It was early evening in the small town, the farming land village called "Hushiarpur." The haveli of the serpanch/mayor was like always devoid of any noise, the many doors and windows closed and draped with the dark green color curtains. There was not a single sign of sunlight that entered the Haveli.
Sukhdev Lal Handa was born in Hushiarpur, the Handa's was the only wealthy family in Hushiarpur but they took no pride in it. The family was known for the sharp business man like mind. Sukhdev Lal Handa was the first to move to the city in search of success, with years he found success and grew the family wealth. But he returned back to his hometown Hushiarpur with his wife and only son, Mohender Handa. Because of his sharp mind and the family reputation it did not take him long to take the title as Hushiarpur's serpanch which after his death 4 years ago was passed to his son Mohender Handa. Mohender was every bit like a Handa, the same temper, the same calculating mind and the same male dominance. Mohender believed and followed the words of his father. Mohender like his father became the serpanch of the small growing town Hushiarpur, he was the most respected, and the wealthiest man, everyone looked up to him, came only to him for advice and he listened to their problems with patience and guided them in solving their problems.
The loud chiming of the old wooden wall clock alerted Mohender of the time, he looked up from the book he was reading and stared at the clock frowning deeply upon seeing the time. It was time for his tea; he glanced at the door waiting for the girl to bring his evening tea. His gaze returned back to the wall clock, he watched as the clock ticked by indicating the lateness, his anger increased along with the tickling of seconds in the clock.
"B'Ba'Baba" came the scared and meek voice from the girl, she stood wearing a faded green colored long sleeved shalwar kameez, her head bent down covered with a dupatta. She noiselessly walked up to him and placed his tea on the table, her head still bent down.
Mohender glared at her "five minutes, five whole minutes" he stated in a loud voice which had the girl backing two steps.
"Ba-Baba, s-ssor'ssorry Baba, woh'. Chai h-haath se g-gi-gir' gayee thi'. P-phir se ba-banani padi" Stuttered the girl, her whole body trembling in fright of the upcoming blows she was going to receive for her lateness and her clumsiness. She accidently clutched her hands together tightly not caring of the stinging in her hands. The hands were red from the spill of the hot tea, she hadn't had the time to put ice or run cold water on her hands as she had to clean the whole spill, and pick the broken cup pieces that were scattered on the kitchen floor. If it hadn't been for Brij Veerji who had purposely pushed her while she was preparing to take the tea to Baba then she would have been saved from burning her hands and the blows she was sure to receive now.
"Koi kaam theek se nahi hota'. Nothing'. You can never do anything right" Mohender screamed at her slamming the book on the table as he got up from the rocking chair and advanced towards the girl.
"B-Baba'. P-plea'. please ssorry'. It will n-never happen again'. I'.I'pro'." The girl's plea was silenced as she received the first blow on her right cheek, the force of which had her falling on the floor. She was weak and the blow was too hard like always, her jaw stung, and she knew that her cheek already had the red hand print mark. She watched with frightened eyes as Mohender raised his foot to kick her stomach but the loud ringing of the door bell saved her from the painful kick.
"Out" Mohender ordered shutting his door, not caring to help his daughter even though he heard the cracking of her bones. He knew her hand was broken but it wasn't the first time, there was no need to waste his time in tending to the girl. It was because of her own clumsiness, she never did anything right.
"Get back to your room, lock the door. I don't want to hear any sound coming from your room. Not even your breathing" Mohender ordered but the girl was gone before even hearing his words. There was no need to; she had been hearing the same words since the day she entered in the haveli. She knew very well that every time the doorbell rang indicating the arrival of a guest she was to disappear from the haveli, lock herself in the basement which was her room.
She knew no one, not
one single soul in the town knew of her existence except her father and her
three brothers. The whole town knew that Mohender Handa had three sons who were
his pride and who he loved and cared deeply for but no one knew that he also
had a daughter. The daughter who he hated, loathed the sight of her, and who he
has kept locked inside the haveli away from the preying eyes of the
world, away from the outside world which his daughter knew nothing about just
like the outside world knew nothing of her... no one knew about the existence
of Geet Handa...
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