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It's 300 years since the British took over India. Over the course, many retaliated against them, but they were all failed attempts. This story takes place in a faraway land, in a southern part of India, in a small village called Nagarhalli.
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[durghalli]
Thud!. Crash!.
The vessels hit the floor again. I didn't flinch. I already knew what was happening.
My parents were at it, as usual.
Outside, it was a bright and sunny day. To anyone else, maybe it was perfect. But not to me.
Once the shouting faded, I knew I was next. That was the pattern. First, they tore into each other, and then they turned on me. They beat me until the rage wore off. You might think my mother would have been gentler. She wasn't. If anything, she was worse—a predator waiting her turn.
I never complained. There was no point. It had always been like this. As far back as I could remember.
We lived alone, on a patch of land surrounded by tall coconut trees. No neighbors. No visitors. Just the three of us, left to rot in silence. Our family stayed here to tend the master's house and his fields.
Nobody loved me. I never even learned what love was supposed to feel like. I woke before sunrise and worked past midnight. That was my purpose. If I slowed down or made a sound of protest, the punishment was swift and brutal. My only escape was a thin bed out back, near the trees. In summer, it was just barely tolerable. In winter, it was bitter and raw. Still, I never said a word.
The only thing they gave me enough of was food. After my father finished eating, my mother would come outside and throw what was left on the ground. That was mine. I ate it without complaint. It filled my stomach. That was enough.
That day seemed no different at first. The sky was clear. The sun is warm. I had managed to finish my chores a little early—two whole hours before the evening's fights usually began. I thought maybe I could sneak in some sleep, just a little peace.
The house was quiet. Strangely so.I took my chance, crept out back, and laid down.
Shhh!. Shhh!.Shhh!The breeze whispered through the trees. Leaves rustled overhead. For once, it felt… peaceful. The sun had climbed high, but it wasn't too hot. Just warm enough to feel safe.
Until it wasn't.
"AYYO!"
I bolted upright with a gasp. The sun was already past its peak. I'd overslept. My chores—unfinished. I scrambled to my feet, panic closing in on my chest like a vise.
I was dead. That's what I thought. This time, they might actually kill me.
I crawled quietly toward the front of the house, heart thudding against my ribs. I rehearsed apologies in my head—dozens of them. Excuses. Begging. Anything. I wasn't even allowed inside the house, so I did what I always did: I peeked through the side, careful not to be seen.
But what I saw inside left me frozen.
My breath caught. My legs turned numb.
I didn't think. I didn't wait.
I turned and ran.
I didn't look back. I didn't want to. I didn't care that I wore only a pair of shorts—bare-chested, barefoot. I didn't care about anything anymore. I just ran.
I ran for over an hour. I don't remember how far. I only knew one thing:
I wasn't going back.
Three or four hours passed. Maybe more. My whole body ached, bruised, and battered. Still, I kept walking. And somewhere along the way, I remembered something. Or someone.
My grandparents
I had never met them. I only knew they existed—my mother's parents. They had spoken of her father once. Only once. I'd overheard them planning to take her land someday. That was all I knew.
They might be dead. They might be just like them. But maybe… just maybe, they weren't.
I didn't have another choice.
As I walked, a voice called out behind me.
"Hey there, little fellow. You look troubled. Something on your mind?"
I turned to see an old man approaching slowly, eyes kind but cautious.
"Sir," I asked, voice barely audible, "do you know where Nagarhalli is?"
He squinted at me, then let out a soft laugh. "Ah, kid. Have you seen yourself? You're in such a state, people would run away before answering. Come, let me help you with those wounds first."
I didn't respond. I didn't move. But I didn't run either.
He set down a woven basket and began pulling out herbs and strips of cloth. With practiced hands, he crushed the herbs into a green paste and gently applied it to my injuries. Then he wrapped each one in thin white bandages.
I felt nothing. Not pain. Not comfort. I was too far gone for either.
My voice came out weak again. "Sir... do you know where Nagarhalli is?"
The old man smiled. "Ah, much better now! Yes, yes. Nagarhalli is about twelve kilometers to the east. As it happens, I'm headed that way myself. Care to join me? Could use some company on the road."
I didn't say anything. I just started walking beside him. I didn't have the strength to speak. And somehow, saying "thank you" felt strange now—like it didn't belong in my mouth.
He walked at my pace. I noticed he wasn't much taller than me, despite his age. His hair was white as clouds. He must have been in his sixties or seventies.
The sun was starting to fall, the air turning cooler. Hunger gnawed at my stomach. Thirst cracked my lips. But I was used to it.
*[I looked at the boy beside me. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. His body was tough, but marked with damage no child should carry. My heart ached for him. My grandson would have been his age, had fate been kinder.
He didn't complain. Not once. Just walked, quietly, as if every step was an act of will. There was a war going on inside him, I could see it. We didn't talk. But somehow, it wasn't a silent walk.]*
By the time we reached Nagarhalli, the village was bathed in orange dusk. I turned to the old man, trying to find the words.
"So… do you know where Geetha's parents live?"
He tilted his head. My question caught him off guard.
"Geetha?" he asked slowly. "Is that your mother?"
I nodded.
He stared at me, puzzled, then, after a long pause, said, "Yes… I do. Come with me."
We walked another fifteen minutes. As we neared a small house, I felt something stir in me, something like hope. The house was modest, but clean. Flowers grew along the fence. It looked… peaceful.
The gate creaked open before we reached it. A woman stepped outside.
She was old, with a gentle face and silver hair tied in a bun. She smiled as she walked toward the old man.
"Dear, are you tired from your journey? And I see you've brought a young guest. Shall I prepare something to eat?"
The old man chuckled. "Take your time. First, let's see what this young man's business is… or maybe what business he has with our unfilial daughter."
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*Note: your small comments below can help me a lot to continue this story, even though it's just one chapter published. I don't discriminate, I take both good and hate comments equally. I luv you all !.
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