When the early morning sun rises after the darkness, it brings light into everyone's life. Just like that, knowledge has the power to illuminate minds and cange the course of things.
A person who sleeps hungry every night knows the value of food. A farmer who watches his fields wither in drought understands the worth of water. Those who are denied what they desire know its true importance.
For me, it was education. It mattered because, unlike men, I wasn't allowed to hold weapons. The bangles on my wrists felt like shackles-a constant reminder of the limits placed on me.
I still remember the day I asked my father to let me continue my studies. He reminded me of my place as a woman, showing me the mirror of society. But who can stop a flowing river? In the end, he relented and appointed a headmaster to teach me at home. But that wasn't enough. I wanted more.
I had my own reasons, my own fight. And after convincing Devdar Bhaiya, he did something that finally made him agree. That's how I got permission to study in college.
Holding Wahida's hand, I walked toward the college, but my mind kept circling back to that infuriating library encounter.
That man was beyond annoying. I said sorry once- wasn't that enough? But no, he had to stand there like some self-important statue, making me repeat it. Like Seriously.
Vidya Sagar Women's College
The name was written in bold letters on the grand gate, but above it, the British flag waved a constant reminder of who held the power. I lifted my gaze, exhaling slowly. A place meant for learning, yet even here, their presence loomed over us.
We made our way inside the building, a mix of British architecture and Indian resilience. The morning sun cast long shadows across the courtyard, where girls stood in groups, chatting in hushed tones. A few English professors passed by, their expressions unreadable as they walked toward their classrooms, the sound of their polished shoes sharp against the stone floor.
I stayed silent for a while until she nudged me with her elbow. I glanced up at her, narrowing my eyes slightly.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice low as I continued walking toward the classroom.
"You know Gayatri," she muttered in a hushed tone.
"The same girl Nandita stayed with?"
She nodded and then stopped in her tracks. "You know why they both haven't been coming to college these past few days?"
"Why?" I stopped in my tracks, too, and looked up at her.
"Gayatri's parents married her off."
I exhaled a breath, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. Now, it made sense why her parents had come to our home that day. And I, foolishly, had forgotten to ask about it.
"That was fast. I didn't think her parents would do it so soon," she muttered beside me.
For a few moments, silence hung between us as we entered the classroom. Both lost in thought, neither of us spoke until she suddenly stopped, her eyes locking onto mine.
Her dark orbs mirrored my own thoughts, the unspoken words lingering in the air between us.
"Sivya," she whispered.
And I knew she was thinking exactly what I was.
"NO!"we both said at once, our voices overlapping in perfect unison. The other girls in the room turned to stare at us but we didn't bothered. Mind your own gossip ladies. I tried to shake off the thoughts.
"Khuda khair kare, agar Abbu ne aisa kuch socha bhi, toh nikah se pehle hum atma-hatya ka khat likh denge."
"May God protect us; if Abbu even thinks of something like this, I will write a suicide letter before the marriage happens." She spoke, raising her hands in a praying gesture.
"Shubh shubh bolo noor, kabhi kabhi jawan pr maa Saraswati baithi hoti hain."
"Watch your words, Noor. Sometimes, what we say ends up coming true." I said as I settled into my seat in the corner. She sat beside me, her expression thoughtful.
She was about to say something, but then Professor Reginald Dacmon walked in. He is our history teacher, a middle-aged British man with always frowning eyebrows and only a few hairs on his head. No one dares to talk back to him because he is known for being very strict.
It was history class. Their version of history is all about their victories. Ours is about resilience, revolts, and the stories they refuse to write.
They say education shapes the mind, but here, it's just a polished cage. In London, girls study freely, but for us, it's different. We are meant to be nothing more than 'educated wives.' They gave us limited subjects and a limited syllabus-that's all they gave us.
The subjects they allow us to learn are carefully chosen, just enough to make us presentable, never enough to make us question. Most girls here come from wealthy families, their futures already decided, like Gayatri.
And according to them, we are supposed to be grateful for this.
