Chapter 7: The Chain’s Story

Sab gaon wale recognized Shyam’s chain.

From far, it shone under his banian, and bachche used to joke even the kawe stayed away from his gardan.

It was bada, roughly made, its grooved surface full of saalon ki mail, looking like a ganda saap wrapped on his dark chest all the time.

He’d bought it for seven hundred at a Lucknow footpath stall when he visited his rishtedaars.

Of course, asli sona toh tha nahi—nakli tha.

You can’t get sona for seven hundred, bhai.

But the vendor claimed it was, and Shyam guarded it like it was asli.

Vendor had said, “Mard sona pehente hain, auratein chudiyaan. Pehno isko, naseeb badlega, jaldi achhi biwi milegi.”

The words ‘achhi biwi’ made Shyam’s dil dhadak. He emptied his jeb, had only seven hundred, so the vendor, annoyed, sold him the ‘do hazaar’ chain at a loss.

Because it was so sasta, vendor didn’t even give a box.

Back home, Shyam’s andhi maa tied a red dhaaga to make it a necklace.

That red thread turned kaala in a month.

Now, that kaala dhaaga had been torn, and the chain lay in khoon beside Anjali’s bed, jammed in the blood.

“That’s Shyam’s,” everyone agreed.

Even kids playing gilli-danda could spot it. “Wahi Shyam ka chain hai, bilkul pehchana!” they’d shout, jaise they’d won a lottery.