Shining Fragments of a Heartbeat

Betrayal

Ranath had just finished saying goodbye to his friends. They were heading back to Bangalore, and then they would continue their journey the next day. His friend Mohan, his roommate and batch mate throughout college, had handed him an envelope. "I got both our offer letters from Hapag-Lloyd the day before I came here," he stated. "I wanted to give this to you as your wedding gift", he had added. Both had applied after their maritime training, and Ranath was set to start as the Third Officer. His departure was in less than a week. He planned to discuss this with his father and Anaya in the morning. The thought brought a sense of excitement and pride but also a looming responsibility.

As he entered the grand hall of the farmhouse, a young boy-one of his distant cousins, though he wasn't sure which-bumped into him, nearly knocking him off balance.

"Careful, boy," Ranath admonished gently, his voice light. "Open your eyes and walk, will you?" His mood was too elevated to be annoyed, the happiness of the evening lifting his spirits.

"I have a letter for you!" the boy declared with a mischievous grin, shoving a thin envelope into Ranath's hand before sprinting away.

Ranath chuckled and shook his head. Kids. He turned the envelope over in his hands, curiosity gnawing at him. Should he open it now? But the thought of Anaya waiting for him upstairs in their room quickly overshadowed his curiosity. His wife. The word lingered in his mind, bringing warmth and a sense of rightness. "The girl I love is now my wife," he thought, and the anticipation of seeing her filled him with eagerness.

As he approached their room, women singing and giggling echoed down the hallway. Ranath sighed, realizing it was another ritual. The entire day had been filled with one ceremony after another, and now was no different. Not wanting to interrupt or stand outside, he waited half an hour in his father's room to pass the time.

When he reached his father's study, Raghuvaran stood at the door, locking it.

"Appa, leave it open. I'll stay here for a bit," Ranath called.

"What are you doing here?" Raghuvaran asked, eyeing him curiously.

"Some singing ritual is going on. Let me stay here until it's over," Ranath explained.

Raghuvaran shook his head with a knowing smile. "These women," he muttered. "Fine, go ahead. But lock the room when you leave. The kids are running wild tonight."Ranath nodded and settled into his father's chair, feeling the weight of exhaustion catch up with him. But then he remembered the envelope the boy had handed him. Curious again, he tore it open and pulled out a photograph.

His eyes narrowed as he studied the image. It was a photograph of his father and Anaya's mother standing close to a coconut tree. The casual intimacy between them made his stomach churn. His father's hand rested gently on her shoulder, almost possessively, while Anaya's mother smiled up at him, her eyes soft. The pose was subtle but unmistakable. It wasn't the pose of friends or family members, but a gesture reserved for lovers. Something felt horribly wrong.

Ranath felt heat rising in his chest. He flipped the photograph over, almost hoping for some rational explanation, but there was none. His breath quickened as he reached into the envelope again and found a single sheet of paper.

His heart raced as he unfolded it.

"You have been lied to, Ranath. The girl you married is your father's illegitimate child."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His mind reeled, trying to process the accusation. Anger flared in his chest, followed by disbelief. "This is a lie," he muttered, crumpling the paper.

But the image of his father and Anaya's mother clung to him, poisoning his thoughts. He needed answers. Desperate to confront his father, he stormed out of the room, locking the door behind him.

"Aunty, have you seen Appa?" Ranath asked breathlessly when he spotted Marathi, his father's sister, in the hallway.

She studied his face, her brow furrowing in concern. "He went to settle the bill with the decorators," she replied. "What's wrong, Ranath? You look pale.

"Without a word, Ranath thrust the photograph and the crumpled note toward her. "Do you know anything about this?" he demanded, his voice tight with anger.

Marathi sighed deeply as she glanced at the photograph. "I had my doubts," she said, her tone resigned.

Ranath's heart skipped a beat. "What are you saying?" he asked, his voice rising.

"Well, Anaya's mother was... not a virtuous woman," Marathi began cautiously. "Even though she was my husband's stepsister, she had a reputation for manipulating men. She ruined my husband's life, and I always suspected she had a hold over your father, too."

Ranath stared at her, feeling the ground shift beneath him. "Are you seriously suggesting that Anaya is-?"

"Your father's illegitimate child," Marathi finished for him. "Look at the photograph, Ranath. That's not how a friend poses with his sister's step-sister-in-law. Your father was manipulated, just like the others. And Anaya... she's the product of that affair."

"No," Ranath shook his head, backing away. "No, this can't be true. I've known Anaya my whole life. We grew up together. I married her because-because I love her."

Marathi's face softened, but she didn't relent. "Why do you think your mother left your father and returned to the UK when you were just five? It wasn't just a fight. She couldn't bear to live in the same house as that woman."

Ranath's head spun. He had always assumed his parents' separation was due to some irreconcilable argument. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined this. "I don't believe it," Ranath said, but his voice wavered. Doubt crept in, insidious and corrosive.

"You should believe it. Six months after Anaya's mother came to live with us, she was pregnant with Anaya. How do you think that happened?" Marathi pressed. "And why would your father arrange this marriage so suddenly? To secure her future? Or because he feels guilty?"

Ranath's stomach churned with nausea. The photograph. The note. His father's silence all these years. It was all too much. His emotions teetered between disbelief, anger, and sorrow. He couldn't stay here. Not with these lies-or truths-clinging to him like poison.

"I have to get out of here," Ranath muttered, barely hearing his voice.

He turned and walked away from Marathi, his mind in chaos. The life he had thought was he had been a lie. He wasn't sure who to trust anymore or what to believe.

Ranath returned to his room in a daze and hastily packed a few clothes, certificates, and personal belongings. His hands trembled as he scrawled a short note and left it on his father's desk:

"You deceived me. Don't try to find me. I'm disgusted to even call you Appa."

He paused, staring at the note, his heart heavy with betrayal. A part of him wanted to tear it up, to confront his father face-to-face, but the pain was too raw. His relationship with his father-everything he thought he knew-had been shattered.

With a final glance at the farmhouse he had called home, Ranath handed the key to Marathi.

"I'm leaving, and I'm never coming back," he said quietly before walking out the door.

He walked through the night, barely aware of his surroundings. The air was cold, but it couldn't touch the heat of the anger and hurt that burned inside him. By some stroke of luck, he hitched a ride to the nearest bus station and bought a ticket for the first bus to Bangalore. Four hours later, he arrived, feeling numb and hollow. He pulled out the crumpled letter and photograph again, staring at them in the dim light of a streetlamp. The image still felt like a nightmare, the words twisting his gut, but he didn't know what to believe anymore.

He made his way to a pay phone and dialed his friend Mohan. When Mohan answered, Ranath's voice cracked as he explained everything, clutching the photograph in his trembling hands.

Ever the steady friend, Mohan picked him up, offering him a place to stay. Together, they decided to accept the Hapag-Lloyd offer and sail away from the chaos that had become Ranath's life.

Ranath left his phone behind and everything else that had tied him to the life he no longer recognized. He had taken only what was necessary-and a heart full of betrayal.