•♥︎•

I was in my cabin, going through some files. The meeting that I had today lasted for a whole 4 hours. It was about the increasing cases of honor killing in Banaras. Especially of the young couples-mostly, daughters.

The main reasons were massive ego and fake pride.

First, because the one respective child chose wasn't their choice.

Second, caste or social-class difference.

Third, just the fact that they love each other.

There were a hell of a lot of cases of such going on, and we knew it had to stop. The meetings discussed topics on such issues.

I checked the time, and it was 5:32 pm. Gauri asked me to come early today. I should get going. I got up and got ready to leave. I stepped out of the station and walked towards my jeep when a woman in her late 40s came running towards my jeep. Her appearance was disheveled, tears pouring from her already red-rimmed eyes. I frowned.

She approached me. "Sahab! S-Sahab, p-please help me! They'll k-kill my d-daughter! P-Please, h-help me!" She pleaded, joining her hands, panting from all the running.

"Calm down. Who'll kill your daughter? What is the real matter?" I asked. My tone was calm and composed, trying to understand what she was trying to say.

"My husband! He and the others will kill her! Please, save her. I beg you!" She tried to touch my feet, but I stopped her, shaking my head firmly.

"Don't. Come sit in the jeep. I promise I'll save her." I led her to my car, but she looked hesitant to sit. After a minute of trying to get her to sit, given our already lack of time, she agreed. I called two of my constables to accompy me, just in case. They settled on the back seat of my jeep, while I drove.

On our way there, she explained everything to me. Apparently, her daughter was only 18. They were trying to burn her alive because she'd refused to marry a man who was 25 years older than her.

She was given a choice. It was either the marriage or death.

It reminded me so much of her.

Making my heart sting with a sharp pain, a reminder of the past we've been through to get here.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening with the pressure. The more the woman spoke, the clearer the situation became—and the angrier I felt.

"Where is she now?" I asked, voice clipped but controlled.

"In our village… near the old banyan tree. They’ve taken her to the fields behind it. That’s where—where they’ll do it. Sahab, they have kerosene…"

Her voice broke again, and she clutched her saree tightly, eyes hollow from fear, filled with unstoppable tears.

I pressed my foot harder on the accelerator. The jeep roared forward on the dusty road, bumping along the uneven path, the siren still off. I didn’t want to alert them just yet.

I glanced at the rearview mirror—two constables in the back, tense and silent.

We reached the outskirts of city in under twelve minutes—though it felt like hours. The smell of smoke had grown thicker, heavier. Acrid. My jaw clenched.

As we neared the banyan tree the woman had mentioned, I slammed the brakes. The jeep screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust. I leaped out before it fully stopped.

The woman pointed with trembling hands. "There—behind those haystacks. They dragged her there! Please, save my daughter!"

We went ahead to see a girl. Tied to a wooden pole, her hands bound, her clothes soaked in kerosene. A man stood in front of her—mid-50s, oil can still in his hands. Two others were lighting a matchstick, arguing about how quickly it would burn. A bunch of people were gattered nearby. They were simply watching, not trying to stop this ridiculousness.

"What is going on here?!" My voice roared through the whole farm. They all turned to look at me. My uniform stirred different reactions through all of them—fear, shock, anger, and repulsiveness.

"I asked you all something." I pressed with gritted teeth, gesturing one of the constable, who was a lady to go untie the girl.

"Sahab, this is our personal matter. That's my daughter. You don’t need to interfere in this." The man in his 50s, her 'father' spole, dismissing my question.

"I do need to interfere when this is even a little bit of injustice involved. Aur yaha toh nainsaafi ki had par ho rahi hai." I said, glaring at them, looking at each one of them.

[And here, you're all crossing the limits of injustice]

"We are just serving justice, nothing else." One of the other men who looked too clever for his own good spoke.

"Justice?" I scoffed. "Insaaf ki baat ho rahi hai aur hum insaaf ke rakhwalo ko toh kisine bulaya hi nhi. Chalo koi nhi, ab jab hum aa hi gaye hai, toh shuru karte hai, hmm?" I taunted, smirking coldly. I looked around and saw a cot. I went towards it and sat, leaning back leisurely.

[Talks of justice are going on, and no one even bothered to call us—the guardians of justice. Well, no matter. Now that we’re here, let’s begin, shall we?]

"Chaliye, shuru hojayiye. Batao kya jurm hai, kon aapradhi hai, aur kya saza de rahe the usse?" I asked. They all fell silent, looking at each other. Some people were whispering amongst themselves in the back.

[Let’s begin. Tell me what's the crime was, who did it, and what punishment you were giving them?]