Finishing the first four classes-History, Indian and European Law, Political Science, and Economics-we finally got a break. I exhaled deeply and stood up from my desk. My gaze landed on Wahida as she let out a yawn, stretching her arms lazily.
I shook my head with a small smile and took the lunch box.
"Should I ask the professor to bring you a pillow next time?" I muttered, nudging her arm. She blinked at me before finally standing up.
"You're worse than the lectures."
I chuckled at her words as we walked toward the courtyard. "Yet, you pay more attention to me than to them."
"What can I do? You're the one who keeps things interesting, my Highness," she murmured.
I smiled a little, and after some time, we reached our usual spot under the neem tree. Other girls were busy talking among themselves. We sat down in the shade and leaned back.
After those long classes, this little break felt like a breath of fresh air.
We sat quietly for a while. I looked at her, noticing how lost she seemed in her thoughts. Whenever she was like this, it either meant she was thinking of something completely silly or something really serious. I had no idea which one it was this time.
"Sivya, don't you think what happened to Gayatri could happen to you too? Her father was a zamindar, just like yours, and she was your age."
She said it in slow yet serious way. I had no answer for her. I knew my father well but more than that, I knew myself and what I wanted.
"Noor, I don't know what the future holds for me or what's waiting ahead. But one thing I do know whether I marry or not, I will do what my heart truly wants."
I said and sighed a little. She looked at me for a few seconds before holding my hand. "But still, Sivya, you should think about it."
"The threads of the future are in God's hands, and whatever He decides will be for the best," I said, sliding my lunch box toward her. "There's no use in worrying about the things we had no control."
She took a deep breath before glancing at my lunch. Her eyebrows raised slightly as she opened the box, and then a big smile spread across her face. "Hey, why did you bring sweets all of a sudden? And that too, jalebi?" she asked .
"Manohara jiji is coming today, maybe that's why," I said, casually pulling a piece of grass from the ground.
She laughed suddenly.
"Say your jija ji is coming today, that's why." she said, taking a bite of the jalebi. The way her face lit up with that smile showed how much she loved sweets. I still couldn't understand how could anyone like something so sweet?
I nodded a little. "Yeah, yeah, say whatever." I leaned back, watching her eating jalebi happily.
"Still, Sivya, it's not easy to ignore." She said while glancing at me.
I shook my head slightly. It's not like I didn't thought about it, I did but now i'm really not in the mood to discuss this.
"Eat it before I take it back," I threatened, and she pulled the box closer to herself, shaking her head slightly with the same smile.
"It's really a good day, I guess first Ammi made sevaiyan, and now you brought these." She said.
"I hope so." I muttered softly, almost to myself, as I watched her enjoy the sweets without a care in the world.
That evening..
My sister was sitting with my mother and the other women in the veranda, where they usually gathered.
Her husband, my Jija Ji, who never got tired of his so called jokes, was in the study with my father and brothers, talking about something important.
Meanwhile, my mother gave me the task of checking on the food preparations. Sitting on a small mat in the corner, I peeled peas with other girls who were younger than me and helped here with the household chores.
They were masters in words, and I never got bored sitting here because they always kept me occupied, sometimes telling me what they did, what happened to the pottery maker, everything small and big. And in between, stealing a few fresh, soft peas was different. The small and soft ones were really sweet in taste.
Devdar Bhaiya came to pick me up from college as soon as classes ended in the afternoon.
My attention shifted to the sound of approaching footsteps. I saw my mother entering the kitchen, speaking to Sarita Kaki. She moved around, placing some sweets and snacks into small brass bowls and plates.
"Someone take these to the study room." she said.
Doree, who was sitting beside me, stood up to take it, but I held her hand and stopped her. I needed to know what they were discussing as it was always about matters related to the village. I got up, adjusting my dupatta and smoothing my skirt while moving toward my mother.
"Give it to me, I'll take this." I said.
My mother didn't ask any questions and quietly placed the plate and bowl in my hands as she was busy in giving instructions about the dinner preparations. I turned and took a step.
"Wait, Sivya," she said. her voice called from behind.
I turned around, she stepped closer towards me and adjusted my dupatta, pulling it a little lower until it covered half my forehead.
