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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Procrastination is an artist's worst enemy.
Mahima Thakur's favourite mantra echoed against the walls of Madhu's brain as she stared blankly at the unfinished murti of Ganesh ji in front of her. The elephant-headed deity was one of the first sculptures Madhu had ever made, back when she was eleven, and at the moment it was sitting proudly as a central figure in her father's personal shrine in his office.
Yet right now, Madhu just couldn't figure out how to start. A long night's sleep hadn't been able to get rid of the images of the bruised and beaten man--thief apparently--from her mind. When she had entered the kitchen earlier that morning, Champa had informed her that Nakul had left early that morning to check on the progress of the complaints filed against said thief, as well as the men who had burnt Rani. Two hours later, Madhu was sitting alone in her art studio, feeling her gut coiling because he was yet to return.
A small part of her reasoned that she was being unnecessarily paranoid. Nakul was perfectly capable to taking care of himself, even protecting himself if need ever arose. But the larger part of her reminded her of the spat he had gotten into with the inspector the day before, and now had just recklessly strolled into his territory, to demand him to do his job of all things.
She gave up on getting any progress done on the murtis that day. Walking out of the room, Madhulika decided to while away her time until he returned.
Seeing her mother's old book in the makeshift children's library had planted the idea of checking out her grandfather's old study in Madhu's head. She vaguely remembered Nakoo telling her that he now used it to store some documents of his own, since the workshop wasn't large and safe enough to house everything.
Sure enough, when Madhu entered the dusty, unused study, the first thing that came into view was a pile of what looked like rolled up charts. They were resting on an ancient-looking yet sturdy colonial-styled table, made of sleek, polished mahogany. Unlike other rooms in this house, this study had little sources of natural light, with only two small vents allowing the late morning sun rays to highlight the tiny dust particles in the room. Three walls were covered with overflowing bookshelves which housed the collection of both her grandparents' and parents' books. Going over to the shelves, Madhulika examined their contents. They were largely Hindi books - journals, biographies, novels - with a few English titles, mostly the ones added by her mother, peppered in.
Krishna Ram Thakur, her grandfather, had been heavily involved in the nationalist struggles of the 1930s and 1940s, happily getting arrested by the Imperial Police at the call of Gandhi. It was odd for a zamindar's son to be anti-British in those days, yet her grandfather had rebelled against his parents' wishes as an undergraduate in college, much to their dismay.
It was in jail that he met another free-spirited, albeit uneducated patriot. Madhu didn't really know much about the origins of their friendship, but from what her father had told her, Raghu Kaka had saved her grandfather from some angry cellmates and in return, Krishna Ram Thakur promised to help him whenever need arose.
