Chapter 1: The Night Lucknow Stood Still

My younger male cousin met with a traffic accident while delivering food.

That night, Lucknow’s traffic lights blinked red and green, but all I saw was the white glare of the hospital corridor. Horns blared somewhere in the distance, people rushed past in hurried voices, and the sharp smell of Dettol mixed with sweat stung my nose. He was just a boy from our mohalla, weaving through Lucknow's tangled lanes with a Swiggy bag on his back, dreaming that maybe a few extra deliveries would make things easier at home.

The doctor said his injuries were serious—one leg would have to be amputated.

The words stung like a slap. My mind whirled: flashes of Amit as a kid, running barefoot in the gullies during Holi, his laughter echoing through our old house. I saw the image of our family’s life after this—Chachi ji’s prayers, Chacha ji’s pride crumbling, Amit’s future suddenly cut in half. The doctor, a tired Bengali gentleman with kind eyes, explained again, but my heart had already dropped to my stomach. I stared at the white tiles, realizing how a single moment can turn a zindagi upside down.

My Chacha ji and Chachi ji, back in our hometown near Lucknow, were terrified and completely at a loss, calling me again and again, asking what to do.

Their voices trembled on the phone, full of panic and old wounds. I could almost see Chachi ji, pallu pressed to her mouth, perched on the charpai, whispering a prayer to Hanuman ji for her only son. Chacha ji’s voice, always stern, now broke with every sentence. "Beta, hum kya karein, batao toh sahi!" The neighbours must have gathered at their door, whispering, peeking in with a mix of concern and curiosity.

Seeing how grave the injuries were, and knowing any delay could mean losing the other leg too, I advised them to listen to the doctor and go ahead with the amputation.

My hands shook as I explained, my eyes prickling with tears. "Chacha ji, I know it's hard, par agar abhi decide nahi kiya toh Amit ka doosra pair bhi ja sakta hai." My voice cracked, but I steadied myself. Sometimes, to save a life, you have to make the hardest choice. My throat was dry, my mind racing—no one else could decide.

I even signed the consent forms on their behalf.

The pen felt heavy in my hand, like carrying a mountain. A nurse in a faded pink saree adjusted the IV, her bangles clinking softly as she moved, her sympathetic eyes meeting mine for a second. I murmured a line from the Hanuman Chalisa, hoping for strength.

As a result, I became the villain in their eyes.

Soon, whispers snaked through the extended family. "Arrey, suna hai Rohan ne hi pair kaat diya." "Aaj kal ke bachche, kuch bhi kar sakte hain, jealous hote hain apne bhai se." My heart twisted with every word, but I learned to keep a stone face, pretending it didn’t hurt.

They accused me of being jealous that my cousin was earning more than me, and claimed I had ruined his leg out of envy.

Each accusation cut deeper than any wound. Chacha ji avoided my eyes; Chachi ji stopped sending the homemade pickles she used to courier by bus. My own parents seemed unsure whom to believe. In the village, my name became a whispered warning. "Beta, zyada padh likh ke bhi kya fayda, agar insaan ka dil hi chhota ho jaye."

On my wedding day, my cousin pushed me out of the hotel window and killed my fiancée.

That memory is a jagged wound. The mehendi on my fiancée’s hands hadn’t dried. We’d just danced to a DJ remix of old Kishore Kumar songs, the smell of marigold and roses in the air. Amit’s eyes, full of rage and grief, locked with mine. The push came out of nowhere. As I fell, time stopped. Then the screams, the shattering glass, chaos. My fiancée—her laughter silenced forever. That night’s sound still rings in my ears.

"It’s all your fault! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have lost my leg! All of you should die!"

His voice cracked, raw with pain—like a trapped animal lashing out. Each word was a curse, heavy with generations of unspoken family anger. My hands reached for help, but there was nothing. Only empty air, city lights blurring as I fell.

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day of my cousin’s accident.

The world spun. The smell of diesel from the train, my mother’s WhatsApp DP glowing on my cracked phone, my fiancée’s laughter—all blurred together. Was this a second chance, or punishment from the universe?