From Cauvery to Ganga

Chapter 31: The Leaving

The final days in the village passed like a fever dream.

Sunita Devi had become so deeply woven into the fabric of the household that even the neighbours had started calling her “Ramesh ki Sunita” with genuine affection. She woke at 4 AM, cooked, cleaned, served, endured her mother-in-law’s sharp tongue, carried water, worked in the fields when asked, and slept on the hard floor every night with Pihu pressed against her chest and Ramesh’s arm around her waist.

And now… it was time to leave.

On the morning of departure, the entire family gathered in the courtyard. Sunita stood in the centre, dressed in a simple but new maroon saree her mother in law had given her as a parting gift. The fabric was slightly better quality than her usual worn out ones, but still traditional and heavy.

Her mother in law approached with a small brass plate.

“Beta… yeh le. Sasural ki nishani.”

On the plate were a pair of thick silver bichiya (toe rings) and a pair of heavy silver anklets (payal). They were old, traditional, and clearly expensive by village standards.

“These are permanent,” her mother in law said sternly. “Every married woman in our family wears them. They are markings of property… that you belong to this house and this husband.”

Sunita’s heart sank.

Ramesh helped her sit on a low stool. She extended her feet reluctantly. The cold silver bichiya were slid onto her second toes. Then, with the help of a local blacksmith who had been called, the anklets were carefully welded shut around her ankles using a small blowtorch. The heat was intense for a few seconds. The metal tightened permanently around her skin.

She now wore permanent markings of marriage.

The anklets were heavy. Every small movement made them jingle loudly, a constant, humiliating reminder that she was owned. The toe rings pressed against her flesh, making even walking feel different. They could not be removed without cutting them off.

Sunita looked down at her feet, dirty from the village soil, adorned with permanent silver that marked her as Ramesh Kumar’s wife.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

The formal farewell was emotional.

Her mother inlaw blessed her with rice and turmeric, applying a fresh streak of sindoor in her parting.

“Agla baar beta ke saath aana.”

Her father-in-law patted her head.

Pihu clung to her legs, crying loudly.

“Mummy mat jao… Mummy yahin raho…”

Sunita hugged the child tightly, her own tears flowing freely now. She didn’t even know why she was crying so much. Was it relief? Was it sadness? Was it the strange bond she had formed?

Ramesh watched her quietly, his expression complicated.

The journey back was the same nightmare as before.

Barefoot at first (until they bought new chappals at the station), then the overcrowded general train. The pushing, the smell, the lack of space, sitting on the dirty floor, feeding Pihu, using filthy toilets while holding her saree up, the constant weight of the mangalsutra and the new permanent anklets that jingled loudly with every movement of the train.

Sunita sat squeezed between strangers, pallu on her head, eyes lowered, looking every bit the tired migrant wife returning from her sasural. The heavy silver anklets and toe rings felt like shackles. Every time the train jolted, they reminded her of her status.

She cried silently several times during the journey, hiding her face in her pallu.

What have I become…?

They finally reached Tirupur three days later.

The moment they stepped out of the station, the humid Tamil Nadu air hit her like an old familiar enemy. The noise, the factories, the crowded roads, everything felt both alien and strangely comforting.

Nithya was waiting for them at a distance in her car.

Sunita helped Ramesh and Pihu settle into a small rented room near the colony first. She cooked one last simple meal for them. Pihu refused to let go of her hand.

When it was finally time to leave, Sunita stood at the door in her saree, mangalsutra still around her neck, permanent anklets jingling softly.

Ramesh looked at her for a long moment.

“Sunita… jo bhi hua… shukriya.”

She only nodded, unable to speak.

Nithya drove her back toward the city in silence.

Sunita sat in the passenger seat, still wearing the faded saree, the heavy mangalsutra, the permanent toe rings and anklets. The silver jewelry clinked softly against the car floor.

She looked out at the familiar roads leading toward Gounder Illam, the big white mansion, the luxury cars, her old life waiting for her.

Nithya finally spoke softly.

“Robby is ready. We can remove everything tomorrow. The prosthetics, the voice chip… you’ll be Satyaraj again. You can go home. Your parents think you’re back from vacation. Everything can return to normal.”

Sunita stared at the passing scenery.

The permanent silver anklets jingled again as she shifted her feet.

She whispered, almost to herself:

“Let’s see…”

The car continued toward Nithya’s house. The Cauvery flowed silently somewhere in the distance, the same river that had witnessed her fall… and perhaps her transformation.

Sunita Devi closed her eyes.

The journey was over.

But something told her the real story was far from finished.