"You're here."

"And you were out for hours after locking the door on me."

"I thought you won't be back until I physically dragged you from Sakshinagar."

Now on his feet, he reached for her. Two long strides and she too was on the porch step, lifting her heels, linking her fingers behind his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. Crumbs of the Parle-G he was feeding to Chikki grazed against the skin her sari left exposed as his hands found her back to pull her closer. She didn't care.

He was here.

Madhu's heart was racing a mile per second from the memory of her panic just moments ago. For five days this panic had been a constant companion, ever-present beneath the surface of her skin, nudging her when she allowed her mind to think of the worst. A reminder of something not quite right. And now her brain still couldn't register he was here, safe and in her arms. She needed to repeat that to herself. Over and over again.

Perhaps he was experiencing the same, for his hold tightened and he almost lifted her off her feet, murmuring into her hair, "You smell like Marigolds, it's nice."

He didn't though. He smelled of sweat and smoky tobacco. Not nice at all. She pulled back as far as he would let her, which was only far enough to look at him. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I had lunch, yesterday."

"And your first thought was to feed Chikki instead of yourself?"

"Someone had to."

"I feed him!"

"Bland milk-roti he doesn't like."

"You'll make him fat."

"It's a sign of love."

The dog in question barked as if in agreement. Nakul laughed a deep guttural laugh, bringing his forehead to down to hers. "God, I missed you."

Tears pricking at the corners of her eyes spilled over. "Nakul I—"

A loud rumble sounded from behind her, making her jump and turn around, moving away from his embrace though still keeping her fingers laced with his. She wasn't ready to completely let go.

Satish was here with his scooter as promised, exactly on time. Suman was seated sideways behind him with Vinita in her arms and Kavita standing in the front holding the handlebars.

Madhu waited a beat and then, as expected, tense faces cleared. It was hard to tell who was happier to see Nakul. Kavita hopped down, running towards them and giggling when Nakul released Madhu's hand to hoist her up so she could cling to him like a monkey.

Handing him the house keys, Madhu left him to greet his sister and approached Satish.

"Hey umm, sorry for the way I acted back then I was just...sorry. Thanks for bringing them home."

Sattu had started shaking his head even before she finished speaking. "My house is close to the temple, I couldn't let her walk with the kids. Champa didi would be here soon, she had to pack everything up."

He turned his vehicle around, careful to avoid splashing mud on Madhu. She waved until he was out of her periphery, trying to stall time as she didn't want to intrude on Nakul and Suman.

Madhu didn't move till Champa and Kamal reached the main gate. They looked surprised to see her still there instead of being on her way to look for Nakul as she had declared.

"He just returned," Madhu said in reply to their silent queries, taking one of the vessels Champa was holding, "Are these the leftovers?"

She nodded. "You don't mind eating the same thing for dinner?"

"No obviously, you go get some rest. You too Kamal, we have a lot of work tomorrow."

For once, Champa didn't fight her on it and retired to her room after placing all three containers on the kitchen slab. Madhu heated up enough puris and aloo sabzi to feed three people before going to find Nakul.

Voices from Suman's room halted her. Forty minutes had passed but they were still talking. She was worried about his starved state but maybe it would be better for both their stubborn selves to admit to all they had been hiding from each other. Their tendency to keep secrets was what had almost teared them apart, nearly killing Suman and her daughters in the process.

Deciding to leave them be, Madhu fetched two buckets to pump water into them. A month in Bhabra had taught her how to carry two full steel buckets back to the bathroom from the courtyard without spilling a single drop. It has also taught her to use an old and slightly rusted immersion heater which she dipped into one of the buckets.

Nakul was in the kitchen when she returned, halfway through his dinner. He glanced at her when she pulled a chair beside him, pushing the plate of puris towards her. "Suman asked us to not wait up for her, she needs to put the kids to sleep."

"I'm not hungry."

He shrugged, going back to his food.

"I learned Sign," Madhu told him and paused, adding in an afterthought, "Well, I'm still learning."

"You didn't have to I told you." He was repeating the same thing for a millionth time and perhaps he realised that as his next words were gentler. "What have you learned till now?"

She showed him instead of speaking, Signing water and heat and bucket and feeling like the equivalent of a toddler learning his first words only to commincate so clumsily. She had practiced in front of the bathroom mirror while waiting for the water to heat but it obviously wasn't enough.

Madhu didn't know what to make of his expression when she was finished. Like always, she hadn't remembered to maintain eye contact and could pretty much hear Sunanda's tired voice in her head pointing to that mistake. But Nakul's look wasn't that of a rebuking teacher, it wasn't even a proud one she had been hoping for. Instead it felt like he was distracted. Not away from her but towards her. As if he was an ancient forest dweller who had just discovered fire. Confused yet fascinated.

