The Cold Truth

By Roshni Rajaram

Colonel Nitesh Sharma is a highly respected commanding officer of the 37 Int & FS Unit. Only Sandhya, his wife, knows that he is compulsively abusive husband. The violence escalates when she begins to question Nitesh's past marriages, specifically the first one that left him a widower…
Having escaped her vicious marriage, Sandhya settles in her new life as a journalist in Delhi. She proves to be a hard worker, and along the way rekindles old friendships. Few people know of what she's endured in the past. However, this peace is disrupted by a court case involving her now ex-husband Col Sharma. Things begin to unravel. And fast.
In the highly masculine environment of the army, Sandhya has to shape her own identity and life, by facing her worst nightmares. When she accidentally discovers a scandal that threatens to destroy the Indian army, she has no choice but to take on the most dreaded adversaries to protect its reputation. Along the way, the story recounts the dedication of our military, the honour and sacrifice of our soldiers, and relationships that are tested by the powerful forces of courage and resolve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Mar 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9789389812312

Roshni Rajaram

Roshni Rajaram is a Delhi based author. She regularly writes for national and regional newspapers and magazines on varied subjects. She is a passion-driven professional with over 10 years of rich and diverse experience in Corporate Communication, Brand Management and Content Creation. She is multi-faceted, a trained boxer, a classical dancer and an avid traveller. Roshni holds a management degree from IIM Indore and is a CELTA (Cambridge University) certified language trainer. In her professional stint, Roshni has worked with top multinationals, reputed media houses and has consulted Ministry of Agriculture (Government of India) in various capacities. In 2020, she started heading the Marketing and Communications department for a corporate and is also contributing as the National Editor for a monthly magazine featuring the life and issues of people living near international borders. A corporate trainer and motivational speaker, she has done extensive study and research in the Thar Desert region of India and considered as an authority on women related issues. She is a guest at many eminent public platforms and universities of repute. Her first published work as a co-author is The Vulture's Feast- Stories of Storytellers, that highlights the darker side of journalism. She was invited as a distinguished speaker at the 2019 “Talk Journalism”- a reputed global summit on journalism. Roshni is also the national brand ambassador for 'Roshni Helpline'- a social campaign for women welfare. Originally from Sikar district of Rajasthan, she loves donning the role as cultural ambassador to represent the beautiful State of Rajasthan.

Book preview

1

‘Sorry… I am really very sorry, my son. Please forgive me.’

As she lay still on the bed, she almost held her breath, lest the tears gathered around her eyes would escape. It was agonising, it was the punishment that she deserved. She needed to breathe but was afraid the tears would burst forth. Her mind dizzied in fear and the pressure of the strong hands that held her pinned to the bed.

The transition from feeling apologetic to wanting to give in to the man’s desire on her was rapid. She surrendered to her body, thinking about her son one last time before doing so.

‘I am sorry … sorry. Please forgive me, Pranav. I am a weak mother! Please don’t hate me for this.’

She gasped once, and the tears cascaded down. Her body was shaking with two rhythms playing out simultaneously. One was her soul, begging for forgiveness from her son. The other was the sound of the organ that thrusted itself in and out of her vagina. Guilt and punishment at the same time. Now with the tears, little beads of sweat too were gathering around her temple. As she moved her head to one side, some drops vanished in the mane of her thick black hair above the earlobes. She made up her mind now. It was time to show him what he wanted to see. She had done it before, she could do it again.

‘Aaahh…’ She moaned to confirm her participation in the act, tightening the grip of her legs that she had wrapped around his back, drawing him closer.

‘You are mine … only mine. Do you get that? I won’t let anyone come in between us … anyone!’ he whispered in her ears, as he tightened his grip on her wrists, feeling more confident with her moans.

Thankfully, the timing was just perfect.

By then, the heat of the act had made both their bodies sweat profusely. Every inch of her face was drenched in saline water; one couldn’t tell the difference between the drops of tears and sweat.

‘Hmmm…,’ she murmured softly, a delayed response though.

The speed of his thrusts increased suddenly. The thick tuff of salt and pepper hair on his chest rubbed her smooth breasts mercilessly. The pressure of the hands that kept her pinned to the bed was now unbearable with his hips moving rhythmically.

‘Oh god … yes … yes … yes…’ She cried out loud, quickly remembering how he enjoyed her verbal assertions when he attempted to give his best. This would make him come faster.

‘I am almost there … come on baby…,’ she almost screamed now.

He had reached his peak. A few minutes later, the noise ceased. He lay still on her body, exhausted from the effort. Silent, invisible tears rolled down her eyes unremittingly, but she sighed in relief.

‘That seemed like she had a thundering orgasm. I bet she feels relaxed now,’ he thought as he rolled to his side of the bed.

No, she did not have an orgasm. But she was surely relieved that it was finally over.

Sandhya was thirty-five. Her husband Nitesh was forty. This was her second marriage and his third. She had recently got divorced from her husband of thirteen years, incidentally who is incidentally her present husband’s batchmate. By virtue of being Captain Ranjit Saxena’s wife, she had known Nitesh before their marriage, although sparingly. Ranjit had taken a pre-voluntary retirement from the army early on in their marriage to settle down in Delhi, but he remained in touch with his army peers and attended all their social gatherings.

