𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝗜𝘀 𝗠𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝗧𝗼 𝗕𝗲 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗲

Lucknow, the vibrant capital of Uttar Pradesh, has forever been a shining beacon of architectural marvel and cultural elegance. This enchanting city, often referred to as “The Golden City,” boasts a rich history marked by opulence and grace. In one of the bustling neighborhoods, where affluence thrived, stood a magnificent mansion that commanded attention—the illustrious Malhotra Mansion. This majestic abode was home to one of Lucknow’s most influential families—the Malhotras.

Inside the mansion, Rajiv Malhotra sat in a grand yet cozy living room, his demeanor exuding confidence and warmth. He was the founder and current CEO of Malhotra Inc., a successful conglomerate that had woven its name into the fabric of the city’s elite society. Across from him sat Anjali Malhotra, his childhood sweetheart and the matriarch of the family, with an aura of authority and precision about her. Her perfectionist nature often earned her the reputation of being strict, yet Rajiv cherished that about her.

With a gleam in his eye, Rajiv turned to Anjali and declared, “Anjali, I truly believe it’s time for Subash to step into the role of CEO. It will be a grand evolution for him.”

Anjali’s mouth curved into a rare smile, one that was seldom seen on her usually stern face. “Indeed, my love. Subash has always been our little star. He deserves this opportunity,” she replied softly, her voice laced with admiration for their son.

Just then, Subash Malhotra entered the room, radiating confidence in his stride. He approached his parents, bending down to touch their feet, a gesture of respect ingrained in him since childhood. “Bless me, Papa!” he said, looking up at Rajiv with eager anticipation.

Rajiv beamed with pride. “May you always shine brightly, my son!” He laid his hand on Subash’s head, offering his blessings.

Anjali cupped Subash’s cheek gently, saying, “You’re going to do great things, Subash. I believe in you.”

“Thanks, Maa!” Subash replied with an infectious smile before noticing the absence of his sister. “Where is Lakshya?” he inquired, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone. Anjali had no answer. She was late again.

With a sigh, he shouted, “LAKSHYA!!! COME DOWN FAST, SLOWPOKE!! MAA BULA RAHI HAI!”

From another room, Lakshya’s voice echoed back, tinged with annoyance. “Areey buddhu! Give me time to get ready! Do you have any idea how challenging it is to wear this saree?”

Anjali shook her head with an amused sigh, “She’s always been a bit dramatic with her dressing. I should go help her.”

Just at that moment, Rayan, Lakshya’s husband, strolled in with a mischievous grin on his face. “What’s the matter, Jiju? Is my biwi being difficult again?” he teased, a glint of humor in his eyes.

With a deadpan expression, Subash replied, “You were the one who wanted to marry her, Rayan. I thought you’d figured out how to handle her by now.”

“Clearly, that didn’t work!” Rayan laughed heartily, enjoying the banter.

Rajiv, trying to bring focus back to breakfast, interjected, “Enough joking around, you two. Go and sit at the table. The maids must have prepared breakfast by now.”

The brothers nodded and made their way to the dining area just as Anjali and a flustered Lakshya entered the room. Lakshya struggled with her saree, looking comically determined. Rayan couldn’t help but chuckle, “Ha! Look at my wife struggling with her saree!”

Lakshya shot him an indignant glare. “HA HA HA! Laugh all you want, but it’s not like you’ve bothered to help me, your dearest biwi!”

Rolling his eyes, Rayan walked over to assist her. “Alright, alright, let me help you out,” he said, untying a few knots in frustration. “Just stand still, will you?”

As they took their seats, the maids began to serve breakfast—an array of delectable dishes from crisp parathas to fragrant curries wafting through the air.

In the midst of the meal, Subash’s tone shifted to a colder demeanor, his brows knitting together. “Has that mistake finally emerged from her room?” he asked, referring to their mute sister, Kushi.

Anjali, her voice dripping with disdain, replied, “No, she hasn’t. I’ve already instructed that brat to stay in her room. The maids will bring her breakfast.”

Rajiv exhaled heavily, a look of relief washing over his face. “Thank goodness. I’m glad I don’t have to see that manhoose ladki’s face this morning,” he remarked, clearly irritated by the mention of Kushi.

Meanwhile, in her upstairs room, Kushi Malhotra sat quietly by the window, having overheard every word exchanged below. She said nothing, her silence a heavy burden. It was how she had learned to cope; after all, she was mute, and her voice could never reach the chaotic world outside her confines. Dressed in a light blue saree, the pallu gracefully draped over her face, she hid her expression beneath the ghunghat, a veil that both symbolized and restrained her existence.

