Chapter 5: The Truth in Darkness

I worried that Sushila Devi’s death would put unnecessary pressure on my daughter, so I decided to take her travelling—to Mumbai, just to escape the colony’s gossip for a while.

Meera and I packed our bags, called it a “family holiday,” and whisked our daughter away. She was happy, until one day at Imagica she wanted a princess headpiece that cost several thousand rupees. I dragged her away after much persuasion, embarrassed as she threw a tantrum in public.

That night, I found my daughter chatting with her friends on her smartwatch. Normally, I respect her privacy, but that night, restless, I checked her chat history using parental controls.

She was curled up in bed, the faint blue glow of the smartwatch illuminating her sleeping face. Outside, the distant honk of an auto drifted up from the street; the Mumbai AC hummed in the background, casting a heavy, intimate silence over the room. I scrolled through her chats, heart pounding.

What I saw left me stunned. Pages and pages of chat records—complaints about me, my frugality, my old phone, my Bata shoes, my use of coupons. "My dad is so cheap, yaar! Can’t he be like Shah Rukh Khan?" My heart ached at her words.

A girl suggested: "Why not send your dad to jail too?" The suggestion, paired with a laughing emoji, chilled me. Was nothing sacred anymore?

My daughter replied: "No, I still want to take the UPSC exam in the future. What if he drags me down?" Her response was calculating, nothing like the teary child I thought I knew.

This conversation made my heart pound. I dragged my daughter out of bed. “Did Ramesh ever molest you? Did you lie?”

She woke groggy, rubbing her eyes. The house was silent, Meera nowhere nearby. At first she tried to dodge the question, but I pressed on, my voice trembling. "Beta, please. Tell Papa. No scolding, just the truth."

Under my repeated questioning, my daughter finally confessed—Ramesh never touched her. He never molested anyone.

She broke down, sobbing, her small body trembling with guilt. "I’m sorry, Papa. I lied. He never touched me. None of us were molested. I was just angry..."

Her reason was chilling in its childish logic—Ramesh refused to drop her at the colony gate, insisting on the main stop. She was angry and wanted to teach him a lesson.

"Ayesha and the others, they don’t like him either. They say he looks like a buffalo, always shouting at us to be quiet. So they said yes, too. I never thought it would become such a big thing."

My daughter, in tears, clung to my kurta, her little fingers gripping the fabric. “I just wanted to teach him a lesson. Dad, I was wrong. Please don’t be angry, okay?” She tried to touch my feet, a desperate gesture for forgiveness, her eyes wide with fear and regret.

Her childish malice and ignorance shocked me. She thought as long as I forgave her, everything would be fine.

I sat down, my legs shaking. How could a child so young wield such power and remain so blind to its consequences? The world felt suddenly darker, more dangerous. I hugged her, but I couldn’t find the words to comfort either of us.

The next day, I took my daughter home and told Meera the truth. The train ride back was silent. Meera listened in horror, holding our daughter close, whispering prayers. The weight of our secret grew heavier with every passing kilometre.

Shocked, Meera advised me to bury the matter and never tell anyone.

She looked at me, fear etched deep in her face. "Forget all this, please. No one must ever know. It’s too dangerous. Ramesh’s Amma is dead. If he comes out, he will blame us. Why risk everything for nothing?"

She was cold, practical. "If he comes out, he might do something to us, or to our daughter. Let it go. What’s done is done."

She also said the best outcome would be for Ramesh to die in prison. After all, as long as we keep quiet, the other four girls will too.

Her logic was chilling. "If he dies in jail, the secret is safe. No one will ever know. The other girls won’t say anything. We just have to wait."

But what if Ramesh doesn’t die? The thought haunted me. I pictured him, gaunt and broken, counting days until release, planning revenge. I could not sleep, my mind churning with fear and guilt.