Chapter 1: The Oath and the Secret

The day I took the oath as the new head of the family, I got my first period. For a heartbeat, the world stopped spinning. My stomach clenched, a confused heat creeping up my neck as I remembered the sanitary napkin hidden deep in my schoolbag—carefully tucked away from curious eyes. I glanced around the room, suddenly desperate to avoid the gaze of my grandmother and the other elders. Would they notice the way I fidgeted, the sudden awkwardness in my posture?

My mother slapped her forehead with a tired sigh. "Arrey, right, Jaya, you’re a girl," she said, adjusting her saree pallu and pulling me into a quick, one-armed hug that was half exasperation, half affection.

In that moment, everything became painfully clear.

No wonder Amma always looked at me sideways during family rituals, or why the aunties whispered when I led the prayers.

All that recent jealousy, gossip, and even the subtle affection among my closest uncles and cousins—it turned out it wasn’t because I’d been too soft on discipline.

It was simply that they’d all been born the wrong gender.

I let out a shaky breath, relief and bewilderment tangled together:

I was still a wise leader for the ages—or so I tried to tell myself.

The air in the old haveli was heavy with the scent of sandalwood and the steady whirring of ceiling fans. Somewhere, a pressure cooker let out a shrill whistle. I folded the edge of my dupatta and sat up straighter. Even in this moment, with my world quietly upending, the rhythm of daily life in our home did not skip a beat. Outside, the crows cawed, as if amused at my revelation. My mother, with her saree pallu tucked at her waist, gave me a tired but knowing smile—the kind that mothers reserve for daughters who surprise them. I could almost hear her thinking: 'Bas, this girl will turn the world upside down one day.'

As the pressure cooker whistled again, I realized: from this day, nothing would ever be simple.