CHAPTER XLII
I stepped forward, my chest rising and falling heavily, yet my tone firm, my words laced with the sharpness of restrained fire. "Please," I said, holding my hands together politely, "listen to me once. With all due respect, I want to request something from you—do not bring my brother Manav's name into this matter ever again. He has nothing to do with this. And as for Jasmine—she left with Kanika out of her own will. She is an adult, capable of making her own decisions. None of you forced her, and certainly, neither did I."
Their faces twisted in disbelief, but I didn't pause. I looked at each of them, my voice trembling with both anger and conviction. "Before you condemn, think carefully about what you're calling 'dirty.' You say it is shameful for a woman to love a woman, or for a man to love a man. But tell me, why? Why does it disgust you? Because the world has taught you only one definition of love—that God created man and woman, and that they are meant only for each other. That's the only truth you've been fed since birth. But is that the whole truth?"
I took a breath, my eyes stinging, but my voice grew louder. "If you truly believe in God, then remember this—God did not create only men and women. God also created those who don't fit into your narrow boxes—He created the third gender, He created souls that feel differently. And if God Himself created them, how dare you say His creation is dirty or unnatural? Can the work of God ever be flawed? Can something born from His hands ever be shameful?"
My words echoed in the silence of the room, heavy and unyielding. I could see some of them shifting uncomfortably, others clenching their jaws, but I stood tall, refusing to lower my eyes. For the first time in years, I felt as if my voice carried the weight of truth, a truth that could no longer be buried under their so-called respectability.
"Jasmine did not run away in shame," I whispered fiercely, "she ran because none of you gave her the space to breathe, to love, to live as herself. And if you ask me whether that is wrong—I will say no. The only wrong here… is your refusal to see her humanity."
I folded my hands once again, but this time not in surrender—only in finality.
Her words struck like a cruel whip across my chest. My sister's mother-in-law straightened her back, her eyes blazing with rigid pride as she spat out venom,
"So now you will teach us what is right or wrong? You dare tell us that being gay is acceptable? Let me make one thing very clear—my daughter has committed a sin, a sin so grave that there is no forgiveness for it. From this very moment, I no longer consider her alive. To me, she is dead. And mark my words—on the same day when your grandfather's death anniversary rituals are performed, I will perform Jasmine's funeral rites as well."
The hall fell silent, yet the cruelty in her voice echoed endlessly. My throat tightened, and before I could stop them, tears welled up and streamed down my cheeks. How… how could a mother, of all people, use such words for her own daughter? How could she bury her child in the grave of her pride and reputation? Not because Jasmine had harmed anyone… not because she had committed a crime… but only because her love did not fit the narrow mold of "acceptable."
I wanted to scream, to break down, to demand answers—but before I could, a calm but firm voice rose above the storm. It was Sita. She had been watching quietly, her eyes absorbing every word, every wound, every silence. And when she finally spoke, her words cut deeper than any sword, not with anger but with truth.
"You know what?" Sita said softly, yet every syllable carried power that shook the air. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you should perform Jasmine's funeral. Not because she is dead, but because you have already buried her—buried her under your pride, your honor, your fear of society. Yes, go ahead. Do the rites. That will make it easier for you, won't it? Because you cannot bear to see your daughter happy. You can only watch her suffer, day after day, in silence. That, for you, is acceptable."
Her words fell like thunder, but she wasn't finished. Her voice grew sharper, filled with an almost divine clarity.
"Do you even realize what you are demanding of her? For Jasmine, marrying a man would be like forcing you to marry another woman. Or imagine your husband being forced to marry another man. Does the very thought disgust you? Does it feel unnatural, suffocating? That is exactly how it feels for Jasmine when you push her toward a man she does not love. Yet you call her unnatural?"
The room was stunned, frozen by Sita's words. Some averted their eyes, others clenched their fists, but no one dared interrupt.
Sita's gaze softened, though her voice remained steady.
"Marriage, love, companionship—these are not meant to be cages. They are meant to be homes for the soul. And while you see only two colors—man and woman—we see the entire spectrum. We see seven colors, the full rainbow of love. Because love is not bound to gender—it is bound to the heart."
Her words settled over us like sacred truth, silencing every whisper, every argument. For the first time, I saw doubt flicker in the mother-in-law's eyes. But whether it was doubt or denial, I could not tell. All I knew was that Sita had spoken what my tears could not—she had given voice to Jasmine's pain, to her truth, to the love that no hatred could erase.
I turned to my sister, my voice trembling with the storm of emotions that burned inside me, and said,
"What were you doing, sister? Begging him—begging your husband—to accept you? Tell me, what kind of equality is this? You are a woman, and he is a man… yet do you truly believe there is equality in this relationship? Look at him! He threatens you, saying he will leave you because of what happened with the children. But tell me—have you ever once asked him what your worth is in his life? Does he truly love you, or does he love only the rigid thoughts he refuses to change?
I turned sharply toward her husband, my eyes blazing.
"This man knew everything before marriage. He knew about my cousin, Manav—yes, Manav, who once fell in love with a doctor, a man. And do you know what happened? They both ran away and married, against all odds. Later, my family accepted them wholeheartedly, because love is not a curse, it is a blessing. We shared this truth with everyone, even with you. You knew it all, and you still said, 'This is normal, I have no problem with it.' So why now? Why is this suddenly a problem today? Tell me—why?"
My sister broke down, her voice small, defeated.
"Vedehi… I am not strong like you. I cannot fight like you. I think of my children… I cannot let them suffer."
I turned to her, my chest tightening, but my words were firm.
"And what about him? Why does he not think of the children? Are they not his children too? Why is the burden always on you, why is the sacrifice always yours? Why does he not carry the same responsibility?"
Her husband stepped forward, his voice filled with arrogance, his eyes cold.
"Vedehi, what do you think? That you can trap everyone with your words? Your sister is weak, she cannot stand against me. And what is so wrong in it? Men have always been ahead of women. That is the order of the world."
A sharp silence filled the room. Everyone froze, his words echoing like poison.
I clenched my fists, my voice rising with fury.
"There—you all heard it! This is the man my sister begged to stay with her. This is the equality he offers. And you still call this a marriage? No. A marriage where one person is crushed beneath the other is not a marriage—it is a cage. A loveless prison. And let me tell you all… Jasmine and Kanika will have a far better marriage than this. Because in their love, there will be equality. Kanika will never speak to Jasmine the way your son just spoke. Jasmine will be respected, valued, and cherished, not threatened and silenced."
Tears burned in my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. Instead, I turned away from them all and walked to Sita. I took her hand gently, and whispered with determination,
"Sita, let's leave. We are going back to England tomorrow. This house… this family… this suffocating atmosphere—I cannot breathe here anymore."
Finally, I turned to my mother. My voice cracked, but my resolve was steel.
"And this time, I will not return. Not again. Not ever."
And with those words, the silence in the room deepened—not because they had nothing to say, but because the truth had left them with no defense.
To be continue....