Chapter 2: Second Chances and Shadows

But then—just as the world went black—I gasped, and found myself back in that cursed house, the wedding night replaying like some cruel joke. The smell of leftover biryani and burnt agarbatti hung in the air. Outside, eight groomsmen watched us from a distance, hungry, eyes glowing in the dim light, like wolves waiting for a signal.

"Bhaiya, I'll go over first."

My little sister, Meera, was always trusting, always too innocent for her own good. She adjusted her glass bangles, clutched her dupatta, and before leaving, tucked a toffee into my hand. She even paused to touch the bride’s feet for blessings, her small-town manners shining through. She looked back at me with a shy smile. After saying goodbye, she was about to head off with her so-called best friend, Ritu.

I caught her arm, voice light but eyes serious. "Arrey, Meera! Such a shubh din—tu Ritu ko ek proper toast nahi degi kya? Itna jaldi sona bhi thik nahi lagta."

Meera giggled, embarrassed. "But, Didi, main toh bilkul bhi nahi peeti."

I gave her a sideways look, teasing. "Bas, drink nahi toh kya hua? Ritu toh hai na! She came all this way for you, became your bridesmaid—yeh koi choti baat hai kya?"

Ritu smiled—a little too wide, a little too forced—pulling Meera away with her perfectly-manicured fingers. "Chal, Meera, late ho raha hai," she cooed, her smile so sweet it could rot your teeth.

I smiled sweetly myself, and pulled out a bottle of wine I'd packed in my jhola. Waving it dramatically, I said, "Dekho! Imported maal—my father's 'daughter's red', saved since the year I was born. Lekin shaadi mein serve karna bhool gayi, kya karu?"

Meera's eyes sparkled. "Arey! Kaise yaad rakh leti ho sab kuch, didi?" She took it from me as if it was treasure.

I looked pointedly at Ritu. "Ritu, just see my brain—total gone case. Bapu saved this for his daughter’s big day. You’re almost like family. Was supposed to open this at the reception, but kya karein, all the rush and tamasha… Don’t feel bad, ok?" I said, my tone laced with irony even as I smiled.

Meera, as always, melted. But that Ritu—her eyes, even as she accepted my words, showed not a flicker of guilt or warmth. It was like trying to see through frosted glass.

"Arrey Meera, you're really too good to me," Ritu announced, throwing an exaggerated arm around Meera. "But, abhi toh shaadi khatam ho gayi. Let's keep it for when I have a baby—then we'll drink for the naamkaran!"

Meera, too easy to fool, was about to nod, but I cut in sharply, "Chup kar. That's bad luck. This wine has waited too long for a shubh mahurat. Abhi nahi piya toh phir kab? Ruko, main glasses leke aati hoon."

I dashed off before anyone could protest. Tonight, if I didn't get her drunk, I'd write my own name upside down. Sometimes, you've got to fight evil with jugaad.

In small towns, wedding banquets take over entire roads. Shamianas line the street, plates clatter as guests dig into pulav and paneer. The air hums with dhol, and marigolds mix with the scent of mehendi. But beneath the bright lights, ugly traditions fester.

I slipped into the tent to check things out. The groomsmen were deep into their daaru session, passing around pegs of Old Monk, their faces red, voices growing louder with every round. The air was thick with sweat, cheap perfume, and the sharp tang of Old Monk. The dhol beat thumped in my chest. Some sang filmi songs off-key; one uncle was dancing like it was his own baraat.

As I entered, a couple of boys tried to pull me in—"Arrey bhaiya, ek peg toh banta hai!"—but I politely declined. Instead, I grabbed a bottle from the table and filled each man's glass to the brim, not missing a single one. The groom himself was a mess—half his sherwani undone, passed out, face planted in the rasmalai bowl.

When I poured for the last groomsman, he looked up at me, eyes sharp, a sneer curling his lips. "Bhaiya, woh bridesmaid aapki behen hai na?"

"Haan, toh?"

"Kuch nahi, just saying... mast lag rahi hai."

Of all the groomsmen, this one—I’d never forget his face. Amit, they called him. In my past life, he was the first to lay hands on Meera, and the one who killed me.

