Gāyathri stared at the broken pieces of the jar, the notes scattered over the floor. Bells faintly sounded as the single anklet slid across the floor. The pen clattered and rolled. The seas shells clinked against each other as they fell out.

She stood against the desk, trying to make sense of what Anusree had said.

'Those notes had not been for her. Her father had not written them because he had been thinking of her. They were not messages of hope and guidance, they were just quotes. Quotes that her father had liked and had written in a beautiful hand only to cut down on his stress levels.'

She was a fool to think that her father had written them for her. He might not even have been thinking about her at all. Most probably, he would have been cursing the doctor for insisting that he write them.

But then why had her father's friend insisted that he had been instructed by her father to give the jar to her? It was that insistence that had led her to think that her father had meant those notes for her. Words that had helped her grieve and not break down.

Now she cursed her stupidity for thinking that way. Those notes were just words on expensive paper, written in an exquisite hand. It was a mere coincidence that the note for the day seemed to tell her what to do. The quotes were wise sayings and would have been appropriate in any situation. Her grief and desperation had attached unnecessary importance to a casual collection.

In the end, it was just another lie, even if it helped her change some of her preconceived notions.

"The jar is broken, atta. What will you do?"

Gāyathri shrugged her shoulders, there was nothing to do. Wordlessly, she picked up the broken pieces and threw them in the dustbin while Anusree gathered the trinkets and notes together and put them in a plastic bag.

"Here atta, they will be safe. And do not be sad that it broke, I shall ask amma to get another jar for you. It would be my gift to you. Please, you are not going to be sad?"

Touched by the little girl's concern, Gāyathri shook her head and put the bag in her suitcase. She did not need another jar, she would throw those notes away once she reached home.

Once Anusree left, her tears fell. Her anger had faded to be replaced by mortification and self-recrimination.

She was grateful for being left alone, she needed solitude to sort out her thoughts. However one thing was clear, she had to leave the house. The earlier the better, before she faced anyone.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Dear Annaa and Vodina,

I am sorry...

Those words had taken an hour to write and then she just stared at them. The note for Shanta had been easier. It had taken her less than ten minutes to write the note apologising for her rudeness and explaining the reason she was leaving. She had ended the note hoping that Shanta would accept the dress and would forgive her.

But the note to her brother was difficult. She was not sure what she was going to write, it was impossible to give the reasons for leaving and yet, she could not walk away without saying something. She had to apologise but how could she do it without letting them know how stupid and illogical she had been?

How had she jumped to the silliest conclusion possible? Lavanya was far too young and yet on hearing her grandmother call her 'kodallu pilla' she assumed Lavanya was her father's wife.

A tiny logical part of her wanted to know why Chandra had not introduced himself as her brother. That would have prevented all her misunderstandings. On the other hand, how would she have reacted to knowing he was her brother? There was no answer to that and she came back to the original conclusion, she was a fool.

Staring at the backlit screen of the mobile gave her no answers, it only showed the passage of time. Finally, she decided she would be brief and use the same excuse she had given Anusree and Shanta, tatha's ill health. It would be another lie, but then at least it would let them know where she was going.

Dear Annaa and Vodina,

I am sorry to be leaving so suddenly, without meeting you. I spoke to Atta yesterday and she informed me that tatha is not feeling well. I wish to be with him. I could have waited till morning but I wish to leave early so that I can reach home by afternoon.

Gāyathri

It was brief and partly truthful. It was also curt and seemed to be rude, but Gāyathri could not write anything more. Folding the note, she wrote Chandra's name and placed it on the centre of the desk. With one last glance around the room, she gathered her suitcase and walked out.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The house was dark and silent, a perfect opportunity to slip away. If only she could figure out a way to open the door, without making a noise, slip out of the gate without being caught by the watchman and then find her way to the bus stop.

Gāyathri did not worry about the money. She was rather grateful that she had accepted the gift her grandmother had given her and thankful that she had not spent it all. Part of the gratitude belonged to Lavanya who had insisted on paying for a couple of the dresses she had chosen, insisting it was a birthday gift from her. She had refused but Lavanya had been adamant and she accepted, one could always not wear them. Now, she would treasure those dresses, they were a gift from a woman who had know exactly who Gāyathri was and might have been aware of the misconception she carried. The shame burnt higher at that realisation.

"Leaving? And without even telling us?"

A bolt of panic hit her. She stumbled and steadying herself against the door, biting her tongue. Damn. She had forgotten her grandparents' bedroom was on the ground floor, across the main door. Forgotten that her grandfather was a light sleeper and an early riser. Four in the morning could be early for her but it was his usual time to wake up.

However, what stilled her was not the panic at being caught, it was the sorrow in her grandfather's voice.

"I hoped you would spend your birthday with us, but it is too much to ask for, I guess. Eighteen years is too long a time to overlook and even if we had our reasons, it must be unforgivable. But I thought you would consider us worthy enough to say goodbye."

'I am not worthy, tathagaru. I am the undeserving one. I am not leaving because I do not consider this home. I am leaving because this cannot never be my home.'

She could not say those words, mortification left her tongue-tied. But she could not leave without letting him know that he was wrong about her reasons. Dropping her suitcase beside the door, she walked to him and bent down to touch his feet.

"Dheergāyushman bhava. Sukhi bhava"

'May you have a long life. May you always be happy.' She was not sure if she deserved his blessings but she needed them. As she rose, he continued.

"I will let you go. But not alone, I insist that our driver goes with you. You will be safe during the journey and it will assure us that you have reached safely too. Do not refuse me."

Still hesitant to meet her grandfather's eyes, she nodded her assent. It was a practical solution and would save everyone a ton of worry. She owed her grandparents that simple courtesy.

While they waited in the verandah, for the driver to get ready, she stood in silence while her grandfather sat in the garden chair.

"Did I tell you that you are exactly like her?"

She lifted her head to stare at her grandfather wondering who exactly she was like. Her mother? No, there were few resemblances, she had been told that all her life.

"Your grandmother! Somu was right in naming you after her. You are not only her namesake but her replica too. A strong woman and you are a strong girl.

Her grandfather's reminiscences triggered a faint memory. She knew why her grandmother looked familiar, she had been at her home for a couple of her birthdays, a long time ago, maybe when she had been five or six years old. She recalled the glint of the diamond earrings and the loving promise, 'you like them, Gaayu, they are yours, I promise.'

Her nannamma had visited her when she was a child but she had been young to remember with clarity. Why had her parents not corrected her when on the occasions she had complained about her grandparents not visiting her? Yet another lie, another omission.

"Now leave before your nannamma wakes up. She can be stubborn, which I think is exactly how you are. We will wait for you to come back. Will you call once in a while?"

Gāyathri nodded, she would do that. She could not promise that she would come to them, but she could call and talk to them.

Without a backward glance, she to the car and settled in. Shanta's father held the gate open and she waved to him, regretting that she had been rude to Shanta. A part of her was grateful, in a way Shanta's question had given her unexpected answers and raised a host of new questions.

The return journey was as silent as her onward one had been. Three weeks ago the question that haunted her mind had been 'what would she now do?'

Now in the light of the truths she had learnt, a new question mocked her heart, 'Who exactly was she?''

WC - 20,311