Author: Rohit_jha
Part 1: The Stranger in the City
My journey began when I left the warmth of my small village for the concrete maze of Surat. I was just a boy in the 3rd grade, lost in a world where I didn't speak English, Gujarati, or Marathi. At Modi English Academy, my silence was mistaken for weakness. Back home, my teacher, Vriddh Sir, taught with love. In the city, my questions were met with cold stares. I felt like a criminal just for wanting to learn.
Part 2: The Shadows of 1956
Every visit back to the village was a breath of life. But there was a shadow over our house—a locked room built in 1956. Inside were rifles and swords, remnants of a bitter feud between my father, a Crime Branch officer, and the family of Chandni, the girl I silently admired. My grandfather, whom I called Baba, warned me: "She is the daughter of your father's enemy." I didn't understand the hate; I only knew the beauty of the village and the taste of the pedas my Dadi (whom I called Mummy) made for me.
Part 3: The Coldest Night
In 2015, my curiosity broke me. I entered the forbidden room. My father's punishment was heartless—he threw me out into the freezing night. I waited at the gates, hoping my mother would let me in. Instead, she was the one who locked the door and alerted my father. I spent that night shivering at the feet of a Lord Hanuman statue in the Thakurwadi, surrounded by the silence of the dead. When Baba found me the next morning, burning with fever, I realized that my grandparents were my only true shield.
Part 4: The Breaking Point
The year 2019 changed everything. My grandmother passed away, her heart failing as she begged my father not to take me back to Surat. In a fit of grief and rage, I stormed the forbidden room, grabbed a sword, and attacked my own father. I was lost to madness until Baba's voice stopped me. He told me that hatred only breeds more hatred. I looked at my grandmother's lifeless body and realized the cost of our family's anger.
Part 5: The Guarding Spirits
Years later, my father fell critically ill. His oxygen ran out in the middle of the night while I was deep in sleep. I wouldn't have woken up, but then I heard it—the combined voices of Baba and Dadi screaming in my head: "ROHIT, GET UP! SAVE HIM!" I jolted awake and reconnected the oxygen just in time. My grandparents had kept their promise; they were watching over me even from the afterlife.
Part 6: A New Beginning
I chose to end the war. I took all the weapons—the guns, the swords, the spears—and buried them deep in the earth, covering them with concrete. I turned the "forbidden room" into a peaceful bedroom for my parents.
Today, I have my 10th-grade certificate. I work in a diamond company in Surat, and my father looks after our small shop. The weapons are gone, the anger has faded, and though I am alone in the world of the living, I know my Baba and Dadi are still walking beside me.