Devika...
The car stopped with a sudden jolt, and that was enough to break my sleep. I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the faint light creeping through the glass.
My gaze turned toward Dhritya, her head still resting on my shoulder, then toward Raghav — asleep on my lap, tiny fingers curled around the edge of my dupatta. Neither of them stirred.
Outside, the window looked misty, soft rays of sunlight struggling through the morning fog. It must be around 5 or maybe 5:30 a.m. I let out a small yawn, my eyes half-closing again before catching the reflection on the front mirror — Dakshit’s sleeping face, mouth slightly open.
A quiet giggle escaped my lips.
“Kaka,” I called softly to the driver, “how much more time to reach the village?”
“Bas 5–10 minute, bitiya,” he said with a smile. “Ab zyada door nahi.”
I nodded, watching the mist drift past the window.
And just as he said, after a few minutes the car slowed again — this time to a stop. My eyes went to the board ahead: ‘MANOHARPUR’ written in bold, faded letters.
By then, everyone was awake — even little Raghav, rubbing his sleepy eyes, still clinging to my hand. His hair was messy, his eyes droopy, and my heart melted a little.
Holding my hand tight, he stepped out of the car beside me. The early morning air was cool, heavy with the scent of soil and dew. Birds were chirping faintly somewhere near the fields.
Jiji turned to me and whispered, “Devika, put on your ghoonghat. As pet the culture your muh dikhai is pending so you have to do some formalities, after that you can ..
I nodded silently, pulling the ghoonghat over my head as the veil softly brushed against my face.
Ahead of us stood a large bungalow, surrounded by vast green paddy fields glistening under the dim morning light. The whole scene felt timeless —
As soon as we stepped inside the main gate, a small crowd gathered to welcome Nani Maa. The moment she appeared, everyone bent to touch her feet — men, women, even small children — their voices blending in warm greetings and respect.
“A che amara Ansh ni vahu chhe.”
(She’s our Ansh’s bride.)
Nani Maa’s voice echoed through the courtyard, filled with pride and affection.
I stood there, stiff like a statue, unsure how to move beneath the heavy ghoonghat that shadowed my face.
“Go, Devika beta,” Nani Maa said softly. “Touch everyone’s feet.”
I nodded and obeyed, bending down one by one, touching each elder’s feet with respect and quiet gratitude. The air was filled with murmurs and whispers as I moved along the line.
"Agga, to Anshe shaadi kari li! Batāyuṁ nathi ape, ma ji! Ketlum rakhyum hatum hamene eni shaadi num intazar!”
(Ohho, so Ansh got married! Why didn’t you tell us, Maa ji?)
(We waited so long for this!)
The women laughed and exchanged knowing glances.
“Hmm, sanskaar bhi ache lag rahe hain bahu ke,” one of them said, giggling softly. I couldn’t tell if she was teasing me or taunting me—but at that moment, I didn’t care. I simply bowed again, keeping my silence.
After the welcome, we all stepped inside the house. The hall was spacious yet old-fashioned, its walls adorned with fading portraits and the faint scent of sandalwood.
Jiji came close and whispered, “After two hours, we’ll do your muh dikhai rasam. Till then, you can rest.”
Now, I sat by the window, the thin curtain fluttering with the morning breeze. Dhritya sat on the other bed, scrolling through her phone lazily.
Outside, I could see nothing but endless green — paddy fields stretching beyond sight, birds gliding low over the wet soil. The house stood far from the main village, almost secluded.
I looked around again. The interior wasn’t like a normal village home. It was elegant, heavy with old money — carved doors, shining brass handles, antique mirrors, all whispering stories of a wealthy lineage.
And yet… something felt off.
Everyone smiled too perfectly. Every gesture seemed rehearsed. Every conversation ended in a silence that said more than words.
They all appeared so close — yet it didn’t feel real.
I pressed my palm against the cool windowpane, staring out at the still morning. Rich people really do have the most beautiful lies, I thought quietly, a half-smile touching my lips.
I rested my chin on my palm, my gaze fixed somewhere beyond the window.
My rich husband… the man who hides more than he speaks.
A man who holds too many mysteries — about me, about us, about what really binds our marriage together.
Did he really not come?
The thought slipped into my mind like a soft whisper, breaking the stillness inside me.
