Chapter 4: Aftermath

That night, my sister became the decoy that drew everyone’s attention, allowing Sneha and her father to escape alive. The Sharma family then ordered my father to gather men for a desperate counterattack in the night, ultimately seizing control of the entire district’s coal mining business.

The story spread through the town like wildfire, whispered at chai stalls and in auto rickshaw queues. People said the Sharmas had outwitted their rivals, that Uncle Sharma’s men had spilled more blood to keep their grip on the black gold beneath the earth. My father’s name was never mentioned; he was just another shadow in the service of the powerful.

The next morning, I returned to the Sharma family bungalow.

My feet dragged as I walked the dusty lane, the echoes of last night’s horror still clinging to the air. Crows circled overhead, and the scent of antiseptic mingled with the stench of stale flowers and burnt crackers.

A police cordon had already been set up. I saw my sister, dressed in that lehenga she could never afford, now covered in knife wounds and soaked in blood.

The yellow tape flapped in the breeze, useless against the horror it contained. My sister’s small body lay beneath a white sheet, her face half-hidden by the embroidered veil. Crimson stains bloomed across the fabric, turning it from something precious into a shroud.

She was lying there, clutching the jalebi so tightly it was crushed out of shape.

The sweet stuck to her palm, its orange syrup pooling in her lifeless grip. For a moment, I thought she would wake up and offer me the first bite again, as she always did.

I thought, squeezing it that hard must have hurt.

I stared at her hand, the sticky mess pressed deep into her skin. Even in death, she wouldn’t let go of the one small happiness she’d managed to claim.

I wanted to scream that it was all a mistake, that she was only a child, that her only crime was wanting a jalebi.

I stared blankly at my sister until someone grabbed my shoulder.

A heavy hand broke my trance. The world returned in a rush—the shouts of policemen, the wails of women gathered at the gates, the hollow echo of loss pounding in my chest.