Stay tuned to our new posts and updates! Click to join us on WhatsApp L&C-Whatsapp & Telegram telegram Channel
L&C-Silhouette Subscribe
The L&C-Silhouette Basket
L&C-Silhouette Basket
A hand-picked basket of cherries from the world of most talked about books and popular posts on creative literature, reviews and interviews, movies and music, critiques and retrospectives ...
to enjoy, ponder, wonder & relish!
Support LnC-Silhouette. Great reading for everyone, supported by readers. SUPPORT


September 22, 2019 | By

A deeply touching story about the inexplicable bond between a father and a daughter.
A Daughter’s Day special story by Ramendra Kumar, this is excerpted from the anthology of 5 stories, titled Different Shades of Eve.

dowry short story

She got up with a start. It was her papa’s voice. He was calling her. She rushed into the bedroom. Her mother was sitting on the bed.

“Mama! Papa called me!”

Her mother looked up. Her hair was open and her eyes red.

“Don’t talk like an idiot, Manasi,” she screamed. “You are not a small child anymore. How many times do I have to tell you, your papa is dead. Haven’t you seen the photographs of his dead body burning on the pyre? He is gone forever. He will never come back.”

Manasi turned without a word and went back to her room. She picked up a framed photograph of her father and kept staring at it……


It was two weeks prior to Manasi’s eleventh birthday. She was lying with her head on her father’s lap, her eyes closed. He was sitting on the bed with her mama beside him. They thought she was sleeping.

Manasi’s father Jaidev Mishra was a tall, broad-shouldered man. He sported a thick, long moustache which he kept twirling whenever he was in a thoughtful mood. He had a booming voice and big, strong hands. Even though he looked tough, at heart he was gentle and sensitive. And one only had to look at his eyes to see the kindness, the warmth which lay behind the rough exterior. Manasi’s mother Chitra, in contrast, was small, petite and sharp tongued. Manasi was scared of her temper.

Manasi had inherited her mother’s elfin charm and her father’s sensitive nature. Her eyes were exactly like Jai’s: large, expressive and full of warmth.

“Jai, I really think you are spoiling Manasi too much,” Chitra told her husband.

“Don’t be silly. I think you have you been reading those agony aunt columns a lot? No one gets spoilt by love. But yes, one only gets destroyed by the lack of it.”

“Whatever you say, your obsession with Manasi is not healthy. I am telling you for your own good?”

“What do you mean, Chitra?” Jai demanded.

“She is eleven. In another 15 years or less she will get married. What is going to happen then? How will you stay without her?”

“I’ve already thought about that. I am going to go with her as part of her dowry. I would be eligible for voluntary retirement by then. I’ll take it and go with her. You know Manasi is going to be either a District Collector or an IPS officer. Well, when she returns from duty I’ll be there waiting for her. I’ll open the door of her car smartly and carry her briefcase inside. I’ll do odd jobs for her. I’ll work as her chauffeur, bodyguard, secretary or assume any other role she wants me to. I’ll happily stay in the outhouse of her bungalow. All I want is to be with my lil’ princess.”

He bent down and kissed Manasi softly on her cheeks.

“Really Jai, you don’t take anything seriously,” Chitra chided.

“But, I am serious. Whether you come with me or not, I’ll go with my Manasi as her dowry,” Jai said gently running his long fingers through his daughter’s soft, silky hair.


An old song from the Hindi film Kabuliwala was being shown on TV. Her papa   had told Manasi the story of the film and she had loved it. The song was one of papa’s favourite ones and he often sang it while putting her to sleep. She always slept with her arms around him. Only when she was fast asleep would he gently disengage himself and go to his bedroom. She looked at the TV screen. A pathan was singing and the words were beautiful:

Aye mere pyaare watan, aye mere bichde chaman
tujh pe dil kurbaan,
tu hi meri aabroo, tu hi meri aarzoo
tu hi meri jaan…
Ma ka dil banke kabhi seene se lag jata hai tu,
aur kabhi nanhi si beti banke yaad ata hai tu…

(Oh! My beloved country, oh! My lost garden,
For you I’ll forsake my heart,
You alone are my dignity, you alone my aspiration,
You are my very being….
Sometimes like a mother’s heart you take me in your embrace
And sometimes like my little girl you haunt me…)

He pulled her close and she glanced up. Tears where streaming down his face. She was surprised, she had never seen him cry. She wanted to ask but she didn’t. Somehow she felt those tears were trying to tell her something which words could never convey.


It was seven. Papa still hadn’t come home. It was her 13th birthday and he had promised to be home by six. A lot of work remained to be done. The party was to begin at eight and the decoration hadn’t even started. That was papa’s responsibility. He enjoyed doing it himself. The cake also had to be collected from the bakery. She didn’t even know what it looked like. It was supposed to be a surprise.

She went up the gate for the umpteenth time and looked out. No sign of him. Just then the telephone rang. She rushed and picked up the receiver. It must be papa. This time he was going to get it from her. She wouldn’t listen to any excuse.