With a sigh, Kushi opened her drawer and retrieved her beloved book. In the stillness of her room, these pages became her closest companions. Books sparked her imagination, allowing her to escape into countless worlds where silence was not a limitation but a canvas for creation.

Being the youngest daughter of the Malhotra family came with its own set of challenges. The whispers of being the “greatest mistake” haunted her, stemming from the unfortunate truth—she had been born mute. These cruel labels had shaped her life, creating a rift between her and her family.

The knock on the door to Kushi’s room echoed in the quiet space, startling her out of her thoughts. Panic surged through her as she quickly adjusted her ghunghat, nervously tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. With a deep breath to steady herself, she opened the door softly, peering out to see a maid standing there with a tray of breakfast.

“Good morning, Kushi,” the maid said gently, her voice soothing as she held out the tray. “Mam Saab sent this for you.”

She felt a wave of gratitude wash over her as she took the tray from the maid’s hands, but she quickly shut the door behind her, sealing herself away from the world outside.

Once alone, she lifted her ghunghat, allowing it to fall away from her face. Beneath the fabric was the face of a true angel—soft, delicate features, an adorable button nose, beautifully smooth brown skin, and dark, expressive eyes that sparkled like black pearls in the morning light. As she settled down to eat her breakfast, her mind began to wander back to the past—a past filled with memories that brought both joy and pain.

Her thoughts drifted to a flashback that played vividly in her mind.

𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

She saw a hospital room where Anjali Malhotra, her mother, was fighting through the agonizing process of childbirth. Rajiv, her father, paced nervously, the worry etched across his face, as he held a young toddler, Lakshya, in one arm while the other hand was tightly grasped by a tiny Subash, hardly more than 4 years old.

“Come on, Anjali! You can do this!” Rajiv urged, his voice strained with impatience and fear.

Just then, a nurse stepped in, her expression bright and cheerful. “It’s a girl!” she announced.

Rajiv’s face lit up with joy, and he rushed forward, handing Lakshya to the nurse. “A girl? Really?” he exclaimed, his excitement palpable as he entered the room. Anjali, breathless but glowing, cradled their newborn daughter in her arms.

“What should we name her?” Rajiv asked, gazing down at the tiny face of their new daughter.

Anjali smiled, her eyes sparkling with love. “Kushi,” she said softly, the name rolling off her tongue like a blessing.

Time flew by, and before they knew it, four years had passed, but something troubling became apparent. Kushi had never spoken a word. It wasn’t that she lacked intelligence; she simply didn’t talk. Concerned, Anjali and Rajiv brought in a home doctor for an evaluation.

The doctor’s diagnosis shattered their hopes. “I’m afraid your daughter was born mute,” she explained gently.

Rajiv’s face turned stormy as he and Anjali began to argue vehemently, voices rising in heated disagreement. “How could this happen?” he spat out, his tone laced with frustration. “By the grace of Devi Maa, how could we give birth to this... mistake?”

Kushi, only four years old, clutched a note tightly in her small hand, tears brimming in her eyes as she listened to her parents’ harsh words. Drawing courage, she approached Rajiv, poking at his shirt with the note that read“PAPA”in her neat, careful handwriting.

Rajiv’s anger erupted. “PAPA?! WHOSE PAPA?! I AM NOT THE PAPA OF AN EMBARRASSMENT!!! NEVER!!!” His hand flew out in a flash, striking Kushi across the cheek.

The sting of the slap caused Kushi to wail in pain as she skidded to the ground, her heart breaking as she looked up at her father, her innocent eyes shining with tears. She glanced at Anjali, searching for comfort, but was met with cold indifference.

“You see, Rajiv, she... she can’t be my daughter,” Anjali said, her voice devoid of warmth. “An embarrassment like her cannot be part of our family.”

Rajiv, still caught in his rage, turned to Kushi, his voice harsh and unyielding. “Go back to your room!” he barked, the walls of their home filled with the echoes of their discontent.

Kushi’s small figure retreated, her heart heavy with despair. Each step away felt like a lost piece of her soul. The laughter and love that had once filled her life now seemed like a distant dream, leaving only echoes of pain and confusion in their wake.

Kushi had always felt the weight of abandonment pressing down on her heart. Growing up in a house filled with disdain and unshed tears, she learned early on what it meant to be unloved. Every family gathering, every celebration that painted the walls of their home in hues of joy and togetherness, was a bitter reminder of her isolation. “You can’t come, Kushi. Stay in your room,” her father would say dismissively, the door shutting behind her like a punishment.