The sound of the doorbell woke up the exhausted newlyweds. After all, they had just had a stupendous performance. He had to prove it; she had to fake it.

Sandhya wasn’t actually sleeping. She heard the doorbell but pretended to be fast asleep. While she stayed motionless on the bed, she sensed her husband get up from the bed to open the door.

‘Jai Hind, Saab!’ She heard the customary salutation.

Without looking at the watch, Sandhya knew it was five in the evening; the dutiful Sewadar Reddy was always on time. A well-trained soldier from the Indian Army, he performed all his tasks, such as arranging Nitesh’s uniform every morning, making sure he wore polished shoes, to get the tea and breakfast ready on time, and all other household duties diligently. The sun was still shining bright outside, and the room wasn’t completely dark when Nitesh came back to the bedroom and switched the bedside lamp on.

‘Wake up my sleeping beauty,’ Nitesh said lovingly as he placed a tray at her bedside and planted a kiss on her forehead. She was not ready to face the light yet, but she had little choice. Once again, she pretended to wake up out of a deep slumber and rendered him a reluctant smile.

Tea was like an elixir for Sandhya. In one of her earlier conversations with Nitesh, she had once mentioned how she felt like the new-age Kumbhakarna, who couldn’t wake up without the power of tea. Her mother had also joked with her son-in-law on the day of the wedding, ‘Remember to wake her up with tea from tomorrow.’

‘How are you feeling now?’ he asked.

‘Sleepy.’

‘Haha… You just can’t get enough sleep, can you? I still cannot believe you slept through our entire honeymoon! Only God knows how a human being can sleep so much.’

‘I hibernate every few hours … rest and recoup,’ she joked.

‘Seriously, I envy you. You sleep like a baby. You are completely oblivious to the world outside. It isn’t that bad a habit, but it does worry me sometimes. What if I am not at home and there is mortar shelling across the LoC? You will not even wake up and run for shelter, will you?’

Sandhya had learnt over the year that silence is golden. She said nothing and looked at him, bemused.

‘Don’t worry. I shall convey a message to my friends across the border to not fire until you wake up and get your power tea!’ Nitesh chuckled.

She smiled, for there wasn’t an argument that could defend her sleeping habits. Little did he know that his wife hadn’t caught a wink that noon. It’s been only seventeen days since their marriage, and Nitesh was yet to read his wife well.

While Sandhya sipped the hot cardamom tea in the glow of the lamp’s cosy light, Nitesh became pensive.

‘You know, this house belongs to the colonial era. Look at these eighteen-inch thick stone walls! Nobody makes houses like these anymore. It was initially a bunker for soldiers, which they eventually turned into the commanding officer’s residence.’ Nitesh loved explaining things and was quite unapologetic about it.

‘I see,’ she replied with disinterest, but he didn’t get the hint and went on bragging about the building.

‘The idea of this building is to protect one from fire assault from the other side of the fence. We are just eleven kilometres away from the border. Tell me, does that scare you?’

‘Not at all! Our enemies don’t know who the new commanding officer of 37 Int & FS unit is, but I do. They should be scared, not me.’

That was just what Nitesh needed—a generous doling out of compliments from his wife which successfully massaged his gigantic ego.

‘This house, although old and dilapidated, is the safest structure on this campus. If only they had maintained it better.’

Sandhya looked around. They had arrived a week back, immediately after their modest two-day honeymoon. Colonel Nitesh Sharma had to assume the command of one of the most decorated intelligence and field security units of the Indian Army a week after their marriage. It was not a family-friendly locale, but Nitesh insisted that they stayed together, citing that companionship during the initial months of marriage was important. Sandhya agreed as she wanted to enjoy the bliss of married life as well, rather than opting for another long-distance marriage.

All her life Sandhya had stayed in plush apartments of big cities. This was her first experience of staying in the hills in a makeshift barsati. She had hoped that the CO’s accommodation would be something better than that cracked dwelling.

‘This is not how a commanding officer’s accommodation is supposed to be,’ Nitesh said as if reading her mind. ‘The saint who occupied this dwelling before us was not interested in administrative work. As a CO, he could have refurbished this place and maintained it better. Please don’t be upset. I will get this place fixed immediately.’

‘I think you should do something about the cupboards first. They are so rusted on the inside that I cannot put my clothes in them. How long can I pull my clothes out of a suitcase?’

‘That is just a day’s job. I will send people over to redo the wardrobes tomorrow,’ Nitesh said as he glanced at the clock. ‘I need to rush now, dear. I have to be at work before my officer files in his evening reports.’

He sprang out of the bed and hurried towards the washroom while she laid there naked, wrapped in the floral blanket her aunt had gifted them for their wedding. The sweat from the afternoon’s encounter had dried on her body, making her feel dirty and uncomfortable. She craved for a long, hot shower.

‘You haven’t dressed yet?’ Nitesh asked, emerging out of the washroom while slipping into his shoes. ‘Hurry up! I will be late.’

