When I lost my wife, leaving me alone with our three-year-old son Raju, the weight of single parenthood crushed me. Raising a toddler without his biological mother seemed an impossible task. With the help of a dedicated maid-cum-cook, I managed to juggle work and home but as Raju grew, I noticed troubling signs—arrogance and wayward behaviour creeping in.
Then fate introduced me to Smita, a poised and charming bank employee. Her elegance, always draped in a saree with a sleeveless blouse and subtle makeup, captivated me. A divorcee with no children, Smita brought warmth and stability into my life.
Our courtship blossomed over a year, with Raju – then five– joining us for evening meetups, weekend outings or dinners. To my relief, Raju accepted Smita effortlessly, won over by her playful, affectionate nature – cuddling him and showering him with kisses. When we married, Smita stepped into our home as Raju’s new ‘Mama’ and their bond grew naturally, mirroring the love of a biological mother.
By the time Raju was in second grade, Smita balanced her career and home life with remarkable ease. After work, she devoted herself to household duties, guiding Raju’s studies and teaching him manners and etiquette. She’d update me on his progress or behavioural issues privately in our bedroom, ensuring I was relieved of parenting worries.
One night, when Raju was seven, Smita’s demeanour shifted. Her face, marked by anger, betrayed deep frustration. Embracing her, I learned that Raju had committed a serious school infraction, despite months of counselling. Exasperated, she admitted to smacking his legs and thighs, but he had remained defiant, insisting that the correction hadn’t hurt.
Pushed to almost breaking point, Smita now proposed a stricter approach to our child’s upbringing, suggesting a lightweight rattan cane, as recommended by Raju’s teacher. The teacher, a Malayali from Kerala, explained that with corporal punishment banned in schools, home discipline was crucial. A thin cane, she advised, could deliver a stinging deterrent on palms, legs or thighs, leaving temporary welts as a reminder without causing any serious harm. Displaying the cane – nicknamed the ‘Little Magic Wand’ by teachers – in Raju’s study room would reinforce its presence.
I trusted Smita’s judgment completely, giving her full authority to shape Raju’s behavior and academics. She purchased the cane, showed it to Raju and explained its purpose – in other words, misbehaviour or poor academic performance would now have painful consequences!
From then on, during evening study sessions at the dining table, Smita – dressed in her usual cotton saree and sleeveless blouse – kept the cane nearby. I’d watch from the sofa, sipping tea or reading, as she taught Raju. Serious mistakes triggered that stern, intimidating look – pressed lips, wide eyes, flared nostrils. She’d demand eye contact, signaling trouble.
Any second error on Raju’s led to her wielding the cane, striking his palms with a cracking sound after carefully positioning the tip. Raju’s cries followed, but she’d insist on composure, delivering strokes based on the mistake’s severity. Witnessing her fierce beauty – perspiring, eyes wide, arms moving with precision – I found myself oddly captivated, even aroused, by my wife’s authority – and great sex invariably followed at the end of the day when we went to bed.
Over the next eight to nine years, until Raju completed secondary school, Smita’s discipline – bolstered by a second, thicker cane – transformed him. His arrogance faded, and was replaced with obedience, respect and polished manners. He stood attentively when we entered his room, and his academic performance soared, climbing from the bottom ten to the top five by eighth grade. Remarkably, he became a ‘mama’s boy’, drawn to Smita despite her strictness, their bond deepening through her blend of love and discipline.
Serious offenses brought formal punishments. One unforgettable evening, after Raju’s eighth grade report card revealed a drop from third to eighth place and a 5-6% decline in marks, Smita’s fury was palpable.
After dinner, she led me to Raju’s room, where he stood nervously. Presenting his report card, she took down both canes, promisinghima punishment he’d never forget. Ten strokes on his palms – five with each cane – left him sobbing.
Then, ordering Raju to remove his trousers, Smita delivered five strokes each to his legs and thighs with the thicker cane, creating prominent red welts. Finally, with the thin cane, she struck his calves five times, targeting this sensitive area for maximum impact and creating excruciating pain. Afterwards she comforted him, applying soothing balm, stroking his hair until he slept, her motherly love balancing the severity.
Raju’s story culminated in triumph. He excelled in his tenth grade board exams, scoring 98% and topping his school. Smita’s tears of joy that day reflected her pride and fulfilment. Today, Raju is a successful civil servant, and Smita and I live with him and his family – a testament to the legacy of an extraordinary wife and mother.
Contributor: Anonymous