Chapter 2: Humiliation and Resolve

The icy lake water swallowed me up in an instant. My mouth and nose filled with a rush of cold water as I sank deeper.

For a heartbeat, the world was only bubbles and the strange, muffled roar of my own fear. The cold bit through my bones as I kicked upwards, sari billowing around me like a trapped fish.

“Arrey! Jaldi, save her!”

Voices shrieked from the boat. It was the familiar timbre of Lucknowi Hindi and English, mingled with panic: "Arey bhai, koi kuch karo! Jaldi!" Aunties clutched their saris tighter, uncles shouted for someone to do something, and somewhere, a child began to wail. The lake, so peaceful moments ago, was now chaos.

A chorus of shocked cries and screams erupted from the boat, echoing in my ears. Then I heard a heavy splash—someone else had jumped into the water.

My heart leapt with hope. For a moment, I thought, "Surely, Kabir has come for me." The air above the surface carried the acrid smell of city water, and the urgent voices made my head spin.

At first, I panicked when I fell in, but my instinct for survival quickly took over. My memory of swimming returned, and I started swimming rapidly towards the boat.

The strokes came back, rusty but determined, as if all those childhood summer afternoons at the riverbank—sneaking away from tuition to race Kabir and the neighbour boys—had prepared me for this exact moment. I kicked harder, gasping for air, mind focused only on the safety of the boat’s painted edge.

As soon as my head broke the surface, I saw a familiar figure in black swimming straight towards me.

My breath hitched. I recognised Kabir at once—the confident way he cut through the water, his tall frame unmistakable even in the chaos. For a split second, relief bloomed in my chest.

My eyes lit up at the sight of him. Instinctively, I reached out weakly for help. “Kabir…”

My voice was little more than a croak, carried away by the wind. I stretched my arm towards him, my fingers trembling, desperately hoping he would pull me to safety, as he always had when we were children.

But he swam right past me, not even glancing in my direction, not so much as turning his head.

The cold in my veins turned to ice. I hung in the water, stunned, hand still reaching out, mouth agape. It felt as if the world had paused, the only movement the ripple Kabir left behind as he surged ahead.

Priya’s nails dug into her palm, the taste of lake water still sharp on her tongue, as she watched Kabir cradle Ananya like she was something precious.

For a moment, I couldn’t even feel the cold. Shock numbed me. My hand dropped, heavy as guilt, and I watched helplessly as the man I loved passed me by as if I were a stranger.

I watched in a daze as Kabir, his face full of anxiety, swam straight to my younger sister, Ananya.

The memory of childhood games flashed before my eyes—Kabir always chasing after me, always choosing me first. But now, all I could see was his single-minded focus on Ananya, whose white dupatta floated like a lily on the water’s surface.

He scooped Ananya into his arms and brought her to shore.

He lifted her gently, as if she were made of glass. The boat rocked with his urgency, water streaming from his kurta as he half-carried, half-dragged her towards the bank. Some cousin let out a relieved sigh, and the crowd shifted, eager for drama.

Feeling the trembling of the woman in his embrace, he paused to comfort her, “Ananya, don’t be afraid. I’m here to save you.”

His voice, so warm and tender, cut through the commotion. For Ananya, he became a hero in an instant, the kind every girl dreams of, the kind that makes onlookers sigh, "Kya naseeb hai!"

The sight was so jarring that I even forgot to tread water.

For a moment, my body threatened to sink again, but the sting of humiliation was stronger than the pull of the lake. The faces on the boat blurred as tears mingled with water on my cheeks.

I could only watch as my fiancé abandoned me and went to save my younger sister.

The ache in my chest spread to my fingertips. It wasn’t just drowning in water, it was drowning in shame. The whispers on the boat were as sharp as the chill.

Since the boat was small, no one had brought servants, and none of the pampered young ladies and gentlemen dared to jump in to save me.

A few men looked around, muttering excuses. “Mera suit kharab ho jayega, yaar,” one said, while another laughed nervously, “She knows how to swim, na?” Even the boatman just stood, wringing his hands helplessly. The aunties were too busy pulling their daughters closer, whispering warnings about "badnami" and "ladki ki izzat".

In the end, I had no choice but to climb onto the boat myself.

My limbs ached as I hauled myself over the side. Water streamed from my clothes, pooling at my feet, as I tried to gather the remnants of my dignity. The planks felt rough beneath my knees, and I could hear my breath coming out in ragged gasps.

I was soaked from head to toe, my long hair sticking messily to my skin.

Strands of hair plastered across my forehead, my glass bangles clinking as I tried to wring out the ends of my dupatta. My teeth began to chatter—not just from the cold, but from the eyes boring into me.

It was summer, and my thin clothes, now drenched, left nothing to the imagination. The red slip beneath was faintly visible.

The sun, relentless and bright just moments before, now seemed to burn my exposed skin with shame. My yellow kameez clung to me, and the border of my red slip peeked out, bold and unforgiving.

Several of the young men nearby cast strange glances at me, their eyes lingering a little too long.