‘I will take a shower first and then get dressed. You carry on. I will use the washroom after you leave,’ Sandhya replied casually.

‘You can keep showering all day long, but shouldn’t you see your husband to the door when he is leaving for work? This is the least I can expect from you,’ he said as he planted a kiss on her forehead and left the room hastily without giving her the time to respond.

‘Oh God! Why is he so weird about all these? He has to be so particular about everything!’ It’s only been less than three weeks since they had been married, and she had already annoyed him a dozen times. An agitated Sandhya felt like an idiot as she got up for her shower.

Nitesh and Sandhya had met one another at a social evening. Once a successful journalist, Sandhya had taken a sabbatical after her son was born, and was then writing columns for a renowned daily. They got to talking about some issues about the ex-servicemen pension scheme, and Nitesh, a persuasive talker, convinced her that he could add new insights to her next article. Hoping to get some information for her piece, they exchanged numbers.

Over the next few months, Sandhya spoke to Nitesh a couple of times. She used to share her dump draft with him, and he invariably added his suggestions. They bumped into each other at parties and events. Nitesh also visited the Saxena’s residence along with other friends. In one of these gatherings, Sandhya learnt that Nitesh was both a widower and a divorcee. Of course, she didn’t probe for details then. For her, he was just a guest and a reasonable company while for him, Sandhya was a great host and a well-read woman. Nitesh complimented her aesthetics when he had visited Sandhya and her ex-husband for the first time.

‘You have really done up your place well, Sandhya. And you host such a charming party. It’s no mean feat to manage so many officers and their families. The biryani was awesome too! Ranjit is really lucky to have you as a wife!’

Little did she know that these casual meets would turn into a more significant commitment later in life. One day, Sandhya received a text from Nitesh, informing her that he was moving out of Delhi. The Saxenas were busy with a family wedding then and had no time to invite him over to bid farewell. It was almost the end of the little association that had grown over a year.

It wasn’t until much after her fallout with Ranjit that Sandhya heard from Nitesh again. He had called her one evening.

‘I am pained to hear about your fallout with Ranjit. But what hurts me more is that I received this news from someone else. Why didn’t you call me?’

‘Well, this was no good news, was it? It wasn’t something where I could call people and inform. I am not amongst those who wash their family’s dirty linen in public.’ Sandhya sounded resilient.

‘This is not washing dirty linen; it is called sharing your life with friends! I could have helped.’

‘We haven’t been in touch for a while now Nitesh. So it didn’t occur to me. Anyway, now you know the situation, and I am over it.’ Sandhya was uncomfortable talking about her divorce over a call with someone she wasn’t deeply attached to with.

‘So, are you through with the legal formalities?’ Nitesh was persistent.

‘Yes, almost; I don’t have it in me to fight for someone’s love. This divorce is Ranjit’s choice. He has found another woman in his life, and I cannot be a part of any rat race.

I have agreed to gratify his request amicably.’

‘That makes perfect sense. What about your son? How is he coping with all this? What about his custody?’ Nitesh had a host of queries.

‘We have fought over it enough. In the end, I had to give in and mutually agree to hand Pranav over to his father.’

‘Great … err … I mean that was a smart decision. Ranjit is definitely in a better position to take care of him, at least, financially. So, what are your plans for life now?’

‘I don’t have any; let’s see where life takes me.’

‘I know this may sound a tad crude, but why don’t we get together? My apologies for being so direct, but I see a perfect wife in you. I know what happened between you and Ranjit, and you wouldn’t have to explain anything to me. We have known each other for some time now. Living alone makes me weary. Why don’t we start a new life together?’

This suddeness in their conversation stumped Sandhya. They hadn’t talked in a while, and a marriage proposal was the last thing in her mind. She thought it was quite impulsive of Nitesh and that he had said it without giving it a proper thought. Not wanting to offend him when he was being so polite, Sandhya chose to reply delicately.

‘Look, Nitesh, you are my husband’s batchmate. What will people think of us if we get together? They would think I had an affair with you, and that is why I dumped my husband and my son! Moreover, I am not prepared for another relationship just yet.’

‘Excuse me, ma’am, but Ranjit is your ex-husband now! You say you have moved past it, then you must realise that he isn’t your spouse anymore. And who cares about the world’s opinion? Did they stand by you when Ranjit demanded separation? I am proposing marriage to a single woman and not to a colleague’s wife.’

Nitesh pursued her for months after that. He was consistent in his decision to begin a life with her and helped her set up a new home. In whatever matter Sandhya required help, he was there to help her. He came across as a very sensitive man. Even though they lived in different cities, he stayed in touch with her, often teaching her several safety tips that she otherwise wouldn’t have bothered with. Sandhya saw a strong support system in Nitesh and ultimately decided to say ‘I do’.

Sandhya stared at the clock. She had almost spent an eternity mulling over the past. She knew that Nitesh would be upset to see her still in bed like the way he left her, Sandhya hopped out and got into the shower.

The water that gushed down her naked body was assuring, comforting in its warmth. All the emotions and the tears that she had held back for the last few hours came rushing down. Sandhya needed to let the stream