Amit glared, then lifted his glass with a mocking salute, downed it in one go, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Pure arrogance. Then, with a sly grin, he added, "Aaj toh party banegi, bhaiya. Apni behen ko sambhal ke rakhna."

I didn't react, just kept a pleasant smile pasted on my lips. Today, I had my own plans for him—let's see who wins this game, Amit.

Without wasting more time, I finished up and slipped back. But when I reached the room, my heart dropped—Meera and Ritu were gone.

Panic gripped me. I hurried down the hallway, searching for them. Sure enough, I found them in the same room as last time—the room that haunted my nightmares. Ritu was showing Meera the wedding photos, flipping through them with fake cheer.

"Bhaiya, dekho na! These photos turned out so well," Meera called out, unaware of the danger, her voice as innocent as always.

I ignored the photos—couldn't care less about those devils' faces. Instead, I handed over the cup I'd brought. "Outside, sab abhi bhi khana khana mein busy hain. It's a beautiful night, Meera. Come, ek toast ho jaaye, bride ke naam pe."

Ritu hesitated, pulling her dupatta close. "I don't really drink," she mumbled. Her nervousness was real, but it played right into my hands—the less she could handle, the better.

I turned on my best smile, insisting, "Kuch nahi hota, yaar. Aise bade mauke baar baar nahi aate. You’ll regret it if you don’t try. This wine is very smooth—go on."

Seeing us both sip, Ritu gave in and tipped back her glass in one go, only to cough so hard her kajal smudged. My sister looked on, surprised. "Arrey, Ritu! Kya speed hai teri! Hum toh sip kar rahe hain."

Ritu wiped her mouth, embarrassed. "I saw this on TV, that’s how they do it."

Meera burst out laughing, and so did I. The wine was strong—sharab jo baap ne chhupa ke rakhi thi, uska rang hi alag tha. At least, this made things easier for me. Now, all I had to do was wait for the wine to work its magic.

With Ritu getting tipsy, I pretended to head to the bathroom. In reality, I slipped into the storeroom and pulled the plug on the main fuse—kacche wires, one quick tug. The house plunged into darkness, just the distant drums and the far-off howl of a stray dog. Darkness hides many sins. Let them try their filthy tricks now—no one would know which girl was inside.

Back in the tent, the party was still roaring—some drunk uncle singing 'Choli ke Peeche' for the third time. Inside, Ritu was already unsteady, clutching her head, mumbling nonsense. Meera tried to keep her upright, concern etched on her face.

I came in and whispered, "Meera, she's drunk. Let her sleep it off."

"Okay, didi, help me move her to the bridal room?"

I stopped her with a raised hand. "Nahi, yahan ek riwaz hai. Dulhan bridal room mein nahi ja sakti jab tak dulha wahan nahi aata. Dulha toh abhi bhi daaru mein dooba hai. Let her rest here for now."

Meera nodded, not questioning my logic. Together, we helped Ritu onto a nearby bed—she passed out immediately, her lehenga fanned out like a broken flower. I couldn’t help but smirk. I quietly slipped the kitchen knife I’d brought from the mess into the folds of her pallu, just in case things went south.

With Ritu safely out, I took Meera by the hand and led her towards the back door. Before leaving, I made sure to break every bulb I could find—kicked at the switches, smashed one with a chappal. No light, no evidence.

Meera stared at me, worry creasing her brow. "Didi, what are you doing? Kahaan jaa rahe hain?"

"Ab kuch mat puchh, bas mere saath chal. Jo bolun, wohi kar."

Seeing my grim face, Meera stayed silent, eyes wide. But as I reached for the latch, a familiar voice echoed in the dark.

"Kaun hai re, sab light kyon bujha diya? Abhi toh raat jawaan hai!"

Amit's voice, thick with booze, floated through the shadows. The room was pitch black—he couldn't see me, but he’d definitely hear the door creak if I opened it now.

I called out, improvising. "Bhaiya, lagta bulb fuse ho gaya. Checking the switch."

"Kaun bol raha hai?"

"Bridesmaid's brother—hum abhi mil chuke hain."

"Accha, accha. Tu abhi tak jaag raha hai? Itni raat ho gayi."

Amit’s words slurred closer, impatience dripping from his tone. He wanted me out of the way so he could find Meera. If he found her, all my plans would come crashing down.

