------------------------CHAPTER 2:SHATTERING HER FRAGILE HEART-------------------------------

The kerosene lamp cast a wavering glow across the red oxide floor, its flame fluttering like a nervous heartbeat. Through the jaali windows, the night air crept in, carrying the distant clang of a rickshaw bell, the low chant of temple aarti, and the occasional bark of a street dog. The room, nestled in the quiet wing of a fading haveli, felt suspended in time, caught between colonial echoes and native resistance.

She walked in slow, uneven circles, her cotton saree whispering against her ankles, her bare feet making soft thuds on the cool floor. The bed stood near the wall, its carved wooden frame dark with age, the mattress sunken and soft from years of use. A hand-embroidered quilt lay rumpled at the edge, as if someone had tried to sleep but failed. The pillow bore the faint scent of rose attar and the crease of a restless head.

The cupboard loomed beside it, its brass handles dulled with time. One door hung ajar, revealing neatly folded khadi garments and a bundle of letters tied with jute string—some written in Hindi, others in English, all unopened. A drawer beneath the mirror groaned as she passed, inside it a silver comb, a cracked vial of perfume, and a newspaper clipping about Gandhi's latest satyagraha, folded so many times it had begun to tear at the edges.

The study table was cluttered with ink pots, a half-written diary in Urdu, and a fountain pen with a chipped nib. A rack of books leaned against the wall—Tagore, Bankim Chandra, and dusty English volumes with colonial stamps. Some pages were dog-eared, others underlined in red, as if she had been arguing with the authors in silence.

She paused by the bed, fingers grazing the quilt, then resumed her pacing. The room pulsed with quiet tension—every object a witness to her unrest. The soft mattress beckoned with the promise of sleep, but her mind refused to surrender. Outside, the room stirred with post-wedding chaos. Inside, a girl wrestled with choices she could not name.

Bondita:-"Kya sach me Pati Babu ne shaadi karliya Hai Manorama Ji ke saath.Kya woh sachme humara pyaare pal ko bhul jayenghe kya apni hum umer patni ke liye .Nahi , mujhe unse puchna hoga,mere saare sawaalon ka jawab ab keval Pati Babu hi denghe ."

Bondita descended the spiralled stairs and walked towards her Pati Babu's Study Room. Her mind was restless, her thoughts were spiraling inside her head. Her Payal chimed restlessly. She opened the door of her Pati Babu's Study Room, and her Pati Babu was not there.

Bondita:-"Pati Babu shayad bahar honghe, main idhaar hi unka intezaar karnghi, Unko aaj mere sawaalo ka Jawab dena hoga."

Bondita walked restlessly in the study room. The study room smelled of old paper and sandalwood polish, a quiet sanctuary tucked behind the main hall of the haveli. Its high ceiling bore faint cracks, and the walls were lined with teak shelves sagging under the weight of law books—British legal codes, Indian Penal Code volumes, and thick tomes on jurisprudence imported from London. Their spines, embossed in fading gold, stood like sentinels of a foreign order. 

 A large wooden study table dominated the center of the room, its surface worn smooth by years of use. Ink stains bloomed across its grain like bruises. A brass lamp sat at one corner, its glass chimney smudged, casting a steady amber glow over scattered papers—case notes, handwritten petitions, and a copy of The Constitution of India Bill, 1895, annotated in the margins with sharp Hindi script. 

The chair behind the table was high-backed and cushioned with faded velvet. A khadi shawl hung over its arm, as if the occupant had just stepped out to argue a case or attend a protest.

To one side, a rack of books leaned precariously—Tagore's essays, Tilak's fiery speeches, and a banned pamphlet on civil disobedience hidden behind a copy of Blackstone's Commentaries. A dusty globe sat in the corner, its surface marked with colonial borders that no longer felt real. Above it, a framed portrait of a stern-looking barrister (Anirudh Babu ) in a black robe stared down, his eyes unreadable.

(Do play this song while reading the next part.)

