Chapter 1: The Bet That Shook the Family

The ceiling fan creaked overhead, barely stirring the warm air thick with the smell of pakoras and the sharp tang of chai. Our family’s annual New Year’s card game was in full swing, laughter mingling with the clatter of teacups, when my cousin, always the show-off, suddenly declared he was bored.

He slapped his Audi car keys onto the table with a loud clang, the metallic jangle cutting through the background hum of the TV and kitchen. “Koi hai yahan, jo mujhse takkar le sake?” he challenged, smirking.

The keys landed among half-eaten samosas and namkeen, but now every eye in the room was fixed on those gleaming keys. The Audi logo seemed to glare at us, daring anyone to match his bravado.

Last week only, he’d taken me for a spin in that new Audi, making me feel the buttery leather seats and open the sunroof, honking as we circled the colony. He wanted the whole neighbourhood to know. Typical—his pride was as big as the car itself.

For a moment, the room was stunned. Hands shot up, palms waving, as everyone tried to brush it off: “Arrey, masti mein khel rahe hain, kaun takkar lega? Bohot badi baat hai, beta, itni umar mein Audi le li!”

Aunty Neelam beamed, “Beta, dil khush kar diya! Family ka naam roshan kar diya.” Even Chachu, usually silent, piped up, “Aajkal ke bachche kamaal karte hain!” The laughter sounded forced, as if we’d all been invited to his victory party. Even Babu, our servant, poked his head in, eyes wide with curiosity.

I hesitated, feeling the slickness of sweat between my fingers—I was holding three Kings.

My pulse thudded like the Holi dhol, the cards burning a hole in my hand. Luck was with me, but so was risk.

My cousin, basking in the praise, was about to shuffle again when I quietly placed my Maruti car keys on the table. "Main match karunga." My voice was soft, but it sliced through the air like a sharp knife through ripe mango.

The little silver keys looked ordinary next to his Audi, but I put them down anyway. For a heartbeat, even the TV in the next room seemed to go silent, as if the house itself was holding its breath.

A hush fell over the room.

You could hear the pressure cooker’s hiss from the kitchen—everything else was silent. Even my youngest cousin, always glued to his phone, was gaping at me.

Every pair of eyes turned to me in disbelief. My cousin’s own eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and then irritation crossing his face.

His lips curled—first confused, then tight with annoyance. He looked ready to laugh it off, but the tension in his jaw said otherwise.

All the warmth of the evening evaporated as our keys touched the table. Between us, the air turned cold.

The heater in the corner hummed, but it couldn’t melt the sudden frost. Family members shifted in their seats, shawls pulled tighter, glances exchanged behind hands.

But I didn’t regret it. He’d started this—let him see it through.

Inside me, something hardened. Ma, standing at the doorway, clutched her pallu tighter, her eyes never leaving the table.

If he could be so ruthless with his own, why should I care for his feelings?

In our family, izzat is everything, but today he’d gambled it for show. The anger in my cheeks burned hotter than the chai.

My cousin sneered, “Tere jeb mein kitna paisa hai, jo mujhe dara raha hai? Audi hai yeh. Ja, pehle paisa jama kar, phir baat kar—woh Maruti se bluff mat kar.”

He ran his gaze over me, voice dripping with contempt. Some of the younger cousins snickered. My Maruti felt suddenly smaller, almost invisible beside his flashy keys.

I looked at him, my eyes cold. I hated playing cards with this cousin.

His arrogance made my stomach churn, but I kept my face blank, refusing to let him see the sting.

New Year’s was supposed to be fun, but he always turned it into a contest of wallets.

At every festival, every family dinner, he reminded us who was king. People like him never let you forget.

Anyone who’s played cards in a big family knows: the rich crush the poor with every bet, not just with money, but with humiliation.

There’s a shame you can’t hide when you know you can’t play on equal ground. Even the best cards shrink in your hand.

When we played for one or two rupees, he’d throw down five thousand.

He made a spectacle of it, tossing crisp notes onto the pile, winking at the elders. “Arrey yaar, kuch nahi hai,” he’d say, while we counted coins for bus fare.

We all begged him not to bet so big, but he’d flash that grin: “Paach hazaar se kya hota hai?”

He pretended not to see the discomfort. For him, it was a game; for us, a headache.