Isn’t it good, Devika? — another voice countered — at least you’ll be free from him for a few days. Five… maybe six.
But my heart wasn’t listening.
My mind said freedom,
but my soul said protection.
There was something about him — the way his presence filled a space, the way his silence made me feel safe, even when it terrified me.
Where are you, Ansh ji…
The words escaped my lips in a faint breath.
Just then, a knock on the door pulled me back from my drifting thoughts.
A maid entered, carrying a brass tray neatly arranged with breakfast — soft, golden dhoklas topped with green chilies and fresh coriander.
As soon as she set the plate down, the aroma reached me.
Fluffy, warm… my stomach growled in approval before I could even react.
After she left, Dhritya looked at me with a sleepy grin.
“Looks delicious, right?”
I nodded, already picking one up.
We shared the plate between us, tearing soft pieces, dipping them in chutney, laughing over small things — as if the morning didn’t carry a thousand unspoken thoughts.
Still, between every bite… my mind wandered back to him.
To the mystery that walked in a man’s form.
To my mannerless forced husband,
“Dhriti, have you come here for the first time or…?” I asked casually.
She shook her head immediately, sipping water.
“No, bhabhi, it’s not our first time. We’ve been here maybe two or three times before — only during someone’s marriage.”
“Ohh,” I said, nodding slowly.
“And do you know,” she leaned closer, her voice turning into a whisper, “it’s now the elder daughter’s marriage — our first chacha’s daughter. She’s a little… mentally unwell. Nobody agreed to marry her before, but now someone finally has.”
Her tone was almost secretive, like the walls themselves might carry her words away if someone overheard.
She picked up the last dhokla while I gathered the plates. I had just started to rise when she said, “Bhabhi, where are you going? You can’t go anywhere. You know na — your muh dikhai hasn’t happened yet!”
“Oh right, I forgot,” I said, sitting back down and washing my hands in the small basin near the bed.
We talked for a while after that — Dhriti telling me about the village’s heritage, its stories and old temples — until a sudden knock interrupted us.
“Bhabhi, put your ghoonghat,” she whispered quickly. I lowered the veil over my face, and she went to open the door.
“Bhabhi! Bhabhi! Let’s go to the terrace!” Daksh and Raghav burst inside like a storm, their laughter filling the room. I sighed in relief at the sight of their playful faces.
“Bhabhi can’t go anywhere!” Dhriti shouted from behind them.
“Aye chipkali, tujhse kisne kaha chalne ko? Main toh bhabhi se keh raha hoon!” Daksh teased her, making a funny face.
“Daksh, she’s right,” I said softly. “We can’t go anywhere until my muh dikhai.”
“Bhabhi, everyone’s busy right now! No one will go to the rooftop — no one will even see you. Let’s go! I’ll show you something mesmerising!”
“Haan chachi, lech go!” little Raghav jumped in, his eyes shining.
“No, Raghav. What if someone sees me? I don’t want to make things worse.” I pinched his chubby cheeks and helped him climb back on the bed.
“Don’t worry, chachi! Laghav hai na, aapko kuch nahi hone dega!” he said, patting his tiny chest proudly like a brave man.
“Haan, dedh futiye,” Dakshit teased, rolling his eyes. “But bhabhi, it’s still one and a half hours before the muh dikhai. We’ll be back by then — promise!”
I hesitated for a moment, but their excitement was too genuine to refuse. Finally, I nodded.
“Fine… but only for a while.”
Dakshit's grin widened.” Okay bhabhi!”
And with that, the four of us sneaked out of the room — unaware of how the next few moments would quietly shift the course of everything.
As we were heading back, a faint cry reached my ears — soft at first, like someone muffling their pain, and then sharper… as if a blow had followed.
I stopped in my tracks. The sound came from behind a door at the corner of the corridor. The others — Dhriti, Dakshit, and Raghav — were too lost in their chatter to notice.
I stepped closer. The nearer I got, the clearer the noise became — sobs, a woman’s voice pleading for mercy, the dull thud of something hitting flesh. My breath hitched.
My hand trembled as I reached for the doorknob. My heart was screaming to step back — don’t get involved, Devika, not here — but another part of me, deeper and older, refused to listen.
That feeling again… the same one I had felt years ago, when everything changed. A strange sense of owning the pain behind that door. It wasn’t fear this time — it was something else.
