Chapter 2: The Price of Survival

When Sunita stormed out, she grabbed a battered steel cup and hurled it at my head. The clang rang out, sharp and final. 'Ja, jaakar apne paiso ke saath zindagi guzar!' she spat, her voice cracking with grief. I sat on the bed, the bundle of notes before me, and let out a laugh that sounded like a broken dholak. 'Chali gayi toh sab khali ho gaya. Dekh bhi liya toh kya farq padta hai?' The radio crooned an old Lata song, the words about lost childhood and empty rooms stinging more than her curses.

Days blurred together. In the interrogation room, the smell of old files, sweat, and a faint whiff of agarbatti from the puja corner clung to everything. Inspector Singh’s stare was sharp. 'Aapne paisa lene ka natak kiya tha, taki Sharma family par shak na ho?' he pressed, his junior scribbling notes. I stared at the faded clock, its second hand stuttering—Priya’s anxious voice from exam mornings echoed in my mind: 'Papa, aaj late ho jayenge kya?' The pain twisted deeper.

Singh slapped the table, patience cracking. 'Bakwas band karo! Sach sach batao, warna yahan se bahar nahi jaane denge!' The senior inspector softened, 'Aaj se hi toh board exams shuru hue hain.' I pictured Priya’s neat notes, her prayers before every test. 'Agar Priya zinda hoti, aaj hi toh paper likh rahi hoti,' I murmured. But she was gone, and the words tasted like ash.

The door burst open, light flooding the room. Ritika’s mother stormed in, silk saree perfect, her face twisted in anguish. 'Tu hi hai! Tu hi le gaya meri Ritika ko!' she shrieked. Her bangles rattled, her relatives held her back, whispering, 'Shant ho jao, didi.' Inspector Suman raised his hands, 'Mrs. Sharma, please. Yeh inquiry chal rahi hai.' But grief was louder than any rule.

I spread my hands, voice calm. 'Dekhiye, main toh yahin hoon. Mera ghar bhi dekh liya aapne. Saboot nahi mila toh ab mujhe chhod dijiye na?' The law was clear: no evidence, no charge. Their hatred burned, but no one could touch me in front of the police.

I swaggered out, heart thudding like a tabla in my chest. Footsteps echoed behind me—Sharma’s men, or maybe just fear itself. I didn’t care. The next morning, I wiped down my Indica, joined the school rush, and ferried nervous parents and kids to the exam gate. One mother pressed a toffee and a ten-rupee note into my palm: 'Bhaiyya, bacha ka khayal rakhna.' Life went on, even as I drowned inside.

After a long day, my pocket heavier, I returned home. The moment I entered my building, a heavy blow crashed into my skull. Darkness swallowed me. As I came to, icy water jolted me awake—the floor beneath me cold, cement damp and stinking of moss and old oil. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. The thugs dragged me across the floor, the cold metal of the door scraping my back. My heart thudded like a tabla, every sense alive with fear.

Rough hands yanked my hair, forcing me to face Sharma. 'Bol, meri beti kahan hai?' he demanded, his voice flat. I kept my tone even, 'Sharma ji, police mein sab kuch bata diya hai.' A fist slammed into my nose, pain exploding, blood gushing.

Sharma pressed his branded leather shoe into my hand, grinding until my skin tore. The pain was white-hot, but I clung to the memory of Priya’s laughter, the way she’d helped me light diyas last Diwali, her giggle bright as a diya flame. I would not break, not for them, not for anyone.

As the school bell rang that day, three desks remained empty—no one dared to whisper their names.