.
For the next three days, Laxmi dedicated herself to preparations for Diwali, lending her creative skills to her mandir’s intricate design for the motorcade—a stunning display of colour, glitter, and lights. On the night of the motorcade, the spectacular floats, beautiful beyond words, sent a thrill of pride through her body.
“I wish you were here, Ranbir,” she said quietly, a soft cry in her heart, “It was a night like this when we met.”

Her sadness weighed heavily on her, and she did not attend the cultural show with her friends, preferring to be alone with her memories and thoughts.
“I wonder what you are doing right now?”
A sudden thought occurred to her that she could go and see him and show him the pictures of the floats. She called the doctor, who thought it was a good idea, and the male nurse let her in, standing by in case the patient’s behaviour became aggressive.
Ranbir was standing in his room, facing the wall. Calling his name softly, she waited for his response. A short moment later, he turned, his head still bent. She called his name again. He raised his head slowly, running his hand through his thick hair that had grown a bit long, and looked at her with a smile. A surge of relief filled her heart, thinking he had made further progress in his recovery, but the dull look in his eyes dampened her hope.
Nevertheless, she showed him the pictures on her phone, and for fleeting moments, recognition glinted in his eyes. Then he got up and walked back to the wall. She made to call him, but the nurse attendant shook his head slowly, and with a heavy heart, she turned to leave
As she walked out of the door, she heard him say in a quiet tone, “Laxmi.”

She stopped and inhaled deeply, fighting back tears. Turning to look at him, she saw tears in his eyes. For one helpless moment, because of fate’s stumbling block in their way, they stood there looking at each other, both crying.

The earthen lamps were lit on Diwali, illuminating the night when Shree Ram came out of exile, guided by the Goddess of Light—a most beautiful, wondrous sight.
Laxmi lit a diya at her altar, but tonight, as she did her pooja, she did not ask the gods for a blessing or a miracle. She closed her eyes and spoke instead to her husband, from the depths of her heart.
“I’m waiting for you, Ranbir, to hear your voice, if not today, maybe tomorrow or another day. I may grow old, you may grow old, but whatever happens, I will always love you.”
The night wore on, the oil in the diya burning low, and as the light flickered, her eyes closed in sleep. A short while later, she was awakened by Ranbir’s voice calling her, “Laxmi.”
She sat up and looked at the altar. The flame was still burning, but all was silent.
“I must have been dreaming,” she sighed, and as she got up from the sofa to go to bed, she heard his voice distinctly calling her name. She ran to the verandah and saw him standing at the gate, as real as ever, his doctor with him.

“Ranbir!” she cried, rushing down the stairs, gasping for words, “Are you…? Have you…?”
He put a finger to her lips, the smile on his face reflecting in his eyes, and he hugged her, remembering, at last, who the beautiful woman was with the soft voice and sweetest smile, who had never given up on him—his wife.
“I missed you so much.”
Happiness filled her heart, and songs seemed to fill the air as she stood in her husband’s arms, a few diyas around still alight. Her deep devotion and love had lighted a path for him to find his way out of the dark world, and on this Diwali night, she was reunited with her Ram—the miracle of prayers.