Seeing their silence, my temper rose to its highest. My face hardened. "How dare you do this to someone?!" I demanded. "Beti hai na, toh aapni hi beti ko jalane chale the?" I turned to the so-called father of the girl.

[She’s your daughter, right? You were about to burn your own blood?]

The man gulped, but the stubborn look on his face stayed intact. "She did a mistake—"

"Mistake what? Refusing to marry someone against her will?!" I cut him off harshly.

Before they could say anything, I continued. "India didn't survive through the oppression of colonigers just to get repressed by fellow Indians. Especially women. They are humans, too. Our freedom fighters, they didn’t just fight for us men. They fought for everyone. Then, who are you to force your wills against someone just because of a title that you don't even deserve?"

I demanded, glancing—glaring at each one of them.

One of the men stepped forward, looking educated, but oversmart. "You're talking about freedom fighters. Gandhiji, himself, didn't support women's voices. Even he believed women are just supposed to run houses and raise our children."

"Gandhiji wasn't God." I spoke  without missing a beat, staring straight into his soul. "He was a human just like us. Yes, he fought for us. Yes, he gave his life for our freedom. Yes, most of his thinkings were ideal. But he had his own flaws, too. Everyone does."

"And while we're getting at it, how about we talk of Rani Manikarnika? Or Subhas Chandra Bose? B. R. Ambedkar? Raja Ram Mohan  Roy? Or Savitribai Phule? Let's talk about their beliefs, too." They all fell silent while I waited for any one of them to contradict me.

"Just because she refused to marry someone you chose for her. And what did you even choose, a man more than two decades older than her?!"

No words came out of anyone's mouth, which only fueled my anger and irritation further.

"I dare you all to do that to any girl again. And I swear, I'll make sure you rot in jail for the rest of your lives." I stated. Their eyes widened. I could see the protest in them, but no one dared to voice it out. Because my gun was loaded if anything.

I stood up from the cot slowly, brushing invisible dust off my uniform, my gaze never leaving the crowd.

“Nitin, arrest every single one of them who tried to commit this crime. Especially her father. Charge them with attempted murder, unlawful confinement, and conspiracy. I want statements from every witness here.”

The constables nodded, immediately stepping forward, snapping the handcuffs onto the man who had just moments ago stood with kerosene in hand, ready to light his own daughter on fire.

The girl's mother collapsed to her knees, crying silently in relief. Her hands folded in prayer, though no words escaped her lips. Her daughter also collapsed next to her, hugging her while crying herself. I gestured for Meenakshi, the female constable to go console them.

I turned back to the group of villagers, many still watching, unmoved. My voice rose once again.

“And the rest of you? You stood there. Watched. Not a word, not a hand raised to stop it. You may not have held the matchstick, but your silence fueled that fire all the same.” I saw eyes drop to the ground, shame clouding some, while others still wore defiance like armor.

"Remember this moment. Because next time, we won’t be this late. Let this be an example of what happens when you try to take 'justice' in your hands."

One of the constables nodded towards me and started the jeep. As we drove away, I sat in silence in the back of the second jeep, staring out the window at the fading banyan tree. The cries of that girl… they wouldn’t leave my ears for a long time.

They reminded me of the past.

Gods! I checked the time. It was 8:23 pm. I was late. I promised her I'd be early today, and I broke it. How can I be so careless? I should've at least ringed her. She must've waited for me.

The constable drove to the police station where they and the men got off. I took the jeep and quickly drove towards our home.

I parked my jeep and made my way inside after removing my footwear. The house was almost silent. The living room was empty. Where is she? I walked further to see her feeding Om. Did they start eating already? Usually, she waits for me no matter how late I am.

I guess I really upset her today.

Om was the first to glance at me. She didn't even look at me and kept feeding him. "Wow, um, looks like you already started eating." I said to gain attention. But why did I say that? I should've said something else.

"Baba," Om acknowledged me. But she didn't. At least look at me, Gauri. Please...

"Hmm, here," She called out to Om, turning his attention to her. She fed him the last morsel and walked away towards the kitchen, royally igniring my presence in the room.

My eyes were still fixed on the way she left. "Baba," Om called out again, standing with a glass of water in his hand. "Why were you late?" He questioned, narrowing his big eyes, pouting.

An involuntarily smile crept on my face despite myself. I sighed. "Baba had to deal with some work urgently." I explained, and his expressions softened.

I glanced back to where she left. "Bohot khafaa hai kya humse wo?" I asked in a low voice. She never does this. No matter what I did, she never had any complaints. It always bugged me. How could she just take everything without any problem? A part of me liked it. Her being angry with me.

Is that even sane?

[Is she really mad at me?]

