Chapter 1: Bound by Fate

I was born with a full chest. Even before I learned to tie my own plaits, the aunties in our lane would nudge each other, eyes flicking to my front as if I was carrying something forbidden. The clang of steel buckets at the handpump, the distant call of the kulfiwala, all seemed to pause whenever I passed. Amma would mutter, 'What to do, beta, some girls are blessed—bus, keep your dupatta pinned, and don't look back.' So when Madam noticed the same thing, her forehead creased with worry lines deeper than the Yamuna in flood season. She feared the young master might lose his senses seeing me around the house, so she settled my fate without so much as a by-your-leave. She promised me to Colonel Arjun, who'd come back from the border, barely alive, they said, wounds deeper than what any hakim could heal.

As she pushed me out the heavy wooden door, she tried to console me, guilt thick in her voice but her chin still held high, like a true lady: 'Arjun ka toh... bas, woh mardana taaqat nahi hai. At least, beta, tu bachche ka dard toh nahi jhelegi.' She wiped my tears with the edge of her saree pallu, then patted my cheek with hands rough from years of kneading atta, trying to soften her words with a brittle smile—half-duty, half-remorse.

'Don’t worry, men who lack in that area are often especially talented in other ways.' Madam’s lips twitched, the words coming out half as a joke, half as superstition, like some old filmi dialogue.

Later, I ended up begging for mercy every night.

I really wanted to ask Madam:

Why is Colonel Arjun talented in every possible way?