A few smirked, exchanging knowing glances. One even elbowed his friend, and someone stifled a whistle. I could feel my ears burning. A distant cousin tried to look away, but his gaze kept returning, curious and unkind.

“Tch tch, this eldest Miss Sharma has quite a figure.”

An older man, probably one of the business associates, whispered just loud enough for the others to hear. A ripple of laughter followed, the kind that wraps itself around a woman’s pride and squeezes until it aches.

Among the crowd, a dissolute young man let his shameless gaze roam over me.

His eyes travelled up and down, lingering at my chest, then flicking to my legs, as though I were a mannequin on display at Hazratganj. The casual arrogance of his gaze made my stomach twist.

That look seemed to strip away my wet clothing, seeing straight through to what lay beneath.

Every inch of skin crawled under the weight of his stare. I tried to fold my arms across my chest, but the gesture only seemed to encourage him. My throat felt dry, as if the water had stolen all my words.

He grinned at Kabir, making a show of folding his hands. “Bhai Kabir, what good fortune you have! Once you marry, you’ll have endless pleasures. Truly makes us all jealous.”

The laughter that followed was cruel, not jovial. Some of the young men whistled, others snickered, and even the servants exchanged glances. In that moment, I wished I could disappear—melt away into the cracks of the boat and leave this body behind.

Though I had always been proud by nature, a woman’s modesty is everything. To be seen in such a wretched state by so many people left me deeply humiliated.

The weight of generations pressed on my shoulders—my dadi’s warnings, Maa’s advice, the neighbourhood aunties’ endless gossip. What would they say now? "Dekha, ladkiyan aise hi bigadti hain." My fists clenched at my sides.

Anger and shame churned inside me.

The urge to scream, to slap that smirk off his face, rose up, but I swallowed it. The words stuck in my throat, bitter as neem. Only the memory of Maa’s strict eyes kept me from lashing out.

I could only wrap my arms around myself, instinctively searching for a familiar figure. My gaze was fragile and full of hope. “Kabir…”

In my mind, I called out to him, praying he would see my pain and rush to my side. Instead, my voice sounded small, lost in the noise of the crowd.

At that moment, I only wished someone would take me away, shielding me from all these leering eyes.

My skin prickled as if every gaze was a brand. I shrank further into myself, wishing for a miracle—perhaps a sudden downpour, a sympathetic aunty, anything to hide my shame.

But Kabir wrapped his outer kurta tightly around Ananya, using his own body to shield her from view.

He fussed over her, whispering reassurances. His broad back blocked her from the world, as if she were a precious jewel to be guarded, while I remained exposed and shivering.

At the young man’s teasing, his face darkened.

A muscle in Kabir's jaw twitched, and for a second I thought he might speak up for me. But his anger was directed elsewhere—not at my humiliation, but at the threat to Ananya's modesty.

But instead of comforting me, he snapped angrily, “Yahan kya kar rahi ho? Jaldi jao, kapde badlo, sabke saamne tamasha mat banao.”

His words cut deeper than the stares. I recoiled as if slapped, lips trembling, the urge to protest dying in my throat. A wave of cold washed over me—not from the lake, but from him.

My body stiffened. The wet clothes, whipped by the wind, chilled me to the bone.

I hugged myself tighter, biting back a sob. The sound of a horn blared from the nearby road, as if mocking my misery. Even the summer sun seemed to dim.

Ananya’s face was pale, her hair clinging softly to her cheeks, her body trembling like a jasmine flower in the rain—so pitiful.

She looked every bit the tragic heroine, the sort men rush to rescue. Her eyes, wide with fear, flickered briefly to me, then away. If anyone noticed the calculating twist to her lips, they said nothing.

She tugged at the man’s sleeve, her voice trembling as she cried, “Bhai Kabir, I’m so scared… I almost died.”

Her words were barely a whisper, yet they carried like a plea across the water. The crowd leaned closer, sympathy softening their expressions. Even the gossipy aunties nodded, murmuring, "Bechari, kitni masoom hai."

“Ananya, don’t be afraid. I’ll take you back right now.”

Kabir’s voice turned gentle, almost reverent. He bent to wipe her tears, reassuring her as if nothing else in the world mattered but her comfort.

Kabir quickly lowered his head to comfort her, then, without so much as a glance at me, carried her away in his arms.

He lifted her easily, cradling her as one might a child. The crowd parted, offering words of encouragement, while I remained rooted to the spot, feeling invisible and unwanted.

I could only huddle miserably on the boat’s deck, eyes brimming with tears, my vision blurring.

The world around me blurred, the edges of the boat wavering in my watery vision. I pressed my fist to my mouth, fighting to keep from sobbing aloud.

I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to let the tears fall, until I tasted blood.

The metallic tang grounded me, bringing me back from the edge of despair. It was a small, desperate act of control in a world spinning out of it.

In that moment, my mind suddenly cleared.

That day, as I dragged myself out of the lake alone, I left my childhood dreams behind in the muddy water.