She shifted on her seat. "Sorry I shouldn't have tried—"

"Thank you."

"Huh?"

"For the water, thanks." He cleared his throat, dropping his gaze. "I haven't repaired the heater though, how did you use it?"

"Oh yeah no I asked Satish and he sent someone to fix both the heater and the switch the day before." She pinched one of the two remaining puris from his plate.

"You met Sattu?"

"I met the whole ass village to find something to do."

"Right."

Finishing the last puri in two bites, Nakul stood up to place the dish in the sink before facing her again, leaning against the counter. "I'm sorry for disappearing like that but some things came up and I had to go to Lucknow."

"Why?"

"You remember that thing about...smashing his head on a rock?"

"Did you do it?"

"Didn't need to, he did it to himself." Exhaustion mixed with the lethargy that came after a large meal was making his eyes droop and shoulders slump as he sat on the counter. "There is this semi-black market just opposite to the main square of Sakshinagar. The shopkeepers there don't ask many questions and only deal in cash. It's an open secret but authorities turn a blind eye since it provides jobs for more than half of the town's population. If Raju knew about that place, it would have been his first stop. I parked your car outside the alley leading to the market, it wasn't wide enough even for a scooter let alone a four-wheeler. Didn't have to do much work to find Raju. Knocked out with his face pressed on the ground, right next to an open drain."

"Please don't tell me he spent Suman's money on alcohol and passed out like a drunkard."

"Nah he didn't get the chance. Fucker was practically happy to see me when I shook him awake and hauled his ass to the car. He was jumped and robbed the minute he stepped out of the shop after pawning the jewellery. I had to convince the owner to not sell it until I could drive to Lucknow to withdraw enough cash for buying it back."

"What about Raju?"

"Dropped him at the police station, he didn't even fight me on that. I knew he wouldn't stay in jail for more than a night but he's definitely not coming back to Bhabra, he knows he won't be received well here."

That was an understatement. Sunanda was one of the seven people who had rushed to Suman's house after her neighbour had raised alarm in the village. Something about seeing a woman lying helpless on the ground made people ready to lynch the aggressor. And Raju knew what was waiting for him if he ever decided to return to Bhabra.

"Why didn't you ask me? I could've withdrawn more cash."

"I had...to do this on my own." His stare was fixated on the ground.

She got up, walked across the kitchen. Standing between his legs, she took his cold hand in both her own, willing him to look at her. He did. "I had the opportunity to prevent all this. I knew the real reason Suman wanted to go to her parents' was because he threw her out, not because she missed them. I saw the bruise. But she wouldn't let me tell you and I didn't even fight her on it."

"I don't blame you. You didn't know her, you barely knew me." Sighing, he traced the lines on her palm with his thumb. "But what does it say about me when I couldn't even see the signs? When I convinced myself that the way he slapped her in the hospital was a one-time thing? When I knew she didn't even want to be pregnant in the first place?"

She couldn't bring herself to contradict him. People in Bhabra, rather in most parts of the country—heck in most parts of the world—operated on an unspoken consensus. Ignore any hints of violence until the proof was so overwhelming that only extreme reactions could compensate for their silent enabling. Madhulika was the same. And on some level, so was Nakul.

They stayed like that, trying to comfort each other as the knowledge of their ignorance thickened the air around them. It was a while before Nakul broke the embrace, hopping off the counter and muttering something about needing a shower.

Madhulika arose the next day with a kind of anticipatory buoyancy. Her brain had started listing things that she needed to do even before the crust in her eyes could fall off.

Careful not to wake Nakul, she slipped away to brush and bathe, pulling on a pair of black slacks under a red kurta, and laying out one of the two silk saris of she had brought with her from Delhi for later. After light breakfast of leftover rice and curd, she pulled on her outdoor slippers and stepped out of the house.

At five-thirty in the morning of Dusshera, Bhabra was buzzing with activity.

This wasn't her first time walking through the village to the temple at the crack of dawn. It had been her routine during Nakul's week-long absence. On normal days, the bare mud roads ahead of her formed a picturesque symmetry. Lush green trees on both sides interspacing houses—brick ones being the homes of those who owned said fields and thatched ones of those who only worked on them in exchange for rent and little money.

Not today though. Today several villagers greeted her with loud namastes, some even stopped her for idle morning chats and expressed their excitement for the Ramlila that would take place in the evening. Harvest had finally ended and most of the farmers had loaded their bullock carts with grain-filled jute bags. They were on their way to the local mandi in a neighbouring village to sell their produce, and would only return in the evening with full pockets. Just in time for the festivities.

