Chapter 4: The Pond and the Bangle

The next morning, after checking and double-checking the dowry list, I went to the guest wing. My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my chin high. Dignity is all a woman has left, sometimes.

I first found Ishaan, nearly six now, tall for his age and already carrying himself like a little prince. He looked up at me, puzzled.

When I explained I had come to reclaim what I had given him, his face went blank, then flushed with childish anger. Still, he handed over the jewellery and property papers, his lips set in a stubborn line.

“Mummy didn’t even have breakfast with us today, but cares about these dead things? Teacher Lata says money is just maya. Mummy, you’re so ignorant!”

The words cut deep. I looked at Ishaan—my firstborn, the one I nearly died bringing into the world. When he was born, Arvind was away on posting, his own mother already gone. I laboured for hours alone, and when I saw Ishaan’s face, I felt as if I’d been reborn myself. I never imagined that the same boy would grow to look down on me one day.

Swallowing my disappointment, I took the papers and left the rest with him. “You are still young. Even this is more than most. Take good care of it.” I reached out to ruffle his hair, but he jerked away.

“What’s worth keeping? I don’t care for your things!” He glared at me, then turned his back, his small shoulders tense.

I closed my eyes, willing myself not to cry, and left the room quietly.

Meera was not so easy to handle. When I entered, she crossed her arms and glared, defiant as ever.

“Why? What you gave me is mine! Don’t even think about taking it back! Teacher Lata said, this is my foundation!”

Meera looked at me as if I were the villain in one of her fairy tales. “Mummy, you want to steal my things! I hate you!”

Meera, my second child, always a storm. I remembered the night I went to the temple during my pregnancy, only to be caught in a stampede. Terrified, I gave birth in the mandir itself, naming her Meera after the saint. The shock affected my health, ensuring I could have no more children.

Knowing it was pointless to argue, I told her main maid to bring out the property. Meera kicked and screamed, trying to hit me, calling me all sorts of names. I held her arm, afraid she’d hurt herself, gritting my teeth through the pain.

Finally, the maid arrived and pulled her away. Nisha checked the list, ticking off each item with careful precision.

“Madam, all is accounted for. Only the ruby-gold bangle that the old madam left you—you gave it to the young miss, but it can’t be found.”

I felt a pang in my chest. That bangle was not just gold; it was my mother’s memory, my last link to her love.

“Who did you give it to? That was your grandmother’s!”

Meera took two steps back, stubborn as ever. “None of your business! You gave it to me, it’s mine, I can give it to whoever I want!”

The attendants, anxious, whispered that she had given it to Lata Singh. My fists clenched in anger.

Without a word, I stormed out, ignoring Meera’s cries.

On the verandah, Lata Singh was feeding the stray dogs, her sari pallu tucked neatly, her wrist glinting with my mother’s bangle. She looked up, cool as ever.

“Miss Lata, children are ignorant, but adults should not be blind. That was my late mother’s relic—please return it!”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, exposing the bangle deliberately. My hand shook as I pointed at the bangle, my voice barely steady. “Miss Lata, every heirloom has its origin. With your background, how dare you wear this bangle in public?”

Lata’s lips curled with a hint of mockery. “In this house, gifts change hands every day, Madam. Meera gave it to me. Why does Madam come to ask for it back?”

My pride ached. Lata’s face paled, but her eyes were defiant. I reached out, my hand trembling. “Miss Lata, please return it.”

She suddenly caught my wrist, pulling me off-balance. In the struggle, we both toppled into the garden pond, water splashing everywhere, the fish darting in panic.

“Papa, look! Mummy pushed Teacher into the water!” Ishaan’s voice rang out, accusing.

The cold water closed over me. I flailed, choking, my hair spreading like seaweed. The world became a blur of screams and splashing.

“Lata!”

Arvind jumped in, arms reaching for Lata Singh. He cradled her, checking her for wounds, his voice full of panic. As I emerged, soaked and shivering, a maid rushed over with a towel, but Arvind ignored me, focusing only on Lata—heightening my sense of isolation. No one reached for me. I struggled, water filling my ears and mouth, my strength failing. In that moment, my heart truly broke.