The Labourer Woman 3

The Labourer Woman - 3

(For new readers I would request you to preferably read the first two chapters of this series available in this online platform, for better comprehension of the story so far. Otherwise you can read this as a standalone story also.

Just a recap of the vital statistics of the main characters. 

Me, the protagonist, is a Corporate Manager in a tier-2 city. Bachelor. Age 42 years. Height 5’3” and weight 64 kilos. 

Shanti, a labourer, Age 42 years. Height 5’10” and weighs 85 kilos.)

(Continued from 

The Labourer Woman- 2)

She shifted me higher in her arms, one hand secure behind my back, the other firm beneath my knees. Her bangles jingled as she swayed me gently toward the dining table.

“Chaliye babu, abhi toh dinner ka waqt hai. Aur maine jo bola tha, usse wapas nahi loongi. Aaj ke liye aap meri godi ke mehmaan ho,”she said in a singsong tone. "Right now, it’s time for dinner. And I won’t take back what I said. So for today, you are the guest in my lap.”

“Arre, Shanti, yeh kya bachpana hai… main khud baith kar kha loonga.” I shook my head, mumbling, “What kind of childishness is this? I'll sit down and eat by myself.

“Bachpana? Aap toh waise hi school ke bacche jaise lagte ho mere paas. Khud ko dekha hai? Aadhe se bhi chhote dikhte ho mere haathon mein.” She gave a little laugh, rocking me once as though I were weightless. “Childishness? To me, you look just like a schoolkid anyway. Have you even looked at yourself? You look less than half my size in my arms.” She tapped her forehead lightly against mine, her eyes twinkling. “Aur jab aap nakhre karte ho na, toh aur bhi pyare lagte ho.” “And when you throw a tantrum, you look even cuter.”

I turned my face away, embarrassed, but she only hugged me closer.

At the table, she pulled out a chair with her foot and sat down gracefully, never letting me touch the ground. Settling me across her lap, she adjusted me with practiced ease—my back resting against her chest, her left arm a solid cradle around me, her right hand free to serve.

She served my plate with quick motions, then picked up the spoon. "Now open your mouth, Babu," she teased softly. "You are a man, aren't you? Yet here you are today, being fed in the lap of a woman your own age. How does it feel?”

I stammered, “Little strange…obviously”

She chuckled, scooping up a bit of dal and rice. “Strange? For me, it brings such peace. After working all day... It feels just like I'm holding a little child of my own in my lap. And besides..." She nudged the spoon toward my lips, coaxing gently. "...you are now a captive on your maid’s lap, after all. Whatever I say, you simply have to obey.”

 She grinned, humming softly as though rocking a child. I finally opened my mouth, letting her feed me. “Bas dekh lo, babu… aap apni marzi se chal bhi nahi rahe ho. Main agar chaahoon toh raat bhar aise hi godi mein ghuma sakti hoon. Aur aap kuchh kar bhi nahi paoge.” Between bites, she teased in her sing-song voice: "Just look at this, Babu... you can't even walk of your own free will. If I wanted to, I could carry you around in my arms like this all night long. And there wouldn't be a single thing you could do about it.”

But there was no edge in her tone now—only playful affection, her laughter spilling like music into the little flat.

And as the meal went on, I felt myself softening, surrendering—not just because I had no choice, but because her arms felt safe, steady, and impossibly warm.

When the last spoonful was gone, she wiped my lips with the edge of her pallu, just like a mother would. I squirmed, whispering, ”Oh, Shanti, please don't do this…”

But she only smiled wider. “Bas abhi toh shuru kiya hai, Babu. We’ve only just begun. Do you think a baby only needs to be burped after dinner? No—tonight, I'll also make you burp on my chest.”

Before I could protest, she slid one strong arm beneath my thighs and the other around my back, hoisting me up again with that effortless strength that always made my stomach flutter. She carried me into the living room and plopped herself on the sofa, settling me across her lap.

Then, to my horror, she shifted me forward against her chest, draping me over her shoulder exactly like a baby. My feet dangled uselessly, brushing against her sari pleats.

“Shanti, what are you doing—”

“Hush, babu, Chup-chaap rehne ka abhi. Pet mein hawa jam gayi toh takleef hogi,” she said, patting my back in slow, firm rhythms. "Stay quiet for now. If air gets trapped in your stomach, it will cause you discomfort.”

