Amma’s Pov-

By the time I returned home, the sun had already begun its slow descent, bleeding orange across the fields. My bones ached, but my mind was heavier than my body. I had gone to the Thakur with a trembling heart, hoping for a little mercy, a little protection for my Saanjh.

When my door creaked open, one of Thakur’s men stood there, bowing respectfully. My chest tightened immediately. Men like him never came without reason.

“Ammaji,” he said, “Babuji has given his word. The marriage arrangements should begin at once.”

For a fleeting moment, relief warmed me. I pressed my palms together and whispered, “Bhagwan ka lakh lakh shukriya.”(Thank god so so much) Finally, Saanjh would be safe, finally, she would be free from Pratap’s cruelty.

But then the man’s next words fell upon my ears like a curse.

“The groom will be Thakur’s own son, Aarksh.”

The ground beneath me seemed to vanish. My lips parted, but no sound came. My knees gave way, and I sat heavily on the charpai. The world blurred as if smoke had filled my eyes.

Aarksh? The Thakur’s son?

He was still a boy—barely eighteen! His life had only just begun. How could such a heavy bond be tied around his neck so soon? And my Saanjh… she was only six. Six.I pressed my palm to my chest, trying to calm the storm inside. No… this cannot be right. Two lives cannot be crushed to save one.

And yet, the image of Pratap’s cruel, drunken eyes flashed before me. His fists raised, his curses echoing through the house. I shuddered. What other choice did I have? What other path could save Saanjh from his wrath once I was gone?

Tears welled in my eyes as I whispered into the empty room, “Hai Bhagwan… are you saving my Saanjh or testing me with a sin I cannot bear?”

That night, as the village prepared for another ordinary evening, I sat in silence, clutching Saanjh close in my arms. She slept peacefully, her little fingers curled into my sari. Too innocent to know the storm that awaited her.

I kissed her forehead and prayed—let Thakur be right… let this marriage save her, not destroy her.

Next morning,

The courtyard was alive with Saanjh’s laughter, her tiny feet chasing after the rabbits as if no darkness existed in her world. Her giggles rang like bells, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to believe she was safe—that perhaps, somehow, life would show her mercy.

But then, the sound of engines shattered that fragile peace. Dust rose in the air as three—no, four—black jeeps rolled to a halt in front of my house. My heart lurched into my throat.

I straightened on the mat, my frail hands gripping the edge. Saanjh froze for a second, clutching a bunny to her chest, her innocent eyes staring curiously at the scene.

The door of the first jeep opened. Out stepped Thakur Rajsatya Singh Solanki, his presence towering even without a word. His white kurta gleamed in the sunlight, his steps measured, determined. Behind him came his wife, Parvati, her face soft but her eyes unreadable. The men followed, forming a wall of authority around them.

And then—last.

Aarksh.

He climbed down, his jaw clenched, his eyes hard as steel. Not the playful stubbornness of youth, but a simmering storm that refused to bow. He didn’t look at anyone—not at me, not at his mother, not even at his baba. His gaze lingered on the earth itself, as if he could burn a hole through it.

My chest tightened painfully. Hai Bhagwan(Ohh God)… how can this be right?

I rose slowly to my feet, my knees trembling but my back straight. Saanjh ran to me, hiding behind my sari, her little fingers tugging at the fabric. She sensed something, even in her innocence.

“Ammaji,” Thakur’s voice broke the silence, deep and commanding. “Shall we come in?”

I folded my hands, bowing my head. “Ji, Thakur saab… come inside.”

But my heart… my heart whispered otherwise. This house is too small to hold the storm that has just entered.

I quickly called out for Shanta. My voice trembled more than I wanted it to. She came hurrying from the kitchen, wiping her hands on the edge of her dupatta, her face pale as she noticed the guests. Without a word, she bent down and began arranging chairs in the courtyard, her hands shaking slightly as if she too sensed the heaviness in the air.

The Thakur family settled. Rajsatya took the center chair like a lion resting in his own jungle, Parvati lowered herself gracefully beside him, her eyes darting once to Aarksh as if to soothe his restless spirit. Aarksh, however, refused to sit. He stood apart, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond us all, like a soldier forced into a battle he never asked for.

Saanjh, clutching my hand tightly, peered out from behind me, her small frame trembling as though she could already feel the storm creeping toward her. My poor child didn’t understand, yet her soul knew—danger lurked in silence more than in shouts.

