A week later, and she was no closer to comprehending what she had learnt. The days and nights were a blur and she had no answers to any of the questions, both old and new.

And today was her birthday. The day that had been anticipated and awaited and yet it was just like any other day, only she was officially an adult. Not that it changed anything.

Though one could consider the plaster cast being cut way as an early birthday present. The doctor had checked her arm and was surprised with the quick and complete recovery. Gāyathri was pleased, having the full use of both her arms was indeed a good thing.

Her family, her maternal family, if one had to be accurate about certain things, had tried to make it a joyous occasion, as much as the grief would allow. She had joined in, pushing the sorrow and anger to a corner of her mind. However, it hurt that her father's family had ignored her, yet again. Not a call or even a text message. It was as if they had forgotten all about her.

Towards evening she was tired and wanted to escape. Pulling Suma to a side, she informed her and disappeared to the place she had often visited with her father, the sandy dry bank of the small river that flowed along the highway. It was winter, so the sun would set soon but at four in the afternoon, it was perfect, warm and sunny.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

She sat close to the river edge, gathering the voluminous skirt around her, her feet inches away from the rippling water. The skirt was the traditional silk parikini, over which she draped the chiffon orhini, an initiation to wearing the saree. It was silk and in her favourite colours, one that had been the dress bought by her mother. She wished her mother could see her, all decked up in traditional attire, hundred per cent Telugu girl.

When she felt a rustle, Gāyathri thought her mother was with her. But when she turned to the side, her mouth dropped open. She had never expected to see him, not when there had only been silence from his side. Even now, though he had sat down beside her, his trouser legs rolled up, he did not look at her.

As she watched Chandra's face, she finally understood.

"You knew everything."

When he nodded, Gāyathri continued, "You were the one who forced me to come to Hyderbad, you set up this whole 'nanna's last wish' so that I would not refuse. And you pretended to be a distant relative."

It must have been the accusation in her voice that made him look at her. Not with pity nor sympathy but with pensiveness. "Not exactly, I was aware that you did not know that your mother was nanna's second wife and I was afraid as to how you would take that news."

She rose to walk away but he caught her. His grip on her wrist was firm and after trying to twist free, she gave up and plunked back on the sand. "Why? Why bother about me? Why could you not just leave me alone?"

"Eight years ago, I would not have bothered. I knew about you from the time you were born but it was easy to ignore your presence, after all, you lived here, far away from Hyderabad and our lives. Nanna did come to visit you very often, we knew that. But then he would rarely be at home even before your mother came into his life, so him not being around was not new. That was also the reason I could not feel jealous of you."

However, once Anusree was born and I held her in my arms, I understood what exactly it is to be a father. It helped connect to nanna better and soon, instead of a father and son, we were more like a couple of fathers talking about their daughters. He was so proud of you, I might have been jealous if not for me being even more proud of Anu.

It was during those conversations that I understood how things stood. What started as a convenient excuse to avoid unpleasant situations had now become a burden. Nanna never told your mother about his life when they first met, it was not necessary. It became difficult later on till he was force to confess. But I guess you now know the whole story?"

She knew and was still trying to come to terms with it.

Chandra looked at her, "It was also a hurdle to bring you home for you would have to be told the whole truth. Nanna could not do it, but I know he was planning to tell you on your eighteenth birthday. But he never got the chance and I was not sure when I could tell you."

"So you also have everyone lie to me about who you were. Even my grandparents and the kids. It was mean of you."

"Only Lavanya knows that you do not know. I often tease nannamma by calling her baama so it was convenient to call her that when you came. And the kids calling you akka, we did tell them the truth that you might be uncomfortable if they addressed you as atta, since you are so young."

She could only nod, it must be true, she was the one who had jumped to all sorts of conclusions and the worst was her opinion about Lavanya. She had to admit to it, her behaviour on that night when she had come upon them would be unforgivable.

"I am sorry. When nan... nannamma addressed her as 'kodalu pilla' I was shocked and assumed"—

"We guessed it. Rather Lavanya did. Your attitude towards her puzzled everyone, the apparent dislike and hesitance to be in her presence. It was when you lost your temper when you walked in on us, that we understood.

"I am so sorry, it was very stupid of me..."

"It is fine, do not worry so much. Lavanya found it funny, more so because it gave her a reason to chastise me. She always insisted that you be told who exactly I was and that I should bring you home, but I was not sure. And your aunt also did not want you to face any additional shock. Once you reached Hyderabad, we realised how difficult it is to tell the truth and how burdensome it is to live a lie."

Gāyathri smiled, relief flooding through her, "We should be grateful for Karthik, if he had not insisted on proving that he was right in calling me atta, I might have made unforgivable decisions."

"Kids are braver than we imagine. Though right now he is crying for his atta. He thinks you left because he challenged you and promises he will call you whatever you like."

Hearing about Karthik put a smile on her face, she missed them too. But there was no way she could go back, the truth about her parents ensure that. And this time she would have to tell him the truth.

"I miss him and Anu too. But I do not think I can ever come to Hyderabad. After what my mother did, I cannot claim a place in your lives."

"What did she do?"

"She lied to me!"

"And what did you do the moment you learnt the truth?"

Great, a question for a question. But she knew what he was getting to, so she stayed quiet.

"You were so angry and confused that you ran away from Hyderabad, at least you tried. It is an unfamiliar city and still, you risked leaving the place. We can imagine that you would have done the same thing if your mother had told you the truth. The frightening thing is that you might have succeeded. That thought of losing you must have been enough for your mother to keep quiet."

"How long? Sooner or l I would have found out."

"Yes, your mother did know that. But knowing what to do and doing it are two different things. The first is mere knowledge but the second needs far greater courage than most have."

It was into the silence that he whispered, "Be kind Gāyathri, do not be so angry with you mother."

"You are quite respectful towards a woman who ruined your mother's life. I grew up hating your mother believed she stole my mother's place and even when I know the truth I cannot let it go completely."

"You think I should have supported amma?"

"Yes, she is your mother, right?"

"Yes, and I might have if she had decided to separate from Nanna. They both would have been happier. I would have supported her if she approached the law to seek justice; even if it meant that Nanna might have spent some time in jail. Or if she had taken the easy way out and simply ignored Nanna and let him live his life, which he anyway did. Instead, she spent the rest of her life, making Nanna and herself miserable.

It would be easy to blame your mother for the mess our parents made of their lives. I might have done too, but I know my mother. She was far from perfect. If I wanted to be objective, I could go as far as to say that she had greater responsibility for breaking up their marriage."

That was unexpected. It did not change the facts but it put things in a whole new light. And once again brought up a host of questions. She did not voice any of them but just sat watching Chandra. She wondered how it must have been growing up with distant parents, irrespective of the circumstances of her parent's marriage, she had not been deprived of a loving family. And she had basked in the love her parents had for each other. Even her aunt and uncle had a love marriage, albeit an approved one. And she had seen the love her grandparents had for each other.

It was unimaginable growing up in a house where the parents did not love each other. Chandra might have been born in a legitimised marriage but was not blessed to have loving parents. At that moment she realised how lucky and blessed she had been.