(Imagine Anirudh as a Barrister )

Bondita glanced at his Frame. She said to the frame (as if talking to him)

Bondita:-"Pati Babu main aapse bahut bahut pyaar karthi hun , pata hai Pati Babu Jab aapne Manorama Ji se shaadi ki tabh bhi Maine aapke upar shaak bhi nahi kiya that aur pura vishwas thai ki aapne kisi wajah se hi Shaadi kiya hoga Manorama Ji se , mujhe pura baroosa hai aapke upar Pati Babu.Main Aapke bina jee nahi paunghi Pati Babu, Aapse Bahut pyaar karthi hun Main Pati Babu. Jab meri classmate ne bataya that ki pyaar kya hota hai tabse main base aapse pyaar karthi hun Pati Babu, Har ek cheez mujhe priy hai Pati Babu Aap ki har muskurahat se mera dil khil uttha hai, Jab aap udaas hote ho toh mera bhi mann nahi lagtha, Ek-Badam-Waale Roshogulla se jyaada pyaar aapse hai Pati Babu, aur mujhe mere pyaar par bharosa hai ki who kabhi dhokka nahi dhenghe kabhi Nahi, main aapka intezaar karunghi Pati Babu,aapki taraf se bhi sununghi ki kyun ki aapne Manorama Ji Se shaadi ki  (while caressing the frame) Main aapse bahut bahut pyaar karthi hun Pati Babu ."

She walked towards the study table, intending to wait for him while moving from the frame, but mistakenly, a book fell from the stand. Bondita picked up the book and saw it was a diary of her Pati Babu. She smiled, maybe he had written about her in this book, and maybe she would find her answers in this diary.

Bondita took the Diary and walked towards the study table, sat in the chair, and kept the diary on the table. She opened it slowly, reverently, like peeling back the skin of a wound.

The first few entries were mundane—cases he was working on, thoughts on British law. But then came the names.

Saudamini.

Her breath caught. The ink was darker here, the handwriting more hurried. He had written of her with familiarity, with warmth. "We were inseparable once. She knew my silences. I knew her storms. She is so beautiful both inside and out. She had a talent for playing badminton, and I loved to play with her. Our moments were so special, but something broke between us. Pride, perhaps. Or timing." The words bled with regret, but not longing. Still, they stung.

She turned the page.

Manorama.

The ink softened. The tone changed. "I saw her at the railway station. Just once. Her eyes met mine, and I forgot the world. I don't know her story, but I've imagined it a hundred times. She is my pehle Nazar waala Pyaar. Woh Aankhonse fidaah hogaya tha main"

Her fingers trembled. The diary slipped from her hands and landed on the study table with a dull thud. She stared at it, as if the pages might rewrite themselves. But they didn't. They stayed cruelly honest.

She sank into the velvet chair, the one he used while reading those very books that now stared down at her like silent judges. Her tears came slowly, as if her body was reluctant to admit the truth. She had loved him with the certainty of tradition, with the devotion of a wife. But he had loved others—with the recklessness of youth, with the ache of imagination.

The anchal of her saree fell from her shoulder. Her bangles clinked as she covered her face, her sobs muffled against her palms. The diary lay open, its pages fluttering in the breeze like ghosts whispering names that weren't hers.

Bondita:-"Nahi Pati Babu Aisa nahi kar sakthe hai mere saath,who mujhe chodhkar kisi aur se pyaar nahi kar sakthe.Nahi Pati Babu mere saath aisa Nahi Kar sakthe hai."

She wasn't Saudamini. She wasn't Manorama. She was the one who came after. The one who didn't know.

And now, she did.

She couldn't stay in that room a moment longer.

The diary lay open behind her, its pages still whispering names that weren't hers. Saudamini. Manorama. Each syllable felt like a thorn pressed into her skin. Her breath hitched as she turned, her feet moving before her mind could catch up.

She ran. 

She ran as if the truth were chasing her, clawing at her back with every step. The anchal of her maroon Bengali saree slipped from her shoulder, fluttered for a moment, then fell to the corridor floor—abandoned, like the version of herself that had believed in him.

Her fingers shook as she pushed open the door to her room. It gave way with a soft creak, and she stumbled inside, breath ragged, heart splintering. The soft mattress welcomed her like a cruel joke, and she collapsed onto it, face buried in the pillow, sobs erupting from a place too deep to name.

She cried not just for the diary.
She cried for every moment she had loved him.

She had loved him fiercely. Quietly. Completely.

From the way he adjusted her bangles when they slipped too low, to the way he paused mid-sentence just to look at her, she had memorized those moments like sacred verses. Their late-night conversations, his laughter echoing in the study room, the way he called her "shona" when no one was listening—she had held onto them like heirlooms.

She had trusted him. With her silences. With her dreams. With the fragile parts of herself, she had never shown anyone.

And now, it was all broken.

The names in the diary—Saudamini, Manorama—weren't just ghosts. They were truths he had never shared. Loves he had buried. And she... she had been left to build a life on half-truths and borrowed tenderness.

Her sobs grew louder, her body trembling against the mattress. The quilt tangled around her legs, her bangles clinking with every shudder. Her hair spilled across the pillow, damp with tears, her kohl smudged like the lines of a story rewritten without her consent.

She clutched the edge of the pillow as if it could hold her together. But nothing could. Not tonight.

