SIRF TUM.....💓❤ (only you)

CHAPTER 8 - MAHALAXMI RAJPUT

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the village, as Ishwarlal sat on the shaded veranda of his home. His day had been long, filled with matters of the panchayat—land disputes, irrigation concerns, and ensuring the welfare of his people. His responsibilities were endless, but he bore them with the steady resilience of a man whose heart beat for his land and his people.

It was amidst this whirlwind of duty that an old, familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Ishwar!"

Looking up, Ishwarlal's face broke into a warm smile as he saw his childhood friend, Kantilal, approaching.

"Oh, Bahiyaa!" Ishwarlal stood immediately, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. "Please, have a seat."

Kantilal, with his ever-present grin, settled into the chair beside him. "How are you, Ishwar? Every time I see you, you're buried in work. When will you start living for yourself, huh? Take a breather sometimes."

Ishwarlal chuckled, shaking his head. "You know, brother, being the head of this village isn't just a duty for me. It's my life, my soul." He exhaled deeply, his gaze drifting to the open fields beyond. "I have a deep connection with this land. It's given me everything, and in return, I want to give it my best. When people trust me so much, how can I ever turn my back on them?"

Kantilal observed his friend's face—lined with years of wisdom, strength, and quiet sacrifice. "That's admirable, Ishwar. But tell me, doesn't the weight of responsibility ever feel too heavy?"

Ishwarlal let out a hearty laugh. "At times, yes, it does. But seeing my people prosper, knowing that I played a small part in their happiness, is worth every sleepless night."

Kantilal nodded in understanding. "What you do for this village is beyond anyone's capacity. But tell me, how is Mahalaxmi?"

At the mention of his daughter, Ishwarlal's expression softened. His ever-strong posture melted into something more vulnerable—proud, yet touched with a quiet ache.

"Your blessings are with us, Bahiyaa," he said, his voice carrying the weight of both love and longing. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, as if delving too deep into the memory might stir something fragile inside him. "After Sujata's demise, I never felt that she was missing—not because she wasn't in my heart, but because Mahalaxmi became my strength. She was only twelve when her mother left us." He paused, his fingers tracing the wooden armrest of his chair absentmindedly. "I was shattered... I didn't know how to go on. But Maha—my little Maha—she took on everything, all the responsibilities of our home. She never let me feel alone."

Kantilal listened quietly, sensing the raw emotion beneath his friend's words.

"She grew up so fast," Ishwarlal continued, his voice filled with admiration. "She finished her education and returned home, whereas most children now choose the cities, chasing their own dreams. But not my Maha. She stayed. She teaches the village children, manages the farms—she stands by my side like a son, yet with the grace and heart of a daughter."

His eyes glistened slightly under the fading sunlight, though he quickly blinked it away. "You know, Kantilal, having a daughter like her is a blessing. I trust her completely. I know she will never break my faith."

Kantilal smiled knowingly. "You love Mahalaxmi dearly. But she is of marriageable age now. Have you thought about that?"

A shadow flickered across Ishwarlal's face. He let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening slightly on the armrest.

"I know," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I know that, one day, she has to leave... that she has to build a life of her own. But the thought of it..." He hesitated, his chest rising and falling with a weight that only a father could understand. "The thought of sending my heart away—it terrifies me."