Chapter 1: The Day Everything Changed

On the day of the board exams in 1990, the air was thick with tension and the distant clang of a temple bell. I found myself in the middle of a nightmare: Neha, a classmate in a floral salwar kameez, was being dragged away by a goon with a black birthmark on his forehead. I chased after them, my heart hammering, the sharp smell of sweat and dust clinging to us both.

After the goon escaped, Neha folded her hands before me, tears running down her face, begging like someone at the temple steps. "Bhaiya, woh mera ration card aur admit card le gaya! Please, meri madad karo!" Her tears left streaks on her dust-smeared cheeks, her hands trembling as she clutched her dupatta. For a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just us, the chaos, and that temple bell echoing behind the school wall.

But the goon had vanished. We rushed to the exam centre, but the invigilator’s sandal slapped the floor as he refused her entry. Neha, red-eyed and broken, turned her anger towards me, shouting at the peon and glaring at me with all the blame in her eyes. The old security guard looked at me with suspicion, and students whispered. Someone’s pressure cooker whistled in the distance, slicing through the thick, accusing silence.

That morning, our house was filled with hope. Dadi circled my university admission letter with an agarbatti, whispering, "Ab toh sab theek hoga, Bhagwan." But before the scent of incense faded, a police jeep screeched to a halt outside, scattering hens and gossiping neighbours. My joy turned to dread as Neha stormed in with the police, her voice sharp and clear: "Woh hi tha! Board exam ke din, usne hi mujhe cheda aur mere papers le gaya. Inspector saab, please kuch kijiye!" Dadi stood frozen, lips trembling, as the neighbours crowded the door, eyes gleaming with hunger for scandal.

Neha sobbed, clutching her mother’s hand. Sharma aunty wailed, "Arrey Ram! Hamari bitiya ki zindagi barbaad kar di isne!" Amit spat, "Isko toh seedha jail mein daalo." The inspector scribbled in his notepad, ignoring Dadi’s feeble protests drowned by whispers—"Arrey, Sharma-ji ki beti hai, woh jhooth nahi bolegi."

After that, my world fell apart. The university revoked my admission. The mohalla’s walls echoed with my shame. My friends vanished, mothers yanked their daughters away, even the street dog snarled at me. My name became a warning at every chai shop. Neighbours muttered, "Beta, aaj tera baap hota toh yeh sab nahi hota." Every eye in the colony burned into my skin.

In the end, only Dadi stood by me. Clutching a plea written in her own blood, she crawled from the bazaar to the district office, her faded saree dragging in the dust, her hands red with the stain of sindoor-like blood. The whole bazaar watched, even the toughest shopkeepers silenced by her sobs.

But the night before I was released, a fire broke out. The neighbours said they saw smoke curling through the window, Dadi’s desperate cries lost in the chaos. By morning, only blackened bricks and her twisted brass locket remained. The mohalla buzzed with scandal, the paanwala muttering, "Karma catches up, beta."

I lost my future and my home in an instant. The world turned its back, and my Dadi’s sacrifice was forgotten.