"You shouldn't forget these things, hmm." she said, her eyes meeting mine for a while. I nodded without a word and began walking towards the study room.
I walked through the corridor, my steps making a soft sound on the floor. The curtains moved a little with the breeze, and the big pillars stood quiet as I passed them. The study room door was a little open. I stopped near it and leaned closer, trying to hear what they were talking about.
"It's a problem that can't be ignored, and even if you try to talk to him about it, he's not going to do anything." I knew that voice well none other than Devdar bhaiya. It seemed like he was angry.
"But you know what happened last time. It's not that simple for us. If you start thinking only about the people, then what will happen to us?" Baba said, his voice firm and serious.
"How will they even manage? Everything's been ruined because of the lack of rain. You should at least talk to him once." Shridhar Bhaiya said. I leaned in a little more, trying to catch every word clearly.
"I already know what he'll say. And I have other important work to do." Baba said. From the way they were talking, I could tell they were speaking about Charles Winslow, the British trader. Their words and tone made it clear.
"How can there be anything more important for you when the people are - "
Devdar Bhaiya stopped midway when the sharp tap of a stick hitting the floor echoed. It was a clear sign that our father didn't like his tone. He never liked being questioned by us, though he would always respond if the questions came from them.
"Sarvagya's marriage is most important to me. I allowed her to study further only because of you but not anymore. It's time to arrange her marriage too."
Baba's voice was firm, leaving no space for argument. For a moment, I froze where I stood. I always knew this day would come but not so soon.
"Veer, I called you and Manohara here for this, and I hope you still remember what we discussed earlier," he added addressing to my brother-in-law.
I felt like the ground slipped from under my feet. This couldn't be happening. I heard footsteps approaching. I quickly stood straight and knocked on the door.
"Come in." it was Veer Jija Ji who spoke in his usual calm tone. I took a deep breath before pushing the door open. I stepped inside.
"You'll live a long life, Sivya. We were just talking about you," he said with a smile. From behind him, Baba chuckled. "He's right."
I forced a small smile, they were acting like nothing had happened, as if I hadn't just heard most of it. Without saying much, I walked over to the small table between the couches and carefully placed the bowl and plate there.
"Bade Malik, they're not leaving and keep insisting to speak with you."
I heard Dhaniya's voice from behind. It sounded like he had come in a hurry. I didn't turn to look. Instead, I kept placing the bowl carefully on its spot, taking my time with each movement.
"Tell them I'm busy and can't speak right now. If they understand, good. If not, let them wait, they'll leave on their own." Baba said firmly, and I could feel the harshness in his tone. I turned and began to walk out of the room.
"But Bade Malik..." Dhaniya tried again, but I knew well, the words held no weight against my father's deaf ears.
"I can't meet them now." Baba said, his voice gentle this time, his usual trick to sound calm while staying firm. I held my dupatta a little tighter and slowly began to walk out, my chest heavy with everything I had just heard.
Once I was out of their sight, I quickly walked toward the main gate of the haweli. My steps were fast. He can be whatever he wants, but I can't just ignore everything like this.
I reached quickly, my breaths were uneven from walking fast. On the steps of the haweli, I saw a woman sitting with a small child. She had draped the edge of her worn-out saree over his head, shielding him from the harsh sunlight.
Her eyes were slightly red, and even from a distance, I could see the traces of her tears. A heaviness settled in my chest, a deep ache that came from watching my own people like this.
I walked toward them, and as she noticed me coming, her tired eyes lifted with a flicker of hope. There was something in her look that stirred a deep ache inside me. It's not sympathy but regret. "Mausi, please get up, the sun is falling right on you." I said softly, stepping closer to shield them.
"Bitiya, I need to speak to Bade Malik... I've been waiting for hours." she said in a low, pleading voice, rising slowly and joining her hands. My heart sank at the sight, and I quickly reached out to hold her hands.
"Don't do this, Mausi. Come, he'll speak. If not, then I will." I said in slow yet soft tone, taking the little child's hand in mine and leading them both into the haveli, under the shelter of the roof.
