"Devi Ji, a signature here please!"

Accepting the pile of letters and couriers, she skillfully balanced them on one hand, her other set of fingers clasping around the fancy fountain pen, and gracefully carving out her name on the flimsy form.

"Why is this last Friday's date?"

"Might be a mistake Ji, but I don't think it matters."

Leaving the door wide open, she rushed inside her house panting and dropped the load on the dining table. Flexing her arms, she settled on the chair, pouring herself a glass of water. Gulping it down in a go, her eyes ran over the clutter.

Huh. So many packages.

Sure, she used to receive many posts but this was an unusually large stack. And a big box covered and packaged so well, screaming out 'confidential'! The biggest problem was how the letters of all five houses on the floor were dropped into her house. Easy work for the postman.

But never had she ever received such boxes, at least in the past year. It always used to consist of some official business letters for her husband or some relatives sending letters for her mother-in-law. Her own mother would never bother to send any, rambling on about expensive letters.

Quite often the old lady from the adjacent house would receive money orders from her sons. Otherwise, it would be Masterji who always used to get packs of books from his colleagues from around the world, but never a box like this or even a letter. And one of the quarters was Veer's, who only stayed there to watch cricket matches.

That left only one person. The one locked inside in his own home.

Curious. She was very curious.

She walked out into the corridor, observing the silent ground.

Silent only because the children were at school. An hour or so and they would be back, destroying the peace right away. It would probably be an understatement to say that she was fond of kids. She adored them.

Sighing, she felt quite alone at the moment. Her husband had left for work and her mother-in-law for a pilgrimage. The whole floor was still, none of the neighbors there, except for the old lady. And she wasn't that desperate yet. Well, she assumed at least that none of the neighbors were there since all the doors were closed. And usually, when the houses were occupied, the doors were left open, except for one of course.

Heading back to her own place, she left the door open for Puchki or Veer, the ones who would be the first ones to gobble down all the food she made and only then go to their own places. A laugh left her lips, remembering the gourmands. And that is when her eyes fell on the mess.

'Perfect timing!' she mused.

"Let's see, deal from Majumdars, construction project of the dam, boring boring boring. When will Vishal stop tricking people into dirty money work like this? I'm tired of telling him! Money orders from Delhi, psst! She needs company, you moron! Thick binds ... hmm, has to be some books for Masterji written in that pathetic gibberish! Ah ... what's that language called? Ah ... Mathematics! Bah, useless! Let's keep you aside."

Done with all the useless letters, her fingers traced the corners of the packaged box. Checking everywhere possible for an address, she saw none, except for a message.

"To 'Jonaki's little one' — From Aashiyana Manor, Lawrence road, West end."

Confused, she read it again. West end? All the way across the city? She had heard the name of that place somewhere. Not the manor perhaps, but at least the road. Racking her brains, she figured it out at last. Lawrence road, where the rich and affluent sections of the state resided. However, the place was in ruins now, so why bother?

Was the mysterious neighbor of hers, possibly a rich landlord? But if so, then why would he live in their colony? And who was this Jonaki? His mother?

Opening up the covered package, she found another layer of wrap. Her curiosity at its peak, she aggressively tore apart the layer, she could apologize to that pathetic fellow later. An ornamental box, along with a small card.

Lifting up the card, she read out loud.

"Memories for the little one to hold onto — Jawhara A."

So it was definite, the package was for the very person she detested. There was no one else with a title starting from 'A' on their entire floor. But everything seemed so ambiguous, just like him. Impatient were her hands which yanked the decorative latch of the case. Lifting it up, she observed the contents inside. A stack of thick papers, photographs.

The first picture. A young girl who was posing for the camera. Innocence flashed in her big eyes, the color of those gems unknown because of the black and white photo. Her lips twisted in a way, clearly showing how scared she was.

The second picture. Again the same girl. A bit older, around fifteen. Her two oiled plaits, neatly tied with white ribbons, hanging on each side. A school photo? Probably. A small smile, shyly curved lips, and the mole above them standing out. The smile was so joyous that she herself started smiling. Familiar, very familiar.

The third picture. Now the girl was around twenty. And she could say so because of the maturity displayed on those angelic features. The smile had widened and that's when she took notice of the attire in the photo. A big bindi on the forehead, well-decorated eyebrows, and a crown placed on her hair, not to mention the sari as well. Clearly, it was a wedding still.

She had seen her somewhere. Maybe the market? The world is a small place after all.

The fourth picture. She was no more a girl. She was a woman. Decked up in an extravagant sari, her smile intact, she posed for the camera, creating a gentle aura around herself. Striking like a lightning, Devi recognized the girl. Finally. It had to be her, the smile, those eyes, that mole ... God!

But that's when she noticed the few other details in the picture. Precisely, two others. A child in her arms and a man beside her. None of them could be recognized. Devi had not known that she had a family. Sure she had got married but a family? No, she did not know that.

Moreover, why was this package for him? How did he know her? Could she go to him and demand answers?

Suddenly, the doors shut themselves. Loud.

Jumping, she turned around. Shocked, she was shocked. Her mouth agape, she watched those red eyes, glaring at her. Those eyes were red but cold. Very cold.

"What were you doing?"

"I—I—wa—was—jus—"

"What. Were. You. Doing."

The voice was cold. Fury was only flashing through his eyes, not his demeanor.

"W—wh—ho—w—w—d—do—yo—u—know—her?"

"And who are you to know that?"

"I—I—I am her friend!"

Silent footsteps moved towards her. The stack clasped in her hand was dropped, as she started moving backward.

"I—I'll start screaming!"

"So, I assume, you are going to tell the whole world now, right? Go on, yell."

A glance at him. That's it.

"HELP! HEL—"

Covering her mouth, her screams were muffled. Biting, she tried biting, but those fingers were protected, she could do nothing. She hit him, thrashed him, kicked him but it was impossible for her to beat his strength.

'Curiosity killed the cat,' she was often told.

'The cat has nine lives,' she used to smartly retort back.

But no one told her, that to utilize the nine lives, the cat would have to die eight times. Eight times the pain, eight times the torture, eight times the journey called life.

Not so appealing anymore, isn't it?

Sheltered fingers seized her neck. The grip grew tighter every minute passing, but not enough. The captivator was determined, he knew what he had to do and why. She stared at him and kept trying to free herself.

Until her struggles started. The abundant air she used to breathe was not enough for her anymore. It was entering but not passing through her body. She started heaving and the force of her kicks reduced considerably.

Her fingers were turning cold. Slowly they turned blue, the blood circulation cutting off. An ugly shade of purple, and both of them, one who was losing her life and the other who was losing himself, both realized that there was no turning back.

It was bound to happen.

Her arms stopped midway, ceasing the blows. He knew that his job was done. Gripping on for a little longer, he left it, once he was sure that she could not save herself. He gathered the photographs and walked away, leaving the door open.

"Paakhi."

She whispered, her eyes broken and still, focusing on the smiling woman who watched her.

To know or to not know,

That is the question.

Answers that death did not owe,

Pity as weighing on her was a dearth of confessions.

~ End of 'One: To Know Or To Not Know'.