𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒐𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒆

PART-62

"You know, that Kajli..." A woman-thin as a reed, somewhere in her late forties-leaned in, her voice folding into itself, as if afraid the evening might overhear.

The other woman-the marriage-broker aunt from Jheel's wedding-along with Vaidehi and Urmila, instinctively mirrored her posture. The tightness on their faces reflected the same familiar hunger for dreadful news.

The villager continued, "She burnt herself to death with kerosene oil."

Eyes flew wide. Mouths fell open. Someone's gasp caught halfway in their throat.

Beside them, Nakul's hand stilled over the chessboard in front of Purav. Ira straightened, her spine going rigid. Panchhi's dice slipped from her fingers and clattered near her foot.

"Hey Ram..." Urmila breathed, one hand flying to her chest while the other gripped Vaidehi's arm for balance. "Why?"

"The same thing, huh." The woman waved it off, leaning back, her expression souring as if she had been fed garlic in the month of Shravan.

She twisted her mouth further. "Like, can't she tolerate some violence? Men are like that. We're the wives. We're supposed to serve our husbands." Her hand pressed briefly to her chest before dropping. "One or two slaps-can't we bear even that much for a good married life?"

Vaidehi smoothed her new tailored blouse, folding the fabric neatly over her lap. "Oh, chachi ji," she inhaled a deep, tired breath, "girls these days are completely masters of their own will," she dragged out, each word heavy. "They do whatever they please."

A faint shake of her head followed. "What we endured-how many slaps, how much beating, humiliation." Her lips thinned, but her voice remained steady. "But once we are married, we have to keep our promises, our oaths, the seven vows. But these girls," she added, a sharp edge creeping in, "they don't tolerate even a single word-and it's divorce or suicide. Immediately."

"Then what's wrong with divorce?!"

Urmila's sharp voice made Vaidehi turn at once.

"What's wrong with it, huh?" she continued, her tone biting. "In my opinion, they're doing perfectly fine. It was us-who believed our husbands are our Gods." She snorted softly. "Today's girls are very much perfect."

She twisted at the waist and looked over her shoulder. "Panchhi! Beti, you're listening?" Her voice rose deliberately. "If your future husband even tries to use a curse word on you, kick him and come back. No need to serve wild dogs."

Panchhi jumped to her feet, chair legs scraping loudly against the floor. She snapped a crisp salute - spine straight, chin lifted - and shouted, "Your words, my command, mummy!"

A triumphant smile curved Urmila's lips as she waved Panchhi down, her voice softening. "And beti, Ira. Your mother is stupid. I am not. If anything like this ever happens to you, leave that house immediately and come to your mausi. Yeah?"

Ira's lips curved into a subtle smile, amusement flickering in her eyes. "Yep. Self-respect comes before anything."

"Huh," Nakul scoffed, twisting his beard-guarded lips to one side. He glanced at Ira from the corner of his eye, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Here, the discussion is going on about so-called 'feminists' dragging their husbands and families into suicide traps, accusing them of domestic violence, fake dowry cases, and all."

Ira's jaw set hard as she turned to him sharply, eyes flashing. "Listen to me, you narcissistic misogynist." Her voice stayed low, just a second away from snapping. "No one here is discussing your failing patriarchy, so stop playing this 'suppressed men' card everywhere."