The Hidden Blessing of a Father's Sacrifice A Story of Love, Pain, and Understanding | Tamil Story

 

 

Description:  A heartfelt story about a son’s evolving relationship with his father, filled with painful memories, sacrifice, and emotional growth. Despite a difficult past and his father’s struggles, the son uncovers the depth of his father's love and the sacrifice that shaped his life.

The Hidden Blessing of a Father's Sacrifice A Story of Love, Pain, and Understanding Story Line

Dirty clothes and father Father had been drinking heavily and I didn't know what to say to my father who was drunk on the way home. 

It was normal for my father to drink. No matter how much he drank, I don't remember him losing his temper or swearing at anyone. 

But I don't like people who come home drunk, even if it's my father. I thought of telling him not to come to my house if he's drinking in the morning. 

Then I thought that those words might hurt him too much, so I left it as it was. Murugan and Kuzhali were buying the achhu murukku and banankizhanga that my grandfather had bought and were giving him a few kisses in return. 

No matter how many times I fought with my mother, my wife never spoke disrespectfully or harshly to my father. That was always a strange secret to me. 

Even if I spoke harshly to him, he would immediately give him a cup of tea and show his support by saying, "I am here." "Don't drink too much, uncle."  

Tamara had started her conversation with her father by saying, "We hope you will be fine with your grandchildren for a long time to come." 

Their conversation would continue until the evening. Since childhood, I have disliked my father. 

There were many reasons for that. One was that he was poor. Another was that he owned a vegetable shop. 

I think the reason I disliked him was the shame and inferiority complex I had at school and in college, when I told my friends that I was the son of a vegetable shopkeeper. 

He spent most of his time in the shop. His shop was in the vegetable market that was located behind the bus stand. 

When I was a child, he would force me to go to the shop during the holidays. If he didn't give me any hard work, he would even make me sit in the stable. 

I was convinced that my father was the reason why I had lost many of my playing days, counting the money that was coming and giving the change. 

Many times, sitting in the shop during cricket matches gave me a prison-like mood. So I had started to hate him intensely. 

I couldn't figure out where my hatred started without knowing his face, his actions and me. Even though there were two people working in his shop, he would often unload the packages from the lorry himself. 

 I would find that scene very annoying and disgusting. There was another very important reason why I hated my father, and that was his clothes. 

Father always wore dirty, rough clothes. He would even come to pay school fees and to sign in college in the same dirty clothes. 

Sometimes, when he would come to me in his white dhoti that had turned into a lacquer color, it would be embarrassing and even angering. 

Once during my college days, when I was walking with him like that, a group of female classmates came up to me. 

 I had to walk around in a hidden way to avoid their eyes. However, one of them noticed me and teased me, "What kind of sun are you walking with your father?" It was embarrassing. 

When I came to my mother and said, "Oh, father, you never understand anyone. Do you think I am jealous of such a person as a son?" my mother did not say anything. 

I moved away, realizing from my mother's eyes that my mother did not like anyone to criticize my father, even if it was a son. 

My mother never said anything bad about my father. She only complained about his drinking. I do not remember her expressing any negative feelings towards him. 

When I returned home from the office in the evening, my father was lying in his room. Kuzali was sitting next to her father and listening to some story. 

Usually, her father comes in the morning and leaves in the evening. The village is thirty kilometers away from the city where we live. 

Coming here is something that my father and mother and I are used to. Today, unlike usual, he was here, and on one hand, it was annoying. 

I started looking for Murugan, gritting my teeth, wondering if this man was still alive. Where is Tamara? I told my wife not to let him out at dusk. 

He must have gone to the doctor. I sent him to get some pills because my uncle had a stomachache, Tamara said. 

Yes, tell him to drink it in the morning, the stomachache won't go away. 

I groaned, wondering why he was bothering us. Probably in Tamara It must have fallen into her ear from the way she pressed the vessel in her hand down. 

I forgot about my father in the next hour spent watching TV. When I looked back into the room, I could see that my father was suffering from pain. 

Even if he didn't show it much, he seemed to be moaning softly, so I went inside and said, "If it hurts too much, you can go to the hospital." 

He also got up and started to tuck his shirt in. 

The fact that he left without saying anything else made me realize that he was in a lot of pain. I started the car. 

It was past nine at night when I went to the nearest hospital and waited to see the doctor. The doctor called me back in after doing some tests. 

Since he was a very young doctor, he spoke to me in a friendly manner. It seems to be some kind of urinary allergy, sir. 

It's a kidney, and problems like this often occur. The doctor said it would be better if we stayed here tonight and watched. 

I said, "Okay, sir," and put my father in the bedroom the nurse showed me, and called Tamarai. I was a little confused when the doctor said it was a kidney. 