It was bullying, plain and simple. He dared us to keep up, knowing we couldn’t.

He loved watching us hesitate, whisper, fold. He thrived on it, like a bully in the schoolyard.

He sat at the table to toy with our dignity, not for the love of cards.

Even now, the glint in his eyes said it all—he wanted me to back down, to lose face in front of everyone. This wasn’t about cards. It was about pride.

I knew my Maruti was nothing next to his Audi. So I turned to call my fiancée.

She was in the living room, chatting with the ladies, but my voice—firmer than usual—caught her attention. She looked up; I beckoned her with my eyes.

We were engaged to be married. She wore the ‘three golds’—a necklace, bracelet, and ring, all gleaming against her green silk saree.

The gold shone bright, a mark of our engagement. Ma had insisted—no engagement is complete without the three golds. She wore them with quiet pride, making me feel lucky and humbled.

I said softly, “Apna gold necklace aur bracelet table par rakh do.”

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t question. She walked over and stood beside me. Her bangles jingled, the soft sound cutting through the tension. She slipped off the necklace, the chain leaving a faint imprint on her neck, then the bracelet, and placed them gently by my Maruti keys. The women gasped—a collective sound, half shock, half awe.

She met my eyes, calm and steady. Not a single question—just trust. In that moment, she was braver than I could ever be.

My heart swelled. For all my doubts, she trusted me enough to stake everything. Ma’s old words echoed: ‘Sache din mein saath dene wali hi asli patni hoti hai.’

I turned to my cousin, voice steady. “Abhi kaafi hai na? Chalo, cards dikhao.”

My hands trembled, but I tried to hide it. The air in the room felt thick, heavy with our gamble.

My cousin’s face changed. He gritted his teeth, clearly caught off guard. “Chhote, baad mein mat kehna, main na bola tha. Mujhe Audi ki parwah nahi, par tu sab kuch haarega toh family ka kya hoga?”

His words hung in the air like a threat. Papa shifted in his chair, anxiety written on his face. The elders abandoned their rummy, eyes fixed on us.

I shook my head. “Koi baat nahi. Aap hi toh dinner pe keh rahe the, main bold nahi hoon?”

My cousin’s wife, arms folded, looked away. The tension ratcheted up.

His jaw tightened, smile fading. For the first time, he looked worried.

Just at dinner, he’d mocked me for playing it safe. “Sab safe khelne ke liye paida nahi hote. Boss banna padta hai,” he’d laughed, swirling his drink. That stung more than anything tonight.

Halfway through, Papa had offered him a cigarette and kindly lit it. My cousin didn’t even bother shielding the flame from the fan—a silent insult where we come from.

The old fan was spinning full speed. Papa’s hand shook as he held the match. My cousin just leaned in, letting the flame flicker dangerously. I saw Papa’s hand tremble, the match burning down to his fingers.

In our village, if an elder lights your cigarette and you don’t shield the flame, you’re insulting him. My cousin had humiliated Papa in front of everyone.

Nani’s lips pressed tight, Chachi shot a glare, but no one said a word. The silence stung.

Everyone waited for my cousin to show his cards. He took a deep breath and said, “Jab khelna hai toh bada khelte hain. Isi mein toh maza hai.”

He put his cards face down, covered them with a steel plate, and got up.

The clang startled everyone. We watched as he swaggered out, slippers slapping the floor like a victory drum.

He went to his Audi, returned with a small wooden box, and set it on the table. He opened it—bundles of cash, notes in every colour. "Tees lakh rupaye. Kya takkar loge?"

The murmurs rippled through the room. "Arrey baap re, kitna paisa hai!" someone whispered.

The elders abandoned their tea and rummy, drawn in by the drama. Even Ma, who hated cards, peeked from the kitchen.

Uncle, sweating, blurted, “Pagal ho gaya hai kya? Beta, woh toh tere saal bhar ka advance hai!”

His voice trembled, ready to snatch the box away.

My cousin just grinned, folding his arms. “Koi baat nahi. Dekhte hain chhote bhai mein kitna dum hai.”

I saw through his plan. He’d insisted on no cap at the start—now I knew why.

In Teen Patti, there’s always a cap, to keep things sane. He’d wanted to push until I broke.