“Papa, do you know what the time is? In less than an hour my friends will start coming…” she started off before Jai could even mumble a hello.

“Manasi, ma, please don’t get angry. I know, I know, I am late. I got stuck in a meeting. My boss is almost as difficult to please as you. Please forgive me, ma. I’ll be there in ten minutes. I’ve already collected the cake. It has come out beautiful. I am talking from the bakery. I thought I’ll talk to my princess while the cake is being packed. I’ll cool her down a bit or she’ll put a curse on me and turn me into a toad,” he laughed his booming laugh which she loved so much.

Paaapa,” she couldn’t help smiling. It was so difficult to be angry with him. Whenever she was furious with him he would call her ma in that special voice of his and she would simply melt.

“By the way have you worn your birthday dress or not?” Jai asked.

“How could I, papa? You seem to be forgetting everything today. What did we decide this morning? I will try out the yellow frock first and then the green and red ghahgra. You will then decide which dress I have to wear for the party.”

“Oh! Oh! I really forgot. But lil’ one does it really matter what you wear. You’ll look like a princess even in tatters.”

“Okay, okay, enough of maska. Come fast, mama is ready to climb walls,” Manasi replaced the receiver.


At 7.30 pm the phone rang again. Chitra picked up the receiver.

Bhabhi, Swaroop Patnaik here. There…there is bad news…” Swaroop Patnaik was Jai’s colleague in his office.

“Wha…what happened?”

“Jai..Jai has had a heart attack. He is in the ICU of Birla Hospital. I have sent the company vehicle. Please come quickly.”


Twenty minutes later they were standing in front of the ICU. Chitra was holding on to Manasi’s hand tightly, tears flowing down her cheeks. Doctors were rushing in and out – a scene Manasi had seen in many TV serials and films. But she could never have imagined that she would ever be a part of one.

The door of the ICU opened and a grave looking doctor came out. He shook his head. Chitra started screaming and collapsed on the floor.


Later they came to know that Jai had suffered a stroke in the car on the way home from the bakery. Swaroop Patnaik, who was with Jai, rushed him to the hospital. In the ICU he had suffered another stroke which had proved fatal.

It had been a shock to everyone. No one could have imagined that such a healthy, jovial and boisterous individual, who never seemed to have a care in the world, would simply cease to exist in a matter of less than an hour.

Manasi had seen everyone around her weeping – her mama, daadi, naani, her buaji, Patnaik Uncle and many others. But she hadn’t cried. However, she had almost stopped speaking. Every day she would go to Jai’s tiny little study and keep staring at his table and his chair for hours together. She would pick up old albums and keep looking at their photographs.

Sometimes she would tell her mother, “Mama, why don’t you make suji halwa today. You know papa likes it so much.”

“Have you stitched the button on papa’s blue blazer, mama? Winter is coming and he will be wearing it. He looks so handsome in that blazer, much smarter than even Shahrukh Khan.”

Chitra tried explaining to her gently. But she just wouldn’t listen.

“No, you are all wrong. Papa is not dead. Papa never goes anywhere without telling me. He might not tell you but he always tells me. He loves me much more than anyone in the world. He is just playing chuppa chuppi with me. He’ll soon come out of hiding and throwing me high in the air shout – ‘See Princess, didn’t I catch you by surprise’ and hug me….”

Manasi even refused to go to school. “I want to be there when papa comes home. If he looks for me and doesn’t find me here he will be disappointed.”


Chitra spoke to Dr. Pradeep Verma, their family physician.

“Just leave her alone for some time, Chitra. She has obviously been affected far more than anyone else. She is still in a state of shock. It is important for her to cry. Once she does that she will gradually get over it.”


A week later Chopra aunty came to invite Chitra to her place. Her daughter Pinky was getting married and she wanted to show Chitra the purchases they had made for the wedding. Chopra aunty’s husband Kuldip Chopra was a businessman and they lived in a palatial house just opposite.

Chitra took Manasi along. Even though she didn’t want to go she didn’t have the energy to resist.

They were led straight into the bedroom where everything was laid out, for inspection on a huge double bed. Saris of every imaginable colour, design and style, jewellery boxes with their contents shining brightly in the light, dresses, accessories…. were all being admired by half a dozen ladies who had gathered for the show.

“Wow, is this the wedding dress?” a fat lady in a blue salwar, whom Manasi hadn’t earlier seen, picked up a bright red coloured sari with a golden aanchal and border. “It is terrific. It must have cost a lot.”

“Ninety two thousand ji,” Chopra aunty said. And you know each and every item has been hand-picked by Pinky’s father. He told me ‘Pinky is our only child. I will give her such an exquisite dowry the whole world will envy’.”

There was a muffled sound and Chitra looked up. Manasi was staring at Chopra aunty, tears flowing down her cheeks. As Chitra reached out she turned and ran back.

Five minutes later when Chitra entered Manasi room she found her lying face down on the bed. Her whole body was shaking. The pillow was wet with tears. In her hand Manasi was clutching a photograph of her father’s body on the funeral pyre.