Rajsatya cleared his throat, his deep baritone cutting through the quiet like a blade.

“Ammaji, yesterday you came to me with a request. I have thought much about it…”

My lips went dry. I tightened my hold on Saanjh, while Shanta stood behind me like a shadow, her eyes darting nervously from Saanjh to Aarksh, then back to Thakur.

“…and I have reached a decision.”

The air stilled. Even the rabbits had scurried away, leaving behind only scattered dust and silence.

Rajsatya’s gaze shifted toward Aarksh, then down at Saanjh hiding behind me. His voice was calm, too calm, the kind that carried storms hidden beneath.

“For the good of both families, for the protection of this little girl, and for the discipline of my son…” He paused, his eyes hardening. “…I have decided that Aarksh will marry Saanjh.”

The world around me spun. Shanta gasped sharply, covering her mouth. My knees weakened, and I almost staggered back onto the mat. Saanjh looked up at me with her innocent eyes, not understanding the meaning but sensing my fear.

And Aarksh…

His head snapped toward his baba, eyes wide with disbelief, rage burning beneath the surface.

I looked at Aarksh—his jaw was clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might break, yet not a single word left his lips. That was the weight of Thakur shaab’s upbringing—discipline woven into his bones, obedience hammered into his soul. His silence was louder than any scream, but still, he stood there, rigid, chained by his father’s shadow.

Before I could gather the courage to say anything, the heavy crunch of footsteps echoed through the courtyard. Pratap.

He entered from outside, his face darkened by sun and by bitterness alike. The moment his eyes fell upon Thakur ji and his family seated in our courtyard, his expression shifted—shock flickered, but quickly drowned in servility. He bent low, bowing deeply before Rajsatya, his hands folded.

“Thakur saab…” he said, voice almost trembling, “…aap mere ghar aaye… yeh to humare liye izzat ki baat hai.”(You came to my house… this is a matter of honour for us.)

I felt bile rise in my throat. The same man who spat venom at his own daughter now bent like a loyal dog before power. My heart screamed, Shameless man! You will sell your own child if it earns you a nod from Thakur!

Thakur ji merely inclined his head, his authority filling the air like thunder.

“Pratap, we were just discussing your daughter’s future.”

Pratap’s eyes flickered toward me, then to the little figure clinging to my sari. A cruel spark glinted in his gaze. For the first time in years, I saw his lips curve—not in anger, but in satisfaction.

“Jo bhi aap uchit samjhein, Thakur saab,” he said quickly, almost hungrily. “Who hi hoga. Aap jo faisla karenge, wahi mere liye hukum hoga.”(Whatever you think is right, Thakur sahab,) (It will be right. Whatever you decide will be my order.)

My hands tightened around Saanjh’s shoulders. She pressed her small face into me, frightened by the sudden weight in the air. Shanta’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she stayed silent.

And in that moment, as Rajsatya glanced once more at his son and then at Saanjh, I realized—the decision had already been sealed.

This was no longer just about marriage.

It was a bargain of power.

And my Saanjh… was the price.

Just then, the little bunnies came hopping out from their burrow again, their tiny noses twitching in the dust. Saanjh’s eyes lit up, her small lips parting into a soft giggle. As if the heavy silence, the men’s voices, the weight of her father’s hatred—all of it—did not exist for her.

“Khargosh!” she squealed, (rabbit)wriggling out of my grip. Before I could hold her back, she darted across the courtyard, her tiny feet slapping against the earth. She bent low, chasing after them, her laughter floating in the air like chimes in a storm.

For a heartbeat, the courtyard split into two worlds.

On one side—the men, sitting in rigid silence, their words sharp, their decisions ruthless. Power, pride, bargains, and honor all clashing in the shadows.

On the other side—my little Saanjh, running behind the rabbits, clapping her small hands, her innocence untouched by the poison around her.

Rajsatya’s eyes followed her for a moment, unreadable, perhaps even softened—but then his gaze hardened again as it returned to Aarksh.

Pratap smirked, watching his daughter laugh as if she were some foolish puppet, unaware of the strings already tied to her fate.

And me? My heart broke into pieces. Because Saanjh thought she was free, chasing her beloved bunnies—but in truth, her tiny life had already been caged.

