Chapter 25

Banishree stepped off the bus, her body aching from the long journey. It was the middle of the night, and the familiar surroundings of her village, Dholpur, greeted her with an eerie silence, broken only by the distant barking of dogs.

Slowly, she began the walk towards her maternal Uncle Raju's house. The streets were dark and deserted, illuminated only by the dim glow of a few scattered streetlights. After what felt like an eternity, she finally reached the small blue metal gates of her uncle's house.

Her hand trembled as she lifted it to press the doorbell. The sound echoed through the quiet night, and she waited, her heart pounding in her chest. ‘Would they accept her? Would they understand?’ These questions swirled in her mind as she stood there, feeling more lost than ever.

Banishree rang the doorbell, looking around nervously. The village was quiet at this hour, the darkness making every small noise seem amplified. She waited for a moment, biting her lip in anxiety, then pressed the doorbell again.

From inside, she heard the groggy voice of her uncle. "Arey, kaun hai itna raat ko?” (Who is it at this hour?) he grumbled as he approached the gate. When Raju opened it, his eyes widened in shock. There, standing all alone in the dead of night, was his niece.

"Arey, Bani betiya... itni raat ko?" ("Bani, dear... at this hour?") he exclaimed, struggling to grasp what he was seeing.

Banishree looked up at him, her eyes tired and her voice barely a whisper. "Kaa hum andar aa sakte hai?" (Can I come in?)

"Beta, yeh tumhara hi ghar hai." (This is your own home, child.) He quickly stepped aside, letting her in. As she crossed the threshold, her eyes scanned the house with a mix of relief and hesitation.

Just then, the sound of anklets approached rapidly, followed by a gasp. Her aunt, Rani, emerged, her face lined with both concern and confusion. "Bani... itni raat ko, sab theek toh hai? Aur jamai babu kaha hai? Dikh nahi rahe." (Bani... at this hour, is everything okay? And where is your husband? He’s not with you?)

She looked down, avoiding her aunt's piercing gaze, as the weight of their questions loomed over her. She had no idea how to explain the whirlwind of emotions and events that had led her back to this house.

Slowly, Banishree looked up, her eyes misty with unshed tears. "Woh... Doctor Babu chalawa nikle," she choked out, her voice breaking. "Humse jhoot bol rahe the. Humara istemal kar rahe the." (He turned out to be a trickster. He lied to me, used me.)

As the words tumbled out, she couldn't hold back anymore. She burst into tears, her shoulders shaking as sobs wracked her small frame. Her uncle and aunt exchanged worried, heartbroken glances, unsure of how to comfort her.

Without a word, her aunt stepped forward and wrapped Banishree in a warm, motherly hug, holding her tight as she cried into her shoulder.

After taking a long bath, Banishree changed into fresh clothes. She walked over to the bed she had grown up in, the familiar surroundings somehow feeling foreign now. Slowly, she lay down and stared blankly at the ceiling, her mind racing.

Silent tears trickled down the sides of her face, disappearing into the pillow. A part of her ached for her husband, missing him terribly. But then Shreya's harsh words echoed in her mind, filling her with heartbreak and doubt all over again.

Overwhelmed and anxious, Banishree felt a heaviness pressing down on her chest. Unable to hold it in, she cried quietly, her body curling into itself. Eventually, exhaustion took over, and she cried herself to sleep, clutching the pillow tightly.

It was evening, and the room was filled with a tense silence as Arjun packed his bags. His movements were quick, almost frantic. Earlier that day, he and Chola had finally tracked down the autorickshaw driver. The driver had confirmed their worst fears: he had dropped Banishree at the railway station, and she had been crying the whole way.

Arjun zipped up his bag, the sound punctuating the quiet room. He knew there was only one place she could have gone—her village, Dholpur. It was the only home she knew outside of their shared life. He had made up his mind. He couldn't rest until he found her and brought her back.

"I'm going to Dholpur," he said, zipping up his bag with finality. "She has to be there."

Chola, who was leaning against the doorframe, nodded. "I'm coming with you, man. We’ll bring her.”

“Bani... Bani, wake up,” her aunt’s voice came, gentle but urgent as she shook her awake. Banishree opened her eyes slowly, her head feeling heavy from crying through the night. She looked up at her aunt, trying to clear her thoughts.

“Beta, tumhare Vibhushan chacha aaye hain tumse milne,” (Dear, your uncle Vibhushan has come to meet you) her aunt said, her tone tense. The mention of her paternal uncle immediately made Banishree’s heart race. His visits were rarely good news.

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Hare Krishna