Bondita:-"Pati Babu mujhse kabhi pyaar nahi karthe,woh toh Saudamini Didi Se pyaar karthe the,phir woh Manorama Ji se Pyaar karthe hai woh unki pehle Nazar ka pyaar hai,iss liye unhone unse shaadi ki hai. But mera kya,meri kya galthi this in sab main,Main toh apni hi pati se pyaar kiya tha,maine kisi bhi ladke ko dekhne koshish nahi kiya kyunki mujhe sab main sirf aur sirf Pati Babu dikhthe the but woh toh kisi aur se pyaar karthe hai,Hey Duuga Maa Yeh sab mere saath hi hona thaa kyaa ."

Her sobs echoed throughout the walls of her room.

After sometime;

Her sobs had dulled into silence, but her eyes still burned. The pillow was soaked, her maroon Bengali saree wrinkled and heavy, like it had absorbed the weight of her grief. She sat up slowly, her breath catching in her throat, and looked toward the study table.

The brass lamp flickered faintly, casting trembling shadows across the room. She walked to the table, her bare feet cold against the red oxide floor. Her fingers reached for the drawer—hesitant, trembling—then pulled it open.

There it was.

The Dalhousie boarding school form. Yellowed slightly at the edges, untouched since the day he had handed it to her with a casual smile.
"Rakh lo. Kabhi kaam aa sakta hai."  

She had smiled then. She had tucked it away, thinking she'd never need it.

But tonight, she needed distance more than breath.

She picked up the form, her fingers brushing the paper like it might burn her. She sat down, dipped the nib of her fountain pen into the ink pot, and began to write.

Naam:
She paused, her voice barely a whisper.
"Naam toh usne kabhi poore dil se nahi pukara..."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"Ab shayad mera naam hi meri pehchaan ban jaye..."

Avaas:
She ticked the box for full-time boarding. No visits. No distractions.

Kaaran:
Her hand trembled. She wrote slowly:
"Khud ko bhoolne ke liye."

The ink smudged where her tears fell. She didn't wipe them.

She whispered to herself,
"Main wahan chali jaungi... jahan unki yaadein mera peecha na kar sakein."
Her voice cracked.
"Jahan main apne aap ko phir se jod sakun... bina unke..."

She signed the form, her fingers stiff, her heart breaking with every stroke.

Then she folded it carefully, placed it back in the drawer, and closed it with quiet finality.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the drawer.

Bondita:-"Pati babu... aapne toh bas ek form diya tha... par main apna sab kuch bhar aayi hoon ismein.Main aapse beintehaa Mohabbat karthi hun.Main aapse itna Pyaar karthi hun ki Main Aapko kisi aur ke saath nahi dekh sakthi.Main mere aankhon ke saamne Aapko aur Manorama Ji ko woh saare pal joh humne bitaaye the woh aap ab Manorama Ji ke saath bitaaoghe,aur mere mein intni shakthi nahi hai ki aapko unke saath dekhlun.Khush rehahiye Pati Babu....... Nahi ..... Nahi.....Nahi....Barrister Babu Haan Barrister Babu ab aap sab unke hoo chuke hai toh aap mere Biristira Babu Kaise hue, Mere Pati Babu Kaise hue."

Bondita:-"Aap chinta mat khijiyegha Barrister Babu,Main jald se jald aapke zindaghi se door hoo jaunghi, Main aapki life mein khirkiri banke nahi rahunghi .Main turant kal hi iss form ko post kar dunghi aur interviewer ko bhi jaldi bulati hun,unhe inform karthi hun ki woh mera interview jald se jald le aur mere admission kara de. Main aapse bahut pyaar karthi hun Barrister Babu, iss liye aapke khushi ke liye sab kuch chodhkar jaa rahi hun, Mere dil mein humesha ke liye aapke liye jagah hain Barrister Babu, Aur sahi yahi rehegha ki aapse main bahut door hi chali jaaon,bahut hi door." She lay down on the bed, her head on the pillow. Her sobs echoed throughout the room.

Outside, the wind rustled the marigolds on the windowsill. Inside, a girl had chosen exile—not from the world, but from the man she had loved too deeply.

-----------------------THE END OF CHAPTER 2:SHATTERING HER HEART---------------------------------

Heyyyaaaaa Loveliieesssssss 😘💕❤️❤️

I  know it was a heartbreaking chapter, seriously while writing I had tears in my eyes .Hope you had liked the chapter and I apologize if there is any grammatical errors or mistakes.

As I am working, I won't be able to give daily updates, but whenever I am free, I will surely update and upload the chapter (I apologize for it 😢😢)

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