Aarksh’s fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving. His eyes followed Saanjh’s laughter, then shot toward his father, burning with a question he could not dare to voice.

The rabbits scattered into the bushes again. Saanjh stumbled, looked around, and then turned back toward us with a bright, clueless smile—her innocence shining in a courtyard drowning in doom.

I bit my tongue to stop myself from crying aloud. Because in that moment, I knew: she was laughing at the very edge of her own tragedy.

The Thakurain, who had sat quietly all this time with worry clouding her eyes—worry for her son, for her husband’s stubbornness, for the storm brewing inside this house—suddenly softened.

Her gaze had fallen upon Saanjh. My little girl was still laughing, her cheeks flushed from chasing the rabbits, her dupatta slipping from one shoulder.

For the first time since they had entered, Thakurain’s lips curved into a gentle smile. A mother’s smile.

“Saanjh… aao beta,” she called out softly.(Come Kid)

Saanjh stopped mid-step, startled that someone from the Thakur family was calling her by name. She looked up at me questioningly. I hesitated, but then gave a small nod.

The child, ever trusting, toddled toward Thakurain.

When she reached her, Thakurain bent forward, arms open, and in one graceful motion lifted Saanjh into her lap.

The sight… it froze me.

Saanjh, so small, so innocent, perched against the silken folds of Thakurain’s saree, her tiny hands clutching the pallu shyly. And Thakurain, stroking her hair with a tenderness that I had only ever seen in myself and Shanta.

“Kitni masoom hai…” Thakurain whispered, brushing a strand of hair from Saanjh’s forehead. “Like a flower.”(how sweet she is)

My heart twisted painfully. A flower indeed—plucked before it could bloom, offered into hands too strong for its fragility.

Aarksh’s eyes flickered to his mother, then to Saanjh. For a fleeting second, something softened in his gaze too, before he caught himself and turned away, jaw tightening once more.

Pratap, however, stood with pride swelling in his chest—as if Saanjh’s presence in Thakurain’s lap was proof of his own honor, his own worth. Shameless man. He did not see the tragedy written across this scene; he only saw profit in it.

Rajsatya watched in silence, his arms folded across his chest, his decision already iron.

And me… I could do nothing but watch. My precious child nestled in the lap of a woman who might soon call her “bahu’(Daughter in law)

Saanjh giggled again, playing with the bangles on Thakurain’s wrist, completely unaware that her world was being decided in whispers and silence around her.

Shanta, still pale with unease, quickly busied herself in the kitchen. The clinking of steel cups and plates echoed faintly, almost drowning in the heavy silence of the courtyard. Soon, she emerged with a large brass tray, her dupatta covering her head properly out of respect. She carefully set out tea, coffee, and a few snacks before the Thakur family. The fragrance of steaming chai mingled with the dust in the air, but it could not soften the atmosphere.

The men began talking.

Thakur shaab spoke first, his voice steady, carrying the weight of authority. “Arrangements should begin without delay. A week is enough time.”

Pratap, sitting at the edge like a dog at his master’s feet, nodded eagerly. “Ji, Thakur saab. Jo aap kahein, wahi hoga. I’ll take care of everything from my side.” His eyes flickered with greed and self-satisfaction—this was no father protecting his daughter, this was a man rid of his burden.

Rajsatya’s men leaned closer, whispering about preparations, dowry, and rituals. Their words were sharp, practical, as though they were planning a trade, not a child’s future.

Meanwhile, Aarksh stood apart, his untouched cup of tea growing cold on the table. His fists remained clenched at his sides, his face expressionless but his silence screaming rebellion. He would not speak—not here, not in front of his father. But his eyes… they burned, restless, as if a fire was eating him from within.

Thakurain, her arm still wrapped around Saanjh, kept stroking the child’s hair absentmindedly. But I caught the flicker of her gaze toward her son. She saw his pain, his anger, and her heart was caught between two children—her own blood and this little girl fate had thrown into their lap.

And I… I sat frozen. The men’s voices blurred into a distant drone in my ears. All I could see was Saanjh, giggling at the bangles on Thakurain’s wrist, blissfully unaware. She thought she was playing, but in truth, she was already being passed from lap to lap, her destiny written by others.

Every sip of tea, every nod of agreement, every careless laugh from Pratap carved another wound into my chest.

This was not a gathering.

This was the signing of her childhood’s death.

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