Winner of Wattpad India Awards 2020 (Judge's Choice) in the New Adult category.
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"The lights are cheeky, you can't live without them, and yet if you get too close, they'll blind you. Darkness? Well it doesn't cheat. It's cool and soothing. It's r...
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October 1984
Silvery-white light from the full moon bounced off the lone hand-pump which stood in the middle of an open courtyard. It was a perfect square around which ran a corridor with various rooms. Nothing special, just a typical rural house, albeit larger than most.
Slowly, a chubby, bangle-encased hand pulled the door of a room located just in front of the pump. As it opened, the anxious face of a young girl of about seven was illuminated.
She gently closed the door behind her, relieved that her mother had fallen asleep so quickly. Faint snores from down the hall assured her that her grandfather was in deep slumber too.
Having no interest in being packed and sent to the city with her father--which was her mother's favourite threat--she was eager to get away as quickly and quietly as possible.
She walked halfway around the corridor before reaching the gate that led to the cow shed outside the house, behind which were the modest servant quarters.
Her steps quickened as its window came into view, for it was still glowing from the oil lamps she knew were inside. She hadn't missed the story then.
Unlike the shed--which was all straws and hay--this room was built with the same bricks and cement as the main house. However, it had no lamps or lights or fans running on electricity. Instead, its two inhabitants had to make do with glass encased oil lamps, which made the room unbearably hot. That idea didn't worry Madhu, for it was the middle of October and the sweetness of cool winters had started approaching, so the lamps would only make the place comfortably cozy.
The arch of the entryway was high enough for little Madhu, but her mother, who was just over five feet, would have had to bend a little to get inside. It had only a curtain shielding the lodgings from outside in place of a proper door. Currently, the breeze was making it blow out as if the fabric of the curtain had been pushed by a large pumpkin from inside.
Madhu's mother had instilled in her enough manners to respect privacy. At that moment though, the child simply strode inside, flicking the curtain over her head.
Inside was placed a creaking old charpoy made of coarse fabric. Upon the jute cot sat the hunched figure of a frail man, with a head full of white hair that matched the colour of his bushy moustache, beneath which peeked a kind smile. Though Madhu knew he was illiterate and had never stepped inside a classroom, his long years in this world had left him with immense wisdom, something that was reflected in his twinkling black eyes.
Below on the floor was a young boy--Nakoo--not more than eleven years old, sitting cross-legged and trying to read one of the books Madhu's mother had given him earlier that day. Apart from the cot and the simple white bedsheet on which Nakoo was sat, there was only an earthen pot filled with water and an aluminium tumbler next to it.
"Raghu Kaka," Madhu said, coming within view of his squint. "Have you started without me?"
The old man looked up to see Madhu standing at the doorway before smiling and beckoning her inside.