And with that she began rocking me gently side to side, her hand pat-pat-patting my back, her bangles clinking softly. I buried my face against her warm shoulder, my ears burning.

She teased in a low murmur, almost singing:

“Arre wah… apni umar ka aadmi bhi abhi meri godi mein chhup raha hai. Kya scene hai babu… agar gaon mein hota na toh sab kahte—‘Shanti apne bacche ko shaam ki hawa khilane leke ja rahi hai.’” 

"Oh, wow… even a man my own age is practically hiding in my lap right now. What a scene, Babu… if we were back in the village, everyone would be saying—'Shanti is taking her child out for some evening air.'”

I groaned, “Shanti, let me go… please…”

“Accha? Aap toh kehte the aap mard ho. Toh abhi kahan gaya woh mardangi?” She only laughed, her deep chuckle rumbling against me. “Well? You said you were a man. So where has your masculinity gone now? Right now, you are sitting on my lap hiding your face on my shoulder like a little boy.”

Her teasing was merciless, but her hands were so steady, so soothing, that after a few minutes the humiliation melted into something else—an odd, unexpected comfort. My eyelids grew heavy, my cheek pressed against her damp blouse, the faint scent of soap and her sweat clinging to her.

“Dekha babu? Kitna chain milta hai aise… mujhe bhi, aur aapko bhi,” she whispered, her palm still patting my back lightly. “How comforting it is like this... for me, and for you too.”

At first I thought she was just joking, patting me like that. But then, to my absolute horror, a small sound escaped my throat—an awkward little burp that made me stiffen in her arms.

Shanti froze for half a second and then broke into a delighted laugh. “Arre wah, babu! Sach-much ho gaya? Abhi toh maine bas do hi thapki diye the.” “Oh, how nice, Babu! Did it really happen? I had only given two little pats!”

“Shanti!” I groaned, trying to lift my head. “Stop it—let me get off right now.”

“Nahi babu, abhi toh shuruat hai. Tumhara pet mein abhi aur hawa atka hoga. Chalo… nikalo sab.” But she only held me tighter against her shoulder, one large palm spread firm over my back. "No, Babu, this is just the beginning. There must still be more air trapped inside your stomach. Come on... let it all out.” 

She began patting again, deliberately slow, deliberately loud—dhap-dhap-dhap—her bangles clinking like music.

Within another minute, to my utter humiliation, a second burp escaped. Louder this time.

Shanti gasped dramatically, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oho! Dekha? Kitna bada baccha ho tum. Pehle toh keh rahe ki main tumhe zyada der godi mein nahi rakh sakti… abhi dekho, main toh tumhara ‘burping session’ bhi kar rahi hoon apni godi mein!” "Oho! See that? What a big baby you are! At first, you were saying that I couldn't hold you in my lap for very long... but look now—I'm even doing your 'burping session' right here in my lap!”

“Bas, Shanti, please… mujhe sharam aa rahi hai.” I hid my face inside her long soft neck, my ears burning. "That's enough, Shanti—please... I'm getting embarrassed.”

“Sharam kaisi, babu? Yeh toh sehat ke liye accha hai. Tumhe lagta hai tum mard ho toh tumhe pet ki hawa nahi nikalni padti?” She rocked me gently, her voice softening but still playful. “Why the shame, Babu? It’s actually good for your health. Just because you think you’re a man, do you imagine you don’t have to pass the wind?

And as if to prove her point, the third one slipped out—sharp, loud, undeniable.

“Arre wah! Teen–teen baar! Ab toh pakka tum ek baccha jaisa lag rahe ho meri godi mein. Bas tumhare haath mein ek chhota sa dudh ka bottle hota toh picture complete ho jaata.” Shanti laughed so hard the whole sofa shook. "Oh, wow! Three times over! Now you definitely look just like a baby on my lap. If only you had a little milk bottle in your hand, the picture would be complete.”

“Ab bolo babu… tum mard ho, ya mera chhota baccha?” She tilted me back slightly in her arms, looking straight into my flustered face, her grin wide and teasing. “Now tell me, Babu.. are you a man, or my little child?”

I couldn’t answer. My throat felt dry, my pride shredded, but deep inside—beneath the sting of embarrassment—there was also that strange, disarming comfort of being held, rocked, teased, and yet cared for.

