Shreya's father could not shake off the words Naman had spoken that day. A quiet fire burned inside him. On the surface he looked calm and strong, but within, a broken father wrestled with deep pain. The old sternness returned to his face, as if someone had suddenly wounded the beliefs he had carefully guarded for years. One day, gathering his courage, he sent a divorce notice on behalf of his daughter. The atmosphere in the house grew tense and uneasy.
When the notice reached Naman, a cunning smile crossed his lips. "People make huge sacrifices to settle their daughters in marriage," he said, "and you are the first father who is asking for divorce right after the wedding. At least let her reach her in-laws' house properly. You took my small remark to heart. If my words hurt you, forgive me like a son."
Naman had no idea that in his drunken state that day he had revealed his true self. He believed Shreya's family was angry only because he had decided to take her to Murshidabad after her exams.
Shreya and her family swallowed the bitter pill somehow. With Mansi's help, they pleaded before her father and began a desperate campaign to save their daughter's life.
On the outside Shreya appeared calm, but inside she was deeply tangled. Like the narrow old lanes, ancient houses, and the slow-flowing Bhagirathi river, her life had become a still river, carrying water yet without direction.
In the early days of marriage, Naman had seemed exactly as everyone knew him: quiet, studious, reserved, and someone who minded his own business. But slowly his tone and behaviour began to change.
Because Shreya had not begun her married life with him in the way he expected, he grew angry and transformed. Now he wanted to give orders, not suggestions. When Shreya tried to distance herself, he flared up like a raging fire.
When he stubbornly insisted on taking her to Murshidabad, Shreya refused to go anywhere outside the house with him until her exams were over. "Why do you need to go out so much?" she asked. "Keep distance from these people."Had Shreya not heard his words in the beginning, she might have still held respect and concern for him.
From childhood she had trained herself to accept what others said. She had never learned to question; she had only learned to believe. Some questions keep growing silently. Naman was completely shaken. His behaviour changed towards everyone. Outside he remained the polite, educated, helpful, and ideal husband. Inside, he wanted to control every decision. From money to phone calls, he kept watch on everything.
The truth was that he did feel emotionally attached to Shreya. That was why he had agreed to marriage and did not want to lose her for any reason.
One day, when Shreya asked her adoptive father to call Naman and speak about divorce, he exploded. "You no longer belong to this house," he said flatly. "Not every matter needs to reach divorce. I don't understand why you were in such a hurry to marry and now in such a hurry to divorce."
"I don't want to live with you," Shreya replied. "I want freedom from this relationship. I don't want to spend my life with you anymore."
Concealing the deeper truth, she said, "I am not bound to maintain a relationship with someone who cannot respect my parents."
In that moment, Shreya felt herself turning into the same little girl she had once been; the girl who had been abandoned to the waters of the Ganges. The only difference was that this time, it wasn't the river that threatened to drown her, but the walls around her and the cracks spreading through them.
As night grew darker, memories quietly found their way back. In that lonely silence, she missed Arjun more than ever. The school entrance examination, the mathematics test, my stubborn determination, and every faded memory of our childhood drifted through my mind, one after another, like forgotten echoes refusing to fade.
She realised that Arjun had not only taught her mathematics but had also tried to explain the rising and falling rhythms of life. Even then she could not read people's intentions, and even now she remained the same. Age was increasing, yet she still had not learned to truly recognise people.
That same night, Shreya decided to write a letter to Arjun. It was not a complaint, nor a cry for help. It was a simple acceptance that she was alive. She had survived even after being carried away by the Ganges. She was still searching for herself. This knowledge was hard—she had swung many times in the arms of death and returned.
While writing the letter to Arjun, her hands trembled, but her heart grew light. After many years, it felt as if she had told all her truth to someone dear. A few days later, when Naman learned that she had sent a letter to someone, his face hardened."
Who did you write the letter to?" he asked.
The story of Shreya was one of quiet courage and hidden storms. Her childhood had been marked by abandonment and the silent flow of the Ganges. Adopted into a new family, she had grown up trying to please everyone, never learning to raise her voice or question what felt wrong. Marriage, which was supposed to be a new beginning, had become another cage.
Naman's mask had slipped slowly. The calm, studious man everyone admired revealed a controlling nature.His love was mixed with possession. He wanted Shreya completely under his influence—her thoughts, her movements, her relationships. When she resisted, especially after hearing his drunken words that disrespected her parents, the cracks widened.
Her father, once hopeful, now stood as a protector ready to fight for his daughter's peace. Sending the divorce notice was his way of declaring that he would not let her suffer in silence.Shreya's inner world remained a battlefield. She carried the weight of old wounds, the fear of being unwanted, and the new fear of an unhappy marriage. Yet within her grew a quiet resolve.
Writing to Arjun was her first step towards reclaiming her voice. It was not a call for rescue but a declaration: she existed, she remembered, and she was trying to heal.The road ahead was uncertain. Family pressures, societal expectations, and Naman's resistance stood like high walls. But in the slow-moving river of her life, a small current of courage had begun to stir. The girl who once floated helplessly in the Ganges was now learning to swim towards her own shore—slowly, painfully, but with growing strength.
© Copyright Pushpa Chaturvedi.
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