When Money Breaks a Bond: Chapala’s Quiet Sacrifice
Recently, my friend didn’t even seem to remember to return the money. God alone knows how many ways he had collected money — for her. When he gave it, it was meant to help a friend’s work. Now he himself had taken the money, and sadness overwhelmed him. He wiped his eyes, drooping with tears.
Who was he talking to?
The black hair curled softly on the body of the fair-skinned Chapala, who now found herself standing at the crossroads of friendship and regret. The very friend — Avinash — for whom so much had been sacrificed, now stood against her like a stranger.
Money is a dangerous thing.
It builds.
It breaks.
It reveals.
Had it loosened a little, even a great man’s reputation could have been shaken. But slippers? Can they bear that weight? How could Avinash, of all people, be this way? Even if he had needed the money desperately, would he not understand that returning it mattered?
There was no business at that time. The money that was lent to him was sinking like a stone in Shivaji’s trading pit. Times were different then. Now, things had changed for Avinash.
His progress was visible — as brilliant as the carvings of Konark Temple.
The bank loans were repaid.
He’d sold one truck but bought two more.
The maid who had once left had returned.
The old office was demolished, and a better one stood in its place.
His daughter had a good home, a good husband.
Then what sadness could possibly remain, that the money taken could not be returned — happily?
But how could Chapala have asked for it? In a hurry, for slippers? That would have been too low.
Sang Sina is now a millionaire. Chapala's family? Barely surviving.
Yet, Avinash and his family come smiling, bringing sweets by the kilo, fruits, Horlicks... binding her household with friendly gestures. Not once did Avinash ask,
"Where did you get the money from?"
"Did you sell jewellery? Take interest loans? Break an FD or insurance policy?"
No such concern.
He comes.
He eats.
He laughs.
And leaves.
The whole family is fond of him. He's friends with Chapala, with her husband. But what if he had known the truth — that the money came from sacrifices?
The son hasn’t secured a job in a government bank. He’ll have to take up work in a private one. The husband’s job is unstable, and there's no pension. The daughter is still in high school. There are sick relatives at home. The house is just a short walk from the hospital.
Avinash, on the other hand, has taken his mother-in-law to the doctor in his car.
“At that time,” Chapala thought, “did he even once remember to return the money?”
She never asked for interest. She just wanted the principal. But even that seemed like a weight Avinash refused to carry. Pride swelled in Chapala’s throat. She couldn’t think clearly.
Her son was insistent:
“Let me study. I’ll get a job and repay the loan later.”
They couldn’t sell the land. There were too many financial holes. No fixed deposits left in the bank. Wherever she wiped the dust in her house, she'd already taken a loan against it — just to help Avinash.
She remembered telling him:
“What is the use of me watching you struggle for money when I’m here? Take it.”
How could a friend who accepted the money — even with a written agreement — become so cold and unfeeling?
What did five lakhs mean to him now? To her, it meant survival.
She had no money notes to flaunt, no grand success to share.
Yet the success of others now burned her eyes.
The friend — Avinash.
How could he bear Chapala's happiness?
Tears started flowing from her eyes. She whispered a prayer:
“May God keep him well. May my eyes never cast a curse on him.”
Covering her head, she bowed before Thakur and returned home.
Her husband saw her swollen face.
“Did you go to give the Sanj? Who said something that made you cry so much?”
Chapala said nothing. She quietly entered the kitchen. Sanj had already passed. There was no tea ready.
As she looked around for the tea utensils, her eyes caught a slab — with hot jilapi resting on it. Her favorite.
Her husband came out and asked:
“Jilapi? Who brought it?”
“Your friend. Avinash.”
He continued cheerfully,
“He got his son admitted into electrical trade — with a concession. He came over after paying twelve lakhs for the admission. Chapala! You never told me you gave him money for his son! You’re unbelievable! You’re like Mahalakshmi in our house — always giving. The boy doesn’t even feel like touching the ground anymore. They were both here. You came late — you missed them!”
Tears once again trickled down Chapala’s cheeks.
This time, they were silent.
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