This story is from the anthology titled DIFFERENT SHADES OF EVE

Shades of eve by Ramendra Kumar

A wife who kills her husband and then jumps into his pyre. A mother whose love for her son moves from the real to the surreal. A daughter who refuses to accept her father’s death. A mother who sublimates her angst to resurrect herself and husband. And finally a woman who performs a symphony of unbridled lust….

Five women. Five Tales. Varying shades of fear, rage, grief, love and lust.

Different Shades of Eve is a compelling read which highlights 5 women who are   brave and audacious mavericks, unapologetic about the choices they make and unafraid of the consequences they may face.

More Stories by Ramendra Kumar

My Hero – Father’s Day Special

Merry Christmas, Steve!

‘Happy Diwali, Bauji!’

A Father And A Patriot  


Ramendra Kumar (Ramen) is an award-winning writer, performance storyteller and inspirational speaker with 49 books. His writings have been translated into 32 languages and included in 26 textbooks and many anthologies in various countries. Ramen has written across all genres ranging from picture books to adult fiction, satire, poetry, travelogues, biographies and on issues related to parenting and relationships. His writings have been published by the major publishing houses in India. His books brought out by National Book Trust (NBT), India have notched up sales of more than 4.9 lakh copies in just one year. Ramen has been invited to several international literary festivals as well as Indian events such as Jaipur Litfest and seminars organised by Sahitya Akademi and IGNOU. The author has won a total of 41 awards in the competition for writers of children’s literature organised by Children’s Book Trust (CBT) over the years, which is among the highest by any writer. Ramen was chosen as the ‘Author and Storyteller of the Year’ (2022), on ‘Talking Stories’, London, UK’s number one Radio Programme dedicated to the art of storytelling. He was nominated as a Jury Member for the Best Children’s Author Category of The Times of India’s ‘Women AutHer’ Awards, 2020. Ramen was also selected as a mentor for the Scholastic Writers Academy. An alumnus of the prestigious Hyderabad Public School (HPS), Ramen is an Engineer & an MBA. He and his inspiration, his wife Madhavi, were General Managers at SAIL, when they took Voluntary Retirement to pursue their respective passions. Their children are bonsai celebrities in their own right. While Ankita is a youth icon and a travel blogger with an Instagram following of 296 K, Aniket creates cool Apps and designs covers for his dad’s books. Ramen is now a Cancer warrior and an inspiration to many. His website is and he has a page devoted to him on Wikipedia.
All Posts of Ramendra Kumar

Hope you enjoyed reading...

... we have a small favour to ask. More people are reading and supporting our creative, informative and analytical posts than ever before. And yes, we are firmly set on the path we chose when we started... our twin magazines Learning and Creativity and Silhouette Magazine (LnC-Silhouette) will be accessible to all, across the world.

We are editorially independent, not funded, supported or influenced by investors or agencies. We try to keep our content easily readable in an undisturbed interface, not swamped by advertisements and pop-ups. Our mission is to provide a platform you can call your own creative outlet and everyone from renowned authors and critics to budding bloggers, artists, teen writers and kids love to build their own space here and share with the world.

When readers like you contribute, big or small, it goes directly into funding our initiative. Your support helps us to keep striving towards making our content better. And yes, we need to build on this year after year. Support LnC-Silhouette with a little amount - and it only takes a minute. Thank you

Support LnC-Silhouette

Creative Writing

Got a poem, story, musing or painting you would like to share with the world? Send your creative writings and expressions to

Learning and Creativity publishes articles, stories, poems, reviews, and other literary works, artworks, photographs and other publishable material contributed by writers, artists and photographers as a friendly gesture. The opinions shared by the writers, artists and photographers are their personal opinion and does not reflect the opinion of Learning and Creativity- emagazine. Images used in the posts (not including those from Learning and Creativity's own photo archives) have been procured from the contributors themselves, public forums, social networking sites, publicity releases, free photo sites such as Pixabay, Pexels, Morguefile, etc and Wikimedia Creative Commons. Please inform us if any of the images used here are copyrighted, we will pull those images down.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Today’s Motivation

<div class=at-above-post addthis_tool data-url=></div>The word Culture comes from Latin cultura amini' which means cultivation of the soul, and thus Jawaharlal Nehru said Culture is the widening of the mind and of the spirit<!-- AddThis Advanced Settings above via filter on get_the_excerpt --><!-- AddThis Advanced Settings below via filter on get_the_excerpt --><!-- AddThis Advanced Settings generic via filter on get_the_excerpt --><!-- AddThis Share Buttons above via filter on get_the_excerpt --><!-- AddThis Share Buttons below via filter on get_the_excerpt --><div class=at-below-post addthis_tool data-url=></div><!-- AddThis Share Buttons generic via filter on get_the_excerpt -->
The word Culture comes from Latin "cultura amini' which means cultivation of the soul, and thus Jawaharlal Nehru said "Culture is the widening of the mind and of the spirit"