I wanted to break the door open.
I knocked on the door once. No answer.
Again, twice. Still nothing — but the noises inside stopped. My heart thudded, uneasy. Something wasn’t right. I began knocking harder, faster, not caring if anyone heard me. The wooden door rattled beneath my palms until, at last, it opened with a jolt.
A man stood there — middle-aged, his eyes bloodshot, the stench of alcohol heavy around him.
“Who are you?” he barked, his tone sharp, teeth grinding.
“I… I heard something,” I said, my voice trembling but steady enough. “Is everything alright inside?”
His gaze darkened. “Kaun hai tu? Kaise ghus aayi yahan?” he snapped, stepping forward.
Before I could answer, my eyes caught something — a faint movement behind him. A leg… trembling, half-hidden behind the bed.
My body froze. Then instinct took over. I shoved him aside and rushed in.
What I saw next made my blood turn cold. A girl — broken, terrified, clutching at herself as if trying to disappear. Tears streaked her face; her lips quivered soundlessly. The room smelled of fear and violence.
My knees gave way. I knelt beside her. She looked up at me — eyes wide, pleading.
“Please… help me, didi,” she whispered.
My heart shattered. My hands went to my mouth, choking back a sob. The room spun, and all I could think was — I’ve seen this before… I’ve experienced this pain before.
Didn’t I say rich families always had some history, some mystery ?
But this—
This wasn’t history.
It was a crime.
I tried to calm her, lifting her gently from the floor. Her legs trembled, her breaths came in broken gasps. I wrapped the thin bedsheet around her trembling body, shielding her from the shame she shouldn’t have to bear.
“Kaun hai tu? Tujhe kisne yahan bheja? Nikāl ja yahan se! Aur agar kisi ko bataya toh—”
The man’s drunken voice sliced through the air.
I laid the girl on the bed again, her fingers clutching at my wrist. “Please… don’t go,” she kept whispering, her eyes wild with fear, her words breaking like her breath. She was shaking — lost, fragile — like someone whose soul had been wounded far too deeply.
I brushed her messy hair aside, forcing a steadiness into my tone.
“Shhh… kuch nahi hoga bachhe, main hoon na,” I whispered, holding her tightly against me. Her sobs softened, though her heartbeat still trembled against my chest.
Then the man’s voice boomed again.
“Sunai nahi deta tujhe? Itni himmat tu mujhe ansuna karegi? Ruk, tujhe abhi dikhata hoon teri aukaat!”
The door slammed shut behind him.
Something inside me snapped — not in fear, but in fire. I wasn’t that helpless Devika anymore. I felt something awaken — something ancient, silent, unshakable. The air itself grew heavier, like it could feel the storm building within me.
His footsteps neared.
I turned around, my eyes locking with his. He froze mid-step, his breath catching, as though he had met something beyond his understanding.
“Apne kadam wahin rok le… dusht,” I said, my voice low but ringing with a strange power that wasn’t entirely my own.
The room went still. Even the wind outside seemed to bow to that moment.
The man’s laughter tore the room like a jagged blade — loud, drunken, manic.
“Aa haa haaha — what do you think bi**h, you can stop me by your sweet threats, no you're wrong baby” he sneered, each word oozing contempt.
The girl in my arms trembled, pressing herself tighter to me. He looked at her, then at me — amusement curling his lips. My stomach clenched. I could feel something cold and dangerous coiling inside me, and when his steps started coming closer, every warning inside me snapped. I was feeling the aura of my husband around me, inside me
I bent to my knees and reached for the thing I hadn’t believed I’d ever have to use — the small weapon given by my husband. My fingers closed around it; the metal was heavier than I expected, steadying rather than frightening me.
“Devika Ansh Pratap Singh hoon main,” I roared, voice low, controlled — not mine alone, but carrying the weight of that name. I raised the pistol, finger hovering but not on the trigger, pointing it straight at him. “Mujhe chuune ki bhi koshish ki toh… jaan gawa baithoge.”
The room changed in an instant. His ugly smirk faltered, then dissolved. The laughter died somewhere in his throat. For a heartbeat he stood frozen, the color draining from his face as if the name itself had burned him.
“Ansh… Ni… patni—” he stammered, the words falling out like a plea.
Write a comment ...