The train continued its journey toward Chennai.
It was still early afternoon.
The digital clock near the compartment entrance showed 1:15 PM.
Outside, the bright sunlight covered fields, lakes, and distant villages.
Passengers continued boarding and leaving at every station.
Vendors walked through the compartment selling tea, coffee, snacks, and water bottles.
The ordinary rhythm of train travel continued.
But for Sathyamoorthy, every passing kilometer revealed another chapter of Lakshmi Rajyam's life.
A few minutes earlier, Lakshmi had mentioned a tragedy.
The word lingered in his mind.
Until now, her story had been about hope.
Helping villages.
Solving problems.
Building trust.
Now her expression had changed.
The smile had disappeared.
What happened?
Sathyamoorthy finally asked.
Lakshmi remained silent for a few moments.
The memory clearly hurt.
Even after all these years.
Do you remember the village water project I told you about?
Sathyamoorthy nodded.
A few years later, another village approached me.
This time the issue wasn't water.
It was a government hospital.
She looked outside the window.
Technically the hospital existed.
The building was there.
The board was there.
The records were there.
Everything looked perfect on paper.
Reality was different.
No proper doctors.
No medicines.
Broken equipment.
Neglect everywhere.
People still depended on it because they had no alternative.
Lakshmi paused.
One day, a pregnant woman needed emergency treatment.
The atmosphere became heavier.
The hospital couldn't handle the situation.
The family tried arranging transportation.
The nearest better facility was far away.
They lost precious time.
Too much time.
Sathyamoorthy already knew where the story was heading.
The woman died.
Lakshmi nodded slowly.
And so did the child.
The train's noise seemed louder for a moment.
Neither spoke.
The tragedy itself wasn't unique.
Unfortunately, similar incidents happened across the country.
What made it unbearable was knowing it could have been prevented.
The hospital had received funding.
Records showed improvements.
Reports claimed facilities existed.
But much of the money had disappeared.
Corruption.
Negligence.
Indifference.
A family paid the price.
Lakshmi looked down.
I attended the funeral.
The father wasn't angry.
That made it worse.
He simply looked tired.
Defeated.
Then he asked me something.
What?
If everyone knows the problem...
why does nobody fix it?
Sathyamoorthy remained silent.
At that moment, I realized something important.
Helping individuals was meaningful.
But the system itself remained broken.
For every problem I solved, ten more appeared.
For every village helped, dozens remained waiting.
I could spend my entire life treating symptoms.
Or I could try addressing the cause.
The train crossed a bridge.
Water shimmered beneath the afternoon sunlight.
That question haunted me for months.
Every dance performance.
Every social activity.
Every community meeting.
The same thought returned.
What if helping from outside wasn't enough?
What if change required entering the system?
Politics.
Lakshmi nodded.
Politics.
For the first time in my life, I seriously considered it.
Not because I wanted power.
Because I wanted responsibility.
The distinction mattered.
Many people seek power to control others.
Few seek responsibility.
Sathyamoorthy immediately wrote the sentence into his notebook.
Lakshmi noticed.
That one is going into your next novel?
Probably.
Good.
It's true.
Both smiled briefly.
The train continued moving.
The journey still had several hours remaining.
What did your family think?
Lakshmi laughed.
My mother almost had a heart attack.
Sathyamoorthy laughed too.
She wanted stability.
Peace.
Normal life.
Politics represented the exact opposite.
And your father?
Lakshmi became thoughtful.
He surprised me.
Instead of discouraging me, he asked one question.
Only one?
Only one.
Can you remain honest after entering politics?
The answer had not been easy.
Even now.
Because honesty sounds simple.
Living honestly is much harder.
Especially when power enters the equation.
Lakshmi looked through the window again.
I told him I would try.
He replied with something I'll never forget.
What was it?
If you fail honestly, I will still be proud.
If you succeed dishonestly, I won't.
For a few moments neither spoke.
The words carried weight.
The kind of advice that stayed with someone forever.
By then, political parties had already started approaching her.
Invitations became more frequent.
Meetings became more serious.
People no longer saw Lakshmi Rajyam merely as a dancer.
Or a social worker.
They saw potential.
Influence.
Public trust.
Eventually one party made an offer that changed everything.
An offer she had never expected.
The train whistle echoed.
Another station approached.
Passengers prepared to leave.
New passengers prepared to board.
And somewhere between Andhra Pradesh and Chennai, Lakshmi Rajyam reached the chapter of her life where the world of public service ended...
and the world of politics truly began.