"Please stay here, I'm coming." I said, quickly making my way into the haveli. I hurried to the kitchen and filled two glasses of water from the earthen pot. Then I returned to them and gently handed over the water.
She didn't take a sip right away. Instead, she held the glass to her child's lips, watching him closely as he drank. Only after making sure he was fine she slowly drink some water herself, her eyes still fixed on him. A small smile came across my lips by the sight.
A mother can endure everything, but never her child's suffering.
She drank the water and handed the glass back to me. I glanced at the child as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a small smile touched my lips. I gently brushed his hair back into place.
"Bitiya, the fields haven't seen a drop of rain in months. The crops didn't grow the way they should have, and in times like this, it's becoming really hard to pay the kar. Shyam's Baba is unwell too, and with all the other work, I can't earn enough to even feed my child properly. I haven't come to ask for money, bitiya... I only wish Bade Malik could reduce the kar. It's getting too hard to manage."
I listened quietly, my eyes shifting to Shyam, who stood silently beside her, clutching the edge of her saree. When I looked back at her, I saw tears welling up in her eyes. Without thinking further I stepped closer and gently wiped them away. "I'll speak to him, Mausi. I promise, I'll try."
"Please Bitiya, going hungry hurts... but it's still easier than the hurt of watching your dignity being trampled." she said.
I gently held her hand. "Not everyone has forgotten dignity, Mausi. As long as I'm here, I won't let anyone trample over yours." I said while looking at her making a promise to her and myself.
Her words settled heavy in my chest, like a stone I couldn't shake off. I looked at her, not just as a woman in need, but as someone who had carried too much pain with too little help. Hunger fades, but the sting of lost dignity... that leaves a scar. I tightened my grip on her hand. No one should have to beg to be treated like a human.
I gave her hand a gentle squeeze and smiled a little. "Don't worry, Mausi. Things will get better." I said in soft tone.
My eyes dropped to her feet, bare and dusty. My chest tightened. How did she walk all this way like that? In this June heat, the ground feels like almost burning fire. It must have hurt with every single step.
I looked around, and my eyes fell on my sandals. I walked over, picked them up, and came back to her. Kneeling down, I reached for her feet, but she quickly stepped back.
"What are you doing, Bitiya? I can't let you touch my feet, don't make me commit a sin." she said, her voice trembles a little. My heart ached hearing the words.
I looked up at her and gave a small smile before gently holding her feet. Lifting the edge of my dupatta, I wiped the dust clinging to her skin. My eyes welled up, and a tear slipped down, landing softly near her feet. If we have a roof over our heads today, it's because of their hard work and Baba needs to understand that, not push them away.
"You are like my daughter, you shouldn't do this." she said. I shook my head gently and slipped the jutti onto her feet. I wiped the corner of my eyes to hide my tears, then touched her feet, and closed my eyes for a moment.
She's the one who truly deserves respect in my eyes.
"If I'm your daughter... then tell me, what daughter lets her mother walk barefoot like this?" I said softly and stood up.
I looked at her face, and a soft warmth spread in my heart as a small, hesitant but genuine smile touched her lips. She stepped closer and gently cupped my cheek.
"May God bless you. I shouldn't be surprised... after all, you carry Bade Malik's blood." she said with quiet trust in her voice. People like her still trust my father so much... but Baba.
She looked down at her feet, then at me, a gentle smile forming on her tired face. Without saying much, She slipped the sandals off with such care, as if afraid to hurt my feelings but still firm in her choice. She placed them back where they were and came back infront of me.
"You have a big heart, bitiya... but I couldn't." she said softly.
She took her steps to leave, and I couldn't help but just watch her go. I couldn't bring myself to follow, her words kept echoing in my mind, soft yet heavy, leaving behind a silence I didn't know how to break.
Sometimes, it's the smallest gestures that remind us of the biggest truths in life.
I let out a soft sigh, unable to stop the deep respect rising in my heart for the lady. Just then, I felt a sudden grip on my wrist, someone turned me around. As I lifted my eyes to see who it was, a sharp force landed on my right cheek.
My hand slowly reached up to touch my cheek, and I turned my eyes toward the person who had just slapped me.
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