Her siblings, too, held no kindness in their hearts. “Look at her, the mute. What a shame,” Lakshya would sneer, rolling her eyes. Kushi would shrink back as her elder sister and brother laughed, their words slashing through her like icy knives; home felt less like a sanctuary and more like a prison.

The murmurs of relatives never failed to sting, especially when she overheard her parents speak. “She’s a burden,” her mother would whisper, her tone dripping with disdain. “What will people say when they find out?”

Despite the cruelty, Kushi’s only solace lay within the pages of books. Those dusty tomes in the library became her companions, each word a lifeline to a world outside her own. With a reluctant nod, her father granted her access to the library, a small favor she clung to like a beacon of hope.

But as her eighteenth birthday neared, Kushi fiercely yearned to express herself, to share her thoughts and dreams with the world. In the quiet solitude of the library, she poured her heart into the pages of a manuscript, meticulously choosing each word. Yet, just as she gathered the courage to print it, disaster struck.

One afternoon, Kushi was hunched over the printer when her sister Lakshya entered, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “What are you doing, Kushi?” she asked, crossing her arms and arching an eyebrow. Kushi froze, glancing at the printed pages.

“Oh right,” Lakshya mocked, a derisive smirk spreading across her face. “Forgot you can’t speak! What do you think you are doing, trying to write a book?”

Kushi’s stomach tightened with anxiety as Lakshya waved her hand dismissively. Just then, Rajiv walked in. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his tone suspicious.

“Kushi was printing something,” Lakshya replied, feigning innocence.

Rajiv strode over to Kushi, snatching the manuscripts from her trembling hands. His gaze darkened as he scanned the pages. “So, you think you’re a writer now?” he spat, his fury palpable. “What ridiculousness is this? You’re trying to embarrass me! Any relation to you tarnishes the family name—what audacity you have to use your full name as the author?”

Kushi nodded slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn’t speak back, couldn’t explain the significance of her words. Rajiv’s anger erupted like a volcano, and Kushi’s instincts kicked in; she fell to her knees, hands raised in supplication.

“Please, no...” her mind screamed at her to run. She wanted to speak, but her words were trapped. Rajiv’s fury did not subside as he closed the door and retrieved his belt.

“You want to embarrass me?” he roared, raising the leather strap. “I’ll show you what happens when you think you can rise above your station!”

Kushi gasped, instinctively curling into herself as the first blow landed across her back. The pain shot through her, but she couldn’t scream, only endure. Each strike was a reminder of how worthless she felt; her feet bled, her back wept blood. Unable to hold back, she bent forward, cheeks wet with tears, as Rajiv continued to lash out at her.

Finally, he dragged her into the living room, throwing her onto the floor like a discarded ragdoll. “What is this?” Subash, her brother, exclaimed, annoyance flashing across his face. “What’s happened?”

“She’s trying to write a book,” Rajiv snapped. “Thinks she can get big and independent!”

“What do you mean?” Anjali, stepped forward, scolding her husband. “What if someone sees her like this? It will ruin our reputation!” Her concern was purely for appearances, starkly contrasting with the pain Kushi was enduring.

Rajiv scoffed. “Reputation? She has no place in this family. Lakshya, throw those manuscripts on the ground!” He ordered, and Lakshya did as she was told, lifting the papers and letting them fall, then flicked a lighter to ignite them.

Kushi jumped up, panic rising in her throat.“No!”her mind shouted. What were they doing?! She cried silently, rushing forward to smother the flames with her dress.

Anjali yanked her hair back harshly. “Chal thu! Starting today, you will be confined,” she hissed.

Moments later, Kushi found herself forced into a saree, the fabric draping over her like heavy chains. Rajiv gave a nod of approval as Anjali placed the pallu over Kushi’s head, concealing her face beneath the ghunghat.

“This is your life now, Kushi,” Rajiv warned, his voice cold and unforgiving. “You’re our maid for every occasion. You will never show your face to anyone else in this house.” He leaned in closer, his eyes dark. “And if you dare to write again, I will sell you to a Nawab as one of his playthings.”

Kushi could only nod, her body trembling as tears streamed down her cheeks. All her hopes, dreams, and aspirations crumbled to dust before her.

𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐄𝐧𝐝

As she caught her reflection in the mirror, her heart sank. The untouched food on her plate mirrored her empty spirit. The veil now obscured her identity, her worth reduced to nothing. She hesitantly placed the ghunghat back over her head; this was all she was now—a shadow in her own home.

However one thing Kushi wouldn’t ever know. There was someone. Someone she would soon meet. It will be arranged but that meeting will lead her to the person who would soon free her and give her the life she wants.