She met Satish at the temple entrance on the edge of the bazaar, crouched to wear his shoes.

"Madhu di Namaste," he said, getting to his feet when he saw her approaching.

"Namaste. Is Sunanda inside?" She wasn't expecting a positive reply. They had planned to meet up either at the temple or behind it where the play was going to take place, to set up plastic chairs for the elderly and lay out carpets for the rest of the people to sit on. But that had been before Brigesh had humiliated her and dragged her back home.

"I think she's in the school room," he told her, unchaining his bicycle from an iron post next to the shoe stand before mounting it.

"You're going to the mandi?"

"To the police station." Taking out what looked like a letter, he showed it to her. "This was delivered to the Panchayat office yesterday. Collector saab finally gave authorization for three constables and a daroga to be here for security. I need to show them this before noon so that they don't escape these orders."

"Why don't you take your scooter then?"

He gave her an embarrassed smile. "Petrol is expensive. Plus, I felt like cycling."

Madhulika went to find Sunanda after seeing him off. So preoccupied with worrying over Nakul, she hadn't spared a single thought for her friend. Until now that is. She knew that technically, they couldn't hurt Sunanda. That her father's power and influence protected her from any real harm.

The schoolroom was empty when Madhu stopped in front of the entrance. But she spotted Sunanda sitting on the stage after turning around. Wearing the same sari as the day before, she had her knees tucked and pressed against her chest while she stared at Ravana's effigy.

"Happy Dusshera."

She redirected her stare from the demon king's image to Madhu as the latter settled down next to her, pulling her own knees up and tucking them under her chin. "What's the point of Dusshera?"

Having been raised in a fairly religious household, Madhu had posed similar questions to her parents. They always gave her one standard answer which she repeated this time. "Comfort and consolation."

Perhaps that wasn't the answer Sunanda was used to hearing, for she furrowed her brows. "How?"

"It's comforting to see evil burning to dust, quite literally, in front of our own eyes. And it's also a good day for consoling our hearts, to remind ourselves that there used to be a time when the victory of good people was guaranteed, regardless of the odds against them."

"There was never such a time."

"Victory of good people if they never stopped fighting. That time is always. It was true back then and it is true today."

"You don't actually believe that."

"You didn't ask me what I believed in, you asked me the point behind celebrating Dusshera," Madhu said, "You're right though, I don't, not really. But I want to believe in it, otherwise what's the point?"

A bizarre sound, one thirds of a snort, cough and sob, escaped Sunanda who buried her face in her knees. Madhu had seen Sunanda smiling, teasing, commanding and even blank-faced, but this was the first time she sensed genuine emotion from the woman beside her. She rubbed her back. Sunanda cried harder.

"They're gone," she choked, voice thick and shaky. "Papa ji left with them. He didn't even stop at the house. By the time I realised what had happened, they were already out of Sakshinagar."

"Where?"

"Some boarding school in Uttrakhand." She sniffed, wiping her face with the heels of her palms. "Daksh and Devdutt are always fighting, and Rachit is only seven. How would he survive in a boarding school?"

Nakul was seven when he lost his parents and came to live with Madhu's family, though she didn't say that.

"I have no right over them, but I can't...I can't let them take my children away from me. Not again."

Her body shook as she broke down again. Madhulika was afraid to touch her, unsure of whether she needed space or company. But she stayed by her. In some sick, strange way, it was this moment of absolute defeat that Sunanda's reasoning behind her every decision became clear to Madhu. It was never about loving her husband or out of some misplaced docile obligation of a "good" daughter-in-law.

It was always about the children. Both hers and others she had practically adopted. All snatched from her one by one.

Her words from mere days ago came back to Madhu.

He owes me a life.

Ten hours later, Madhu was greeted with the sight of a happy crowd, already settled on the chairs and carpet to face the stage. Pretty much the whole village had turned up to watch their children perform Ramlila.

Satish had also arrived in time with the promised police protection. The daroga had chosen a chair reserved for Sunanda right at the front, but she let it go, eager to keep the police officers there. There was even a young journalist, probably an unpaid intern working for a local Hindi newspaper, sitting next to the inspector with a notebook in hand. His expression was that of a person who thought he was too good for the job he had been assigned. Poor guy probably wanted to do something more serious than cover the events of a Ramlila.

Strings of yellow marigold decorated the stage. Strings of white jasmine buds decorated every woman's hair. Madhu had been reluctant to wear it at first. But when Nakul offered to braid them into her fish tail, it was hard to say no.