He nodded, humming. "Yeah, especially since she called you in the evening several times, but you didn't even pick up any of her calls." He spoke, sipping his water.

"You shouldn't drink water while standing," I reminded him. He clicked his tongue and quickly sat on the cot.

She... called me? She never does that. Her excuses are always like:

'I don't want to disturb you.'

'I thought I'll disturb you in your work.'

'It wasn't that important anyway.'

But she did that today.

Is our relationship finally improving?

Well, right now, it's on the verge of going back to square one if I didn't do anything right now.

I followed her to the kitchen to see her doing some work. It didn't look necessary. Was she doing it just to avoid me? Like I'll let her do that.

"Gauri," I called out. My voice was soft, caustious, and hesitant, testing the waters. She hummed in reply, not bothering to look at me or turn behind.

I bit my inner cheek. That wasn't fair. Can't she just look at me for once? Okay, now I was getting deaperate.

"Um, kya kar rahi ho?" I asked and went to stand beside her, looking at what she was actually doing.

[Um, what are you doing?]

She bit her inner cheek, pressing her lips in a thin line, taking a sharp intake of breath. "Aapko nhi dekhra? Aankh ke chikitsak ke paas le jane ki jarurat hai aapko?" She retorted. Her tone wasn't harsh, but it wasn’t kind either.

[Can't you see? Do we need to see an eye specialist for you?]

I winced at her tone. I didn't like it. I wanted her to be the same, sweet, and soft-spoken Gauri again. I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out of my mouth. I opened my mouth again, then closed it. Repeating this a few times, I finally spoke.

"Naraz ho humse?" I asked earnestly.

[Are you mad at me?]

She kept the untensil in her hand on the counter rather loudly, making me flinch. She finally, finally turned to look at me. I let out a breath of relief I didn't know I was holding.

She flashed me, a sweet smile that seemed too sweet to be true. "Hum kyu naraz honge aapse bhala? Aapne kuch kiya hai kya?" She taunted me in that honey-like sweet voice of hers.

[Why would I be mad? Did you do something?]

She turned back to do her work while my brows furrowed. I gave her a pleading look. I know I did wrong. If she wanted me to acknowledge it. I do. I know my mistake.

"Yes." I spoke firmly. "I told you I won't make you wait. But I still did that. I swear it wasn't intentional. Thane nein kuch zarori kaam aa gya tha. "I explained in an urgency, trying to make her understand.

[Some urgent work came up in the station]

"Okay, fine. Did I say something to you? No, right? Then why are you telling me all this?" She spoke sharphly without looking at me. Her voice was calm, but the silent edge to it wasn't unnoticed by me.

She took an onion from the basket and started chopping it with practiced ease. The knife hitting the board too sharply, as if she was trying to pour her anger on the pour onion.

No. Don't do that. Be angry with me. Not some stupid vegetable. I deserve that. Heck, I want her to be mad at me, look at me, yell at me. After all, I was all hers to be mad at. Instead, she was ignoring me and focusing on that bloody onion.

Now, even I want to chop that onion into pieces.

I sighed, shaking my thoughts away. I'll deal with him later. I turned my attention back to the lady of this house. "Because it's so obvious that you're mad at me." I stated, leaning against the counter slab, arms crossed, watching her each and every movement closely.

"Nhi, hum aapse kyu naraz honge?" She stared stubbornly, letting out a humorless chuckle. That sounded more like a scoff. She wiped the tears due to chopping onions in her eyes with her saree end. I wanted to do that. She continued chopping onions.

[No, why would I be mad at you?]

I sighed softly. "Kyuki humne galti ki hai." I spoke, my voice was low, and more softer. I took a step forward, guilt running deep through my veins.

[Because I made a mistake]

Her eyes lowered on the ground. Something unreadable passed through her eyes. "Hum aapse naraz nhi hai. Humara koi haq nhi banta ki hum aapse naraz ho." She mumbled in a low voice. Silence fell heavy in the whole kitchen.

A muscle ticked in my jaw. How could she say that? Was she really questioning her authority over me? Did I ever give her a reason to question her place in my life like that? No. She doesn't get to do this.

I took a step closer, holding her forearms, turning her to face me. Her eyes were still on the ground while mine were intensely staring at her soul.

"Kya kaha tumne?" I gritted out. I was angry. But my anger was deflected more towards me than at her. My grip on her forearms tightened, and so did the intensity in my eyes.

[What did you just say?]

•♥︎•

"Darta jahaan humse, hum tohse darte,

Eeh sab jaane mori raniya, haaye,

Maska lagaao na, chhodo ji, chhodo,

Samajhti hai tohri thaniya, haaye,"