If you could instantly master any skill, what would it be and why?
Vimla stared at the flickering flame of the gas stove as her daughter-in-law prepared dinner. Her son had married only a few months ago. Meera was her name. Young, graceful, and beautiful, she reminded Vimla of her own early days as a bride.
For years, her son had been devoted to her. He had always listened to her, always sought her approval. A perfect mama’s boy.
But now, a quiet insecurity had begun to creep into her heart.
Will this beautiful young woman take my son away from me?
The thought lingered like a shadow.
She watched Meera with a mixture of envy and suspicion. Yet Vimla was not the sort of woman who shouted, argued, or created scenes to get her way. Confrontation had never been her weapon. She preferred subtler methods.
So how was she supposed to protect her son from the enchantress who had entered her home?
Lost in thought, Vimla continued to stare at the dancing flame, her mind already weaving plans she had not yet dared to name.
Just then, Ravi entered the house. He looked at Meera and smiled. Vimla noticed the sparkle in her son’s eyes, and her jealousy instantly hardened into resentment toward her daughter-in-law.
The family sat down for dinner together, including Kamal, Vimla’s husband. While Ravi ran a small grocery store, Kamal was a farmer. Unlike his son, he was stern and serious. He spoke little, yet carried an unspoken authority. Rarely did he interfere in household matters.
After dinner, everyone retired for the night except Meera, who stayed behind to clean the kitchen. Just as she was about to leave for her room, Vimla stopped her and asked her to chop jackfruit for pickle preparation.
“But it’s too late,” Meera replied hesitantly.
Vimla dismissed her concern. “We will have a lot of work tomorrow. It’s better if you finish the preparations tonight.”
That was the beginning of the endless stream of chores that Vimla gradually pushed onto Meera. In time, Meera realized that many of these tasks were unnecessary and existed only to keep her occupied. Yet she continued to do them without complaint.
Whenever she spoke to Ravi about it, he would simply say, “My mother has been doing all this for years and never complained.”
As time passed, Ravi began to grow distant from Meera because of her constant complaints. Whenever she tried to tell him about the endless chores and unfair treatment, he would dismiss her concerns as exaggeration. Kamal, her father-in-law, remained mostly silent, rarely speaking unless absolutely necessary.
Meanwhile, Vimla started taking increasing advantage of the situation. What had begun as a desperate attempt to hold on to her son’s attention had slowly transformed into something else. For the first time in her life, she enjoyed having power over someone.
For years, she had spent her days carrying out household chores under the strict supervision of her own mother-in-law. Her husband, who now barely spoke, had once been quick to lose his temper over the smallest mistakes—even a little less salt in the curry could provoke his anger. Back then, she had lived constantly on edge, trying to please everyone.
Now, the tables had turned.
Her in-laws were gone, her husband kept to himself, and her son would never dare oppose her. At last, she ruled the household like a queen.
One evening during dinner, Vimla announced that she was organizing a puja at home and had invited all her relatives.
“They’ll be staying for three or four days,” she said casually. “About ten or fifteen people.”
Ravi hesitated before speaking.
“But Mother, Meera hasn’t been feeling well lately. How will she manage so many guests?”
For the first time in a long while, Kamal joined the conversation.
“Let’s hire a cook,” he suggested. “He can handle the food.”
Meera felt a wave of relief wash over her.
But Vimla immediately shook her head.
“We can’t hire a cook for a puja,” she said firmly. “Who knows how they prepare the food? If she can’t cook, then I’ll do it myself. After all, I’ve been doing everything in this house for years.”
As she spoke, her eyes filled with tears.
The effect was immediate.
Ravi, who had seemed sympathetic only moments ago, suddenly turned toward Meera with irritation.
“She’ll prepare the food,” he snapped. “She’s not a baby. She can handle a little fever. I’ll give her some medicine.”
Kamal glanced at the three of them and quietly turned away. Deciding that the matter no longer concerned him, he chose not to interfere.
A few days before the puja, Meera collapsed while working. She had been ignoring her worsening health for weeks, pushing herself through exhaustion and fever. Alarmed, the family rushed her to the hospital.
After examining her, the doctors delivered a stern warning.
“She is seriously unwell and needs complete bed rest,” they said. “If she continues like this, her condition could become much worse.”
By then, Meera’s parents had arrived at the hospital. Surrounded by people who genuinely cared for her, Meera finally found the courage to speak the truth. Through tears, she revealed the endless chores, the constant pressure, and the neglect she had endured since her marriage.
Her parents listened in stunned silence.
Disgusted by the treatment their daughter had received, they decided to take her home with them until she recovered.
Ravi and Kamal returned home humiliated.
For the first time in years, Kamal’s silence shattered.
In a fit of anger, he kicked a chair aside and turned toward Vimla.
“Go prepare my food!” he thundered. “And remember, the relatives will start arriving tomorrow. Make all the arrangements yourself.”
Vimla stared at him in disbelief.
Kamal’s eyes burned with fury.
“If I am humiliated one more time because of this household, I will throw you out as well.”
The room fell silent.
Ravi, who had recently roared like a lion at his sick wife, suddenly became the timid mama’s boy he had always been. He lowered his gaze and said nothing.
For the first time, Vimla felt truly afraid.
Without a word, she walked into the kitchen.
There, rows of utensils awaited washing. Vegetables needed chopping. Grains needed sorting. Spices had to be ground. Beds had to be prepared for the arriving guests. The endless list of tasks stretched before her like a punishment.
As she stood alone in the kitchen, trembling, Vimla realized a bitter truth.
The mountain of chores she had spent months creating for Meera now belonged entirely to her.
Thanks for reading!
