Chapter 1
The tip of my pen touched the crimson ink, after which I carved the words on the rusted shade paper just the way I do every day. But tonight was distinct because with every stroke arrived the chime of those bangles(choodha) and haath-phool. In the dim-lit room, I sat at my table for the last time and wrote his name for the final time.
“Among these roses lingers the fragrance of love — a scent that enchants the heart.
These balconies kept waiting for you, but you never came.
The one whom the eyes could not see, the words have felt.
In these eyes, there is only one dream: to be free, and to set free.”
A knock at the door diverted my attention toward the back, and I turned around instantly, only to discover my younger sister Nivedita, whose facial expressions only conveyed elation.
“Dee, this has come for you.”
The heaviness of the lehenga embraced me with every step, yet nothing bothered me, especially the way it adorned me. I take hold of the letter and unfold it, only to come across those words written in it.
Coward. Deceiver. Fraud. were the only words that came into my mind that would erupt in rage. I knew the consequences of what had happened and how I would be the only one to be blamed, but it doesn’t matter particularly when my dreams are far away from getting married.
When I didn’t even know the meaning of the word ‘wedding’, my marriage was fixed with Ranvijay Singh Thakur. But akin to the withered petals was the conversation of our wedding, which was eventually dusted with time.
Even though we live in the same city, we have never come across each other. People believed he rejected me, but few know that I was the one who rejected him. After all, who would wish to live in a cage, a golden cage made by him? I won’t, and there were serious repercussions for my action. The dream I held so close to my heart was snatched away, and that knowledge which I would have gained of medicine remained distant from me.
“Dee, what happened?” she asked, looking at me with the expectancy of a response, but my words felt frozen, and the warmth of the tears surrounded my eyes.
“Go and tell Daarji, Nivedita, that no one’s wedding procession is coming.”
I lifted my eyes as I said those words, having no regret in my heart. “Because he chose a deceiver for his daughter — someone who didn’t even have the courage to come forward and say no.”
I witnessed the gloominess shadowing her eyes; even she knew what storm was brewing. She felt miserable for me, especially when it was the second time, when my wedding had broken apart, akin to shards of glass.
“Nivedita, it doesn’t matter to me — whether the marriage happens or not, it makes no difference.
And yes, I’m going out. Don’t tell anyone.”
The wretched letter left the touch of my hand, and the wooden door’s surface brushed against my skin as I closed the door. A yank to the dupatta led it to tumble to the floor, and the thought of changing came into my mind, but had I stopped to change my clothes then, I would have missed the opportunity. I removed the ornaments decking me, but I let the jhumkas be there and those chains attached to the back of my hair. The shelf is opened, and my hands come across the shawl. Had I not taken it, the cold outside would have been sufficient to take my breath away.
The gentle warmth of the fabric embraced my shoulders as I draped it around, but before that, I made sure to place it on my head, and the edge of it was in my grasp to conceal my face as I sneaked into the foggy alleys.
Walking through it, my steps halted by the double doors of the library. The frostiness of the metal handle touched my hands, and a yank on it lent the sight of the extravagant vintage library. The place that comforts me, that resides in my heart, and that would take me to my dreams.
My payal chimed as I climbed upstairs and headed to the literature section where my favorite book resides.
On the shelf, my eyes searched for the red spine, but suddenly it felt as if my heartbeat stopped. His brownish eyes looked straight at me over the books placed on the shelf.
He was on the other side of the shelf while I was on this side, opening to the staircase. I lowered my eyes instantly, and I was quick to find my book, which was taken out, and as told, I flipped the pages to the 103rd page, which is today’s date as well: 3rd October. The lined words caught the attention, and the message was interpreted.
A sense of relief showered on my heart with the feeling that I haven’t missed the message. It was my duty, and whether life remains or not, I would continue to do everything for my nation, for my Hindustan.
I take out the other book with a red spine and place it where my book had its presence. A turn is taken to the staircase, but suddenly something strikes my mind, and a sharp turn is taken, and my hands reach for the book. Not a second thought is lent, and I rushed downstairs, leaving the scent of books, and stepped into the coldness of the night.
A glance taken around fetched me the sight of the desertness, but the market won’t be this empty. The British guards will be there, doing their night shifts. My eyes lowered to the watch, which indicated the arrival of the time at which they change their shifts and positions.
I slipped past the corner, and the posters that were to be stuck were taken out along with the brush and container in which the wheat paste resided, which would act as the adhesive.
I dipped the brush into the paste and applied it to the wall, but before my hands could lift to shove the poster against the wall, a strong grasp formed around my wrist, and little could I open my mouth to utter a single word which would echo in this eeriness of night and alert the British guards.
The neighing of the horses reached us, portraying that had he not taken me away then tonight, I would have been caught and eventually would be behind bars.
I am shoved against the brick wall, and my eyes meet his. Those eyes were the same that I encountered in the library. They carried the same spark, the exact shine, but rage was the newest addition to it.
“Do you even know what would happen to you if you got caught?”
His tone was outrageous, yet his voice was low enough for me to hear him.
“I do not care about my fate — I can even give my life for my country.”
“Just think — in putting up these posters, what are you risking? And then think again — if you stay alive, how much more you could do for our country’s freedom! What will you be able to do if you end up in jail?”
“Let go of my hand,” I protested, struggling against his hold, which eventually lost its grip, and I was quick enough to escape from there.
A tremble ran down my body when I encountered the lock on the back door. Indeed, everyone knew of my act. I was not allowed to head outside after evenings, especially due to my previous acts. Clutching the papers, I walked toward the main door, and my knuckles struck against the wooden main door of the haveli. A tear rolled down my face when I saw fear emerging on my mother’s face. I had committed a blunder and had been caught, too. How bad could this night turn?
