Chapter 7: Learning, Letters, and Hope

Days passed, but I couldn’t forget that glance. Meera was growing up. I wanted to send her to the mandir to learn from Swamiji, but feared for her safety. Instead, I sent her to the princess’s new girls’ school, along with Mrs. Yadav’s daughter. Though Meera was simple, she learned quickly. We recited poems at night, tracing letters on slate. Each new word was a small triumph.

At Teej, I took Meera to the jail with laddoos, food, fans, and colourful threads. The guards let us in, drawn by the promise of sweets. The family looked better than before. Madam’s voice was stronger, the two young masters studied daily, and even the aunt no longer wept. Hope had returned.

Meera clung to her father, showing off the letters she’d written on the fan. Her father beamed, praising her. Madam placed a hand on my shoulder, “Rani, you are a blessing to this family.” Meera displayed the underclothes I’d sewn for madam, who dabbed at her eyes, overcome with emotion. I blushed, but was glad to serve.

I had news from home—a letter from my father in the city. After my sale, my grandparents split the family and the money. My parents left with only a small share, moving to a rented house in the city. My father worked in a grain shop, my mother washed clothes. With the money I sent, they could finally dream of buying land and arranging my brother’s marriage.

The Sharma family was a new life for me. Madam, hand on my head, said, “If we survive, let Kabir marry her. True feelings are shown in adversity.” I blushed, thinking none of them deserved me. “Please treat me like Meera,” I replied, pressing my forehead to the floor. Madam smiled, “We’ll see in the future. For now, Meera, pour your father some chai.”

I soon forgot that day, busy with the struggles of survival, but the warmth lingered like a cherished letter.