Her lap was surprisingly soft against the back of my head, her arm curved like a cradle around my chest, steady and warm. I felt ridiculous lying there like that, yet when I tried to shift, her hold instinctively tightened—not possessive, just protective, like she was afraid the moment might break too soon.

She bent her face over mine, a few damp strands of her hair slipping loose from her bun, and gave me that quiet, almost shy smile. “Bura mat manna, Babu…Aap bolenge toh main abhi aapko chhod dungi,” she murmured, her thumb brushing absently across my lips. “Don't feel bad, Babu. If you say, I will let you free right now.”

“Lekin sach kahoon toh… mujhe achha lag raha hai. Bohot dinon baad ghar jaisa mehsoos ho raha hai. Ghar ke andar ek apna sa aadmi godi mein leke baithna… itna sukoon hai.” Her eyes softened, voice lowering. "But to tell you the truth... I feel so good. After such a long time, it feels like home. Sitting inside my home holding my own man on my lap... it is so peaceful

.”

My throat caught. I wasn’t used to hearing such raw honesty from her—always teasing, always bold. Now she looked almost vulnerable, waiting for my answer, her smile faltering with hesitation.

“Can I keep holding you for some more time?” she asked finally, her voice trembling on that last word. “Main aapse pooch rahi hoon, Babu… aapki permission hai?” “I am asking you, Babu…do I have your permission ?”

Her bangles jingled faintly as she adjusted me higher, her palm cradling the back of my head. The whole room seemed to shrink into just that question—her dusky face bent over me, her sari brushing my cheek, the steady rise and fall of her breath against my chest.

My lips parted as if to protest, but the sound never came. Instead, I gave a faint, helpless nod against her arm. That small surrender was enough—my silence said more than words could.

Shanti’s smile bloomed instantly, softer than I’d ever seen it. Relief and delight mingled in her face as though I had just handed her something precious. She pulled me closer against her chest, rocking me gently as if to say, good boy.

“Bas,” she whispered, her breath stirring my hair. "Now that I have you on my lap with your permission... I will keep you as long as I want.”

Her bangles chimed as she shifted her grip, one hand supporting my back, the other rubbing my arm in slow, soothing circles. She tilted her head back with a sigh, eyes closing for a moment as though simply holding me had taken a weight off her shoulders.

Then she lowered her gaze again, teasing returning to her tone though her eyes still glistened with tenderness. “Dekha Babu? Aap toh apni marzi ke maalik lagte ho…You seem like a man who lives entirely by his own rules... yet right now, you are cradled like a child in the lap of a woman your own age. What would people think if they saw you like this?”

She chuckled, and before I could even frown in protest, she pressed my head gently into the curve of her neck. “Never mind—I'll tell you what I'm thinking. I’ve found a home for myself — and my little man for my lap.”

She kissed the top of my hair lightly, almost motherly, then rocked me again. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the fan and the slow rhythm of her body moving mine.

I shifted a little in her lap, embarrassed at how comfortable it felt to be stretched out like a child across her folded legs. My head rested against the firm rise of her thigh, one of her hands stroking my arm absent-mindedly as if I had always belonged there. Gathering courage, I cleared my throat.

“Shanti…Starting tomorrow, I will be going to office in the morning. I’ll definitely be back by evening. But during lunchtime, there is only a half-hour break. I’ll come home then—tumhare haath ka khana khane, to eat the food you’ve cooked for me.”

Her fingers paused, then continued stroking. She tilted her head, listening with a quiet smile.

I continued, "Do your work during the day... and spend the rest of the time relaxing. Watch TV, sit out on the balcony... whatever you feel like doing. If you need anything at all—whether for cooking or anything else—I’ll take you to the market with me after I get back in the evening.”

Her eyes widened slightly, disbelief flickering there, as though no one had thought of her comfort in years.

Leaning in a little closer, I said, “I’ll leave some money with you for emergencies. And… I have a spare mobile phone. It even has a SIM card inserted. You keep it. If you ever need to talk to me while I’m at the office, just give me a call.”

I hesitated, watching her face. “And yes, if you need to call your village to let them know that you're safe... do it right now. It will put their minds at ease.”