In the next ten minutes, Tamarai was standing at the hospital door. 

Tamarai generally doesn't like going to the hospital. 

She never comes if her relatives or friends are in the hospital. She says that the smell of some kind of mixed medicine in hospitals makes her nauseous. 

She often tells me that she won't be able to eat for the next two or three days. 

But as soon as she heard that my father was unwell, it seemed to me that she came running. 

My father was now sitting on the bed as I took her inside, cursing in my heart, "What is this drunkard man so concerned about?" I thought to myself, "What did the doctor say?" She went to sit next to my father and started the conversation that had probably been interrupted at home. 

At ten o'clock, my brother had come to the hospital with my mother. 

It was probably Thamarai who had told her mother. 

My mother went straight to my father and sat on his bed. 

Did you drink a lot this morning? Why do you have a stomach ache in the afternoon? Did you eat anything? What did the doctor say? I glared at my mother, who was asking questions like a CBI officer, asking whether they had given me an injection or prescribed me pills. 

When my mother started saying that I should take Thamarai and go to bed and come back in the morning, I looked at Thamarai as if I had been waiting for that. She also got ready to leave. 

Murugan was standing near the fish tank kept in the hospital, watching the fish. I called him home so that he could leave. 

Father, I have been asking for Black Tiger Thamarai here. When will you buy it, Grandpa? He said he would go to the bank. He said when will he come home. 

Once in the middle of the night, Tamarai was talking to her mother on the phone. 

When we finished talking, I asked her how she was. She said that she was not in any pain now, and that her uncle was sleeping soundly, and she lay down with a sigh. 

I woke up a little early in the morning and went to the hospital. Only the sun's rays were freely falling on the street in the early morning, where there was not much traffic. 

An old man in dirty clothes, who was riding a bicycle and coming into the street where he lived, was standing at the intersection of the road, tying a bag of water. 

As I entered the hospital and walked in front of the room where my father was admitted, my father's voice came to my ears. 

No, Mari, you shouldn't tell him that until the end because it will be a big mistake and he will be scared unnecessarily. 

He has never had any kidney problems so far. Maybe if he finds out about this operation now, he will be heartbroken. 

I told him that he shouldn't think that we have something wrong with him. 

We have forgotten this matter for so long. 

Now I'm going to tell him that he is shocked. 

Otherwise, he will have no affection for you. 

Let that fear know at least now that you have shown affection for that fear. 

I know the pain you went through when you gave your kidney to that fear. 

What does this fear know about the tears you cried when you went to the doctor and said, "Nothing will happen to the baby, sir?" This fear grew and flourished because you, the bastard, had told me not to tell anyone, and my mother was beginning to believe that I had been patient for so long, adhering to the truth that I had told you not to tell. 

When I realized the central point of this conversation, the doctor said that I had a single kidney.I didn't have the money. I had started to feel strange feelings about my father. 

I remembered the series of tests and medications I had taken up until my school days. Darkness had begun to envelop me that early morning. 

The hospital building below me seemed to collapse in a moment. 

I felt like crying and was afraid that I would cry out loud. 

I slowly moved away from there and came out. 

When I quickly took the car and went home, Tamarai was getting the children ready for school. 

Tamarai looked at my face. 

How are you, uncle? The doctor said that there was nothing to be afraid of. 

Aunty said that we can take them home this afternoon. 

I remained silent. Then Muruga looked at Muruga and said, "Let's take a leave today, Grandpa is also in the hospital.

" Then, when I said, "You go and buy Black Tiger too," Muruga looked at me strangely. 

When we entered the hospital again and went to Dad, someone had been written on the wall saying, "This is a good shepherd." I thought he was standing below. 

The young doctor advised Dad, "Stop drinking, big guy," and told us to go downstairs to pay. 

Dad stood up from the bed. Dad stumbled a little as he tapped a medicine bottle placed below on his leg. 

I hugged Dad with my arms and held him. 

I said, "Slow down, Dad," and bent down. 

Dad saw the tears flowing from my eyes. "Oh, sir, the doctor said it was nothing," he said, crying like a little child, "Tell me, Mari." "Why, father?" Murugan shouted. 

That word began to ring in my ears like the most noble words uttered in the world. I found my father, who had been hidden for so long by dirty clothes and vegetable baskets. 

I was holding his withered hands a little tighter. 

In those moments, I began to believe that a very essential part of my father's body was implanted in me as the greatest blessing of my life. 

Leaving aside the good shepherds who walk before our eyes, carrying many stories of sacrifice that we cannot know. It seemed that we ourselves often go inside the temples and wander in search of God. 

Before I knew it, the world revolved around the single kidney given to me by my father. I had already arrived home.