Two days later, Meera woke inside a pocket of darkness. The room was silent, the air heavy. Her mother lay on one side of her, Rick on the other both clinging to her as though their bodies alone could shield her from the world. She felt hollow, drained of all strength, as if even breathing required effort.
When she tried to rise, her mother stirred at once. She sat up, slipped an arm around Meera's shoulders, and began guiding her toward the washroom. But Meera gently resisted. With a small motion of her hand, she asked her mother to sit back down, insisting she could go alone. She took a few slow, unsteady steps forward, yet her mother followed close behind, ready to catch her if she fell.
By the time Meera returned, the table had been set. The faint smell of food lingered in the air, but it stirred no hunger in her. Without a word, she turned back to the bed and lay down again.
Her mother hurried to her side, brushed her hair back, and stroked her forehead.
she whispered. "Eat something. It took two whole days for your fever to break."
Meera shook her head faintly.
"That's alright," her mother said gently. "Whenever you feel like eating, tell me. I'll warm it for you."
Meera closed her eyes, but rest would not come. The past replayed itself behind her eyelids, again and again, in fragments she could not escape. After a long while, she sat up.
Her body felt unclean. The sensation clung to her skin, filled her with discomfort as if her own flesh no longer belonged to her. She rose suddenly, took fresh clothes, and went to the bathroom.
She scrubbed herself for a long time. Too long. Her hands moved harshly over her skin, as though she could erase something buried deeper than dirt, scrubbing until her skin burned and nearly peeled.
When she finally emerged, her mother was waiting for her, seated quietly on a chair.
Without speaking, she drew Meera in front of her and began drying her hair with slow, careful movements. The tenderness of it undid her. Tears slipped silently from Meera's eyes.
Her mother continued to caress her hair, brushing away Meera's tears even as her own fell.
Then, in a voice so low it barely disturbed the air, a voice trembling with fear, worry, and love carefully restrained…..,,her mother spoke.
"My village is in the North," she said softly. "Let's leave this place and go there. Life will be peaceful there, far away from this crowd. We will make a home there. You can find some work. We'll begin again."
Meera turned her head slowly.
"Maa," she asked in a hollow voice, "do you remember the name of your village?"
Her mother hesitated. A faint shadow crossed her face.
"No," she admitted quietly. "I only know it was in the North. When I was sold, I must have been ten or eleven. I've forgotten everything since then even the faces of my own people."
She stared somewhere far beyond the walls.
"All I remember is that our village was famous for mango farming. In summer, the streets smelled of ripe, sweet mangoes. They were bright like golden sunlight warm, calm… safe."
Her voice trembled.
"And then I was taken from there and thrown into these dark alleys. And this became my world."
Meera listened silently, her heart tightening with every word.
"Maa," she asked gently, "how will we go to a place whose name we don't even know?"
Her mother had no answer.
For a moment, she looked utterly lost.
Then she whispered, as if confessing a sin, "It is my fault. I should never have kept you both here. I always wanted my darkness to stay away from you. I wanted your lives to be full of sunlight and mango-scented streets.....streets that feel like belonging, and love, and safety. But I failed."
Her voice broke.
"Forgive me."
Meera turned toward her.
She looked at her mother...….simple, loving, unbearably gentle despite everything she had endured. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, her skin was dry, her hands were cold and still, all her worry was for her children.
How does someone walk through hell and still remain this innocent? Meera wondered.
She wrapped her arms tightly around her.
"For us, you are our sunshine," she whispered. "We smell mangoes through you. We feel warmth and safety through you. You were thrown into hell, and still you saved us from its fire. This is not your fault. It is mine. I should have listened to you. Forgive me."
They wept together for a long time.
Her mother wiped Meera's tears, held her close, and finally said softly, "Eat something, I made porridge and tomato soup for you...…..Please."
Not wanting to trouble her further, Meera nodded.
Her mother hurried to serve the food. Even without hunger, Meera ate from her mother's hands.
Afterward, her mother tucked her into bed, pulled a blanket over her shoulders, and gently massaged her head with warm oil.
Meera drifted into sleep.
But in the middle of the night, she woke suddenly heart pounding from a dream in which Tony was being killed.
The room was silent. Her mother and brother were asleep.
She rose quietly, picked up her bag, and found her phone dead. She plugged it in, turned it on, and checked.
No missed calls. No messages.
Fear curled inside her.
She called Tony. His phone was switched off.
She texted him:
Where are you? I hope you are okay. Please call me when you see this.
She opened the bar's WhatsApp group to find the bouncer's number who was there on that night shift with them, only to see that she was no longer a member.
She had been removed.
Her breath caught.
She tried calling the manager. The call didn't go through.
She sent a message asking about Tony. It didn't deliver.
She had been blocked.
Her eyes filled with tears.
She had always known the world was cruel...…..but this was what it felt like to be discarded. To be erased. To be turned away from by people you worked and ate with every day.
She didn't sleep again.
In the morning, just as she drifted into a light sleep, small arms wrapped around her.
"Mimi," her little brother whispered, "are you okay now?"
His shiny black eyes held worry, love, and innocence all at once.
Meera kissed his forehead.
"Yes, I'm fine," she said softly. "Come, let me get you ready for school."
"I'm big now," he said firmly. "I'll get ready myself. You rest."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Okay," she said. "I'll just help a little."
Rick nodded and went to dress. Their mother was in the kitchen packing his tiffin.
After dropping him at the bus stop, she returned to find Meera had already made tea.
They drank it in silence.
Her mother had many questions, many fears, many words pressing inside her...…..but she didn't know where to begin.
And she was afraid that if she chose the wrong place to start, she might hurt her child all over again.