For a second, she froze. Her lips parted. Then her whole face lit up with a happiness so raw, so sudden, that I thought she might start jumping with me in her arms. She bent forward as though to kiss my forehead—stopped halfway, cheeks burning—and instead clutched me closer to her chest.

“Babu…” her voice cracked. “Main soch bhi nahi sakti thi… koi mere liye itna sochega.” “I couldn't even imagine... that someone would care so much about me.”

Her breath was warm in my hair. I could feel the quick beat of her heart beneath her blouse.

Still holding me in her cradle, she fumbled for the phone I held out. Her long, work-rough fingers tapped the keypad clumsily. She brought it to her ear, shifting me slightly so that my cheek pressed into the curve of her neck.

When the call connected, her voice trembled. "Ma? It’s Shanti speaking... Yes, yes, I’m doing just fine. I’ve found a good place... food, and a place to sleep, too. You need not worry anymore.”

Her mother’s voice, faint but sharp with relief, spilled through the tiny speaker. Shanti’s lips quivered into a smile, and tears glistened in her eyes. She kept glancing down at me while speaking, as though I was part of the miracle she was describing.

“Haan, Ma… ek sahib hain, bade dayalu. Mujhe apne ghar rakha hai. Mujhe bilkul apne jaisa sambhaal rahe hain.” “There is a gentleman—a very kind-hearted man. He has taken me into his home and looks after me as if I'm part of his family.”

At that line, her arms instinctively tightened around me. Her palm cupped the back of my head protectively, and I felt her cheek brush against my hair.

By the time she ended the call, she was laughing softly through her tears. She kissed the phone in gratitude, then hugged it to her chest. And then, without realizing, hugged me tighter too, rocking me gently as if she couldn’t tell the difference between the two.

She whispered, “Babu… main aapko kabhi akela nahi chhodungi. Aaj lagta hai ki mujhe phir se zindagi mil gayi.” “Babu... I will never leave you alone. Today, I feel as though I have found my life once again.”

Her words vibrated against my ear, warm and heavy.

Shanti still hadn’t put the phone down on the side table. It lay forgotten on the cushion beside her while she rocked me slowly, her arms snug around my body as though she feared I might slip away if she loosened her hold even a little.

The room was quiet—only the ceiling fan creaking faintly overhead, and the occasional honk from the street outside. But inside her embrace, I felt hushed, insulated, like a cocoon.

Her palm rubbed circles on my back. Sometimes her chin came down to rest on the top of my head, sometimes it lifted as though she was silently thanking the heavens. I could feel her breath in my hair—uneven, a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and a happiness so new she didn’t know how to contain it.

“Babu…” her voice was thick, almost breaking. “Aapko pata hai… main kitni raat sadak pe sone ke baad yeh sapna bhi nahi sochti thi ki ek din kisi ka ghar meri bhi hoga. Aapne mujhe utha liya… mitti se utha liya. Main yeh karz kabhi nahi chuka paungi.” "Do you know... after spending so many nights sleeping on the streets, I never even dared to dream that one day, someone's home would be mine as well. You lifted me up... you lifted me right out of the dust. I will never be able to repay this debt.”

She pressed her cheek into my hair as though anchoring herself. The strength in her arms was immense, but her hold was gentle—like she had made a promise to never let anything harm me.

I shifted faintly, my face buried deeper into the warm hollow of her neck. The faint salt of her dried sweat, the faded smell of soap from her bath, and that human scent that was uniquely hers surrounded me. Oddly, it was comforting—so alive, so protective.

“Aap thak gaye hain… bilkul bachche ki tarah lag rahe ho meri godi mein.” She noticed the way I settled into her, and a soft smile curved her lips.“You look tired... you look just like a child in my lap.”

Her rocking slowed, became almost like a lullaby. Left, right. Left, right. Her bangles clinked faintly with every sway, like a rhythm meant only for me.

I blinked drowsily, the world tilting gently with her movements. Shanti hummed under her breath, some tune from her village perhaps—low, wordless, soothing.

“So jao, Babu… main yahin hoon. Aapko chodkar kahi nahi jaungi.” Her whisper came again, softer now. “Go to sleep, Babu... I'm right here. I won't go anywhere leaving you.”

The couch beneath us might as well have disappeared; all I knew was the cradle of her lap, the shelter of her arms, and the steady rocking that lulled me deeper and deeper.

And in that safe, impossibly tender prison, my eyelids sank shut.