"Now we match," he had announced smugly, gesturing to his off-white silk kurta and dhoti.

When she had worn the lemon green Banarasi silk sari with a steel-grey border, matching with him hadn't been on her mind. Though she couldn't help but melt when he looked at her in adoration after fixing the flowers in her hair.

A red carpet was laid out on the wooden stage to mute the thumping of feet while the kids performed. Currently, it cushioned the click of her heels as she stopped beside Sunanda in the centre, the same place where she had hugged her sobbing form earlier that day.

That Sunanada was now replaced with the smiling and authoritative panchayat head. She addressed the people, most of whom had just returned after selling their crops and changing into their best clothes.

"Thank you all for coming!" Her voice echoed over the field, against the backdrop of silence. She didn't need a mic to amplify her message and grab people's attention. No one was talking. "Two weeks ago, my friend Madhulika came up with the idea of this Ramlila and I was doubtful that we'd be able to pull this off. But our children left no stone unturned to prove me wrong. They practiced day and night to make this happen, showing up for school at seven in the morning and then spending entire afternoons rehearsing."

Without her having to ask, the proud parents broke out in applause, craning their necks to spot their kids behind the stage.

"This is Bhabra's first, proper Dusshera in a long time, but it won't be her last," she continued after the clapping died down. "However next year, if everything goes well, we will celebrate with this play inside an actual auditorium, inside an actual school."

Sunanda paused to offer Madhu the opportunity to continue with the announcement. But Madhu declined, knowing that her contribution was minimal compared to her friend's. Thus, she resumed speaking.

"Right, so well, by next year, the panchayat would ensure that Bhabra gets her very own school right here so our children won't have to walk to other villages. The foundation stone would be laid on Diwali and construction would begin soon after." More cheering followed. Madhu observed the way Sunanda revelled in it, the politician inside her soaking up the praise.

"That's all I needed to say, let's not make our children wait more when they've been waiting to perform all week."

Declaring that he was feeling left out after not being able to contribute to the Ramlila, Nakul had accompanied Satish to assist the kids backstage with costumes. He waved at her when Madhu and Sunanda sat down on the carpet in front of the stage before the play began and his attention diverted.

As a child, Madhu had often wondered about the impracticality of the decisions Lord Rama had taken. She had questioned why he didn't even consider staying back and fighting for his throne which rightfully belonged to him, why Bharat had made his own job of governing Kosala so difficult, why Laskhman couldn't stay back with his wife, why ma Sita had refused to go back with Hanuman when it would've been much more easy than waiting for her husband to win.

She remembered Raghu kaka telling her it was a story set in a duty-oriented society instead of a rights-oriented one. That made little sense to her six-year-old self.

Over the course of the last two weeks, as she had written the script for the Ramlila, she started to understand it more. Ramayana was a story about defining ideals. The ideal son, the ideal daughter, brother, husband, wife, prince, devotee, king, everything. Anyone who strayed from ideal behaviour faced consequences, including Rama himself.

The clear black sky was enhanced by sparkling dots of stars, much like the pearls of jasmine buds adorning the dark hair of all the women around her. Madhu watched the play unfold, cheering with the audience when Rama's army built and crossed the stone bridge.

The hooting intensified as Kumbhkaran fell, defeated. Nakul took that as cue to burn his effigy behind the stage, much to the collective aahhs from the audience. By the time it was Meghnath's turn to burn, the crowd was on its feet, applauding as the child playing the role of Lakshman released his arrow marking the final blow, prompting Meghnath's hay effigy to go up in flames too.

A preparation song was played while Ravana got ready to step on the battlefield himself, having lost all his warriors including his brother and son. The song transitioned into the final showdown between him and Rama.

It was then, with the air reverberating with chants of Jai Sri Rama, that someone nudged Madhu.

The woman was one of the members of the panchayat. She yelled over the noise, addressing Sunanda, "Your husband is here."

Madhu twisted and stood on her tip toes to see through the chaos. Sure enough, Vishal, flanked by two other men, was pushing people aside and  coming towards them.

"Why?"

He was getting closer, just four rows away, and people were starting to notice, pointing to him and then towards Sunanda.

"Brigesh babu's car overturned, toppled and fell in a valley while he was coming back," replied the woman, sounding, in spite having shouted the words, disturbingly calm.

Even more disturbing was Sunanda's calm. Flames consumed Ravana's effigy. Deafening cheers and chants hailing Lord Rama enveloped them. Face clear of all emotion, she turned to a shell-shocked Madhu.

"Happy Dusshera."

And then the gun went off.