"Main wiring dekh raha hoon," I replied, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. My hands shook as I clutched my mangalsutra. "Bhaiya, tu toh poora nasha mein hai—current lag gaya toh?"

He laughed. "Arey, main toh dus saal se electrician hoon. Ek choti si touch mein sab samajh jaata hoon. Main bhi dekh lunga, chal. Waise, apni behen toh next room mein hai na?"

I bit my tongue, fury rising, but kept my tone steady. "Haan, so gayi hai."

"Wah, kitna seedhi hai. Main dekh ke aata hoon."

Amit shuffled off to peek into the next room. My nerves were jangling. I tugged Meera to crouch behind a sofa, hiding in the darkness. If Amit went in, he’d find Ritu, not Meera—a stroke of luck. He staggered back, none the wiser.

"Sahi mein so gayi hai. Hic~ Chal, main bhi madad kar deta hoon."

He burped and tried to help me with the wiring. I guided him back towards the guest room, pretending to check switches, muttering curses under my breath. "Kuch nahi milega andhere mein. Kal dekhenge. Mujhe neend aa rahi hai."

Amit grinned, satisfied. "Sahi hai. Tu bhi jaldi so jaa."

I shut the door behind him and waited till he was back at the tent, then pulled Meera quietly out the back door, heart pounding.

Meera looked at me, scared. She wasn’t dumb—she could sense something was terribly wrong. Her voice trembled. "Didi, kya ho raha hai?"

I told her everything, every ugly detail I’d heard and seen. Meera went pale, clutching my arm, eyes wide with betrayal and horror. "How could Ritu do this? Maine toh usko behen samjha tha!"

"Kisi ka asli chehra samajhna mushkil hai. Chal, abhi yahan se nikalte hain."

This wasn’t the time for philosophy. We hurried to the car. I asked Meera for the keys—I'd slipped them into her bag earlier because my own kurta had shallow pockets.

She fumbled, panic rising. "Didi, Ritu ne bola tha bag sambhalna mushkil hoga, toh usko de diya tha. Ab bas car key hi missing hai. Pakka usne nikal liya."

My head spun. So, from the start, Ritu had planned to trap us. Going back meant risking everything. But without the car, in this godforsaken town, on foot, we wouldn’t last an hour.

"Didi, main jaa ke laati hoon," Meera offered, her voice trembling but determined.

"Pagal hai kya? Tu yahin ruk. Main jaungi."

No way I’d let her go back in. I found a brick lying nearby, gripped it hard—better to die fighting. These men were drunk. If it came down to it, at least I’d go down swinging.

The night was heavy, filled with the distant echo of laughter and the smell of stale whisky. As I crept back, I spotted a police jeep driving by in the distance—my heart leapt, only to sink again as I realised it was empty, abandoned by the roadside. We really were alone.

I overheard the groomsmen, their voices low and filthy:

"Wah, aaj toh maza hi aa jayega. Nayi maal hai, ekdum fresh. Kiska number pehle aayega, haan?"

"Main sabse bada hoon, mera haq hai."

"Kya budhaapa! Chalo, chidiya ud—jiska kismet, uska number."

Their laughter grated on my nerves, bile rising in my throat. They were treating my sister like a plaything. But rage wouldn’t save us now—I had to focus.

I snuck in, this time even more careful. The bridal room stank of daaru. The groom was dead to the world, half sprawled over the bed, snores rattling the window glass. I found Ritu’s shiny clutch, exactly as Meera described, but when I checked it under the moonlight outside, my heart dropped. No key.

I tried to think. Ritu wouldn’t throw away the key; she needed it as leverage. Meera had been with her all evening, so she must’ve hidden it close. I scanned the room, mind racing. Then it hit me—the bulging pocket of Ritu’s heavy saree, used for toasting.

Just as I turned to fetch it, the side door creaked and eight groomsmen shuffled in, one after another. The leader, clearly drunk, swaggered ahead—no doubt the rock-paper-scissors winner.

I ducked behind a pillar, heart hammering. I hadn’t even found the key yet. The men slipped straight into the side room where Ritu lay unconscious. I pressed my back against the cold wall, every muscle screaming—tonight, I would not let history repeat itself. Not for Meera. Not again.