He taunted, “Paisa nahi hai toh pehle ka sab bhi nahi milega.”

His words stung. Eyes flicked between us, searching for surrender.

Uncle just chuckled and turned back to rummy, pretending not to care. His indifference stung more than my cousin’s arrogance.

I clenched my fists. There was no way I could match thirty lakh in cash.

My knuckles whitened. My heart thudded, but I didn’t look away.

Suddenly, my fiancée spoke up: “Koi baat nahi. Shaadi ka flat laga do.”

Her voice was calm, clear. Heads whipped around. Someone dropped a teacup.

Even the family parrot stopped squawking. The silence was so thick, you could hear the pressure cooker in the kitchen.

Uncle bit his cigarette, forgetting his rummy. My cousin’s hands trembled.

No one moved. The gold chain on my fiancée’s neck caught the light, like it too was waiting.

Now the elders crowded in, urging us to stop. Nani clucked, “Bacchon, yeh sab mat karo. Ghar ki baat hai.”

Papa rushed over, punching my shoulder. “Pagal ho gaya hai kya? Sab kuch haarega kya?”

His voice cracked, pleading. He looked at my fiancée, searching for support, but she stood tall.

He tried to peek at my cards, but I pressed them close to my chest. Some secrets are sacred.

Anyone who plays Teen Patti knows: one wrong glance, and your whole hand is revealed. Papa’s worry was written on his face.

I had three Kings. Only three Aces could beat me.

I steadied my breath. My whole life hung on these cards.

He’d started this war. With three Kings, it was do or die.

My fiancée spoke, “Hamare wedding flat ki keemat pachaas lakh hai. Tumse bees lakh zyada. Ab takkar loge?”

Her words were bold. Even the uncles looked nervous.

Uncle shouted, “Sab pagal ho gaye ho kya?”

He slapped his thigh, exasperated. “Yeh koi film chal rahi hai kya? Band karo yeh drama!”

He tried to push our chips back. “Mat bhadkao bhai ko! Woh bada aadmi hai, tumhara bhala chahta hai. Maafi maang lo, ya fir naukri bhi nahi milegi uske paas!”

His hand hovered over the table. I pressed it down. “Sab kuch yahin rahega!”

My voice rang out, sharp. Even I was surprised at my own defiance.

He recoiled, shocked.

I gritted my teeth. “Jab paanch hazaar laga tha, sab chup the. Jab dinner pe baatein banayi, tab bhi. Aaj usne keys rakhe pehle. Main aakhri tak chalunga.”

Everyone heard the accusation. No one contradicted me.

Uncle stared, wounded. “Bade buzurgon se aise baat karte hain?”

I didn’t care. Some lines had to be drawn.

I turned to my cousin. “Ya toh bees lakh aur laga ke cards dikhao, ya sab kuch chhod do. Teesra option: dono apna le lo, aur mere Papa se maafi maango.”

My cousin’s face twisted, caught between rage and disbelief. The room held its breath.

The only sound was the wall clock ticking.

Everyone remembered—the cigarette, the flame. But no one spoke up for us.

Uncle’s hidden smirk told me all I needed to know.

Some battles, you fight alone.

My cousin laughed angrily. “Itna attitude apne hi family ke saamne?”

He thumped the table, but his voice shook.

I shook my head. “Jab se tumne car keys rakhi, tab se family nahi rahe.”

Ma blinked, startled by my coldness.

He sneered, “Fine, baad mein mat bolna dara diya.” His hands fidgeted, nerves showing.

He revealed two Queens, slapping them down with a flourish. Sweat beaded on his brow.

Inside, I wanted to cheer, but I kept my face serious.

He challenged, “Socho, teesra card set banata hai?”

He leaned forward, hoping I’d flinch.

It was classic Teen Patti—half-show to read my face. I stayed blank.

Even if he had three Queens, my Kings won. Only three Aces could beat me. Relief fluttered inside.

His little show-off was his undoing.

It was a classic tale—pride before a fall. I almost pitied him. Almost.

But I said, “Bluff kar raha hai. Takkar lega ya nahi?”

My heart hammered like the Ganpati dhol.

He stared at me, searching for a tell.

Our silent duel continued, the family frozen.

In Teen Patti, nerves win the game. My cousin was learning the hard way.