From Cauvery to Ganga

Chapter 33: Two Sunitas

The small house felt suffocatingly quiet that evening.

The one-month period had finally ended.

I stood in the centre of the tiny room, still wearing one of my usual faded sarees ,a bottle-green one with a frayed border. The tight blouse dug into my underarms as always. The mangalsutra rested heavily between my breasts. The permanent silver anklets and toe rings jingled softly with every small shift of my weight. My long hair was oiled and tied in a neat bun. Thick sindoor filled the parting. I looked every bit the traditional Bihari wife.

Nithya was there. She had come to take me back. The prosthetics would be removed tomorrow. I would finally become Satyaraj Gounder again. We had all come to terms with it, Ramesh, Pihu (as much as a child could), and me. It was painful, but it was ending.

I was folding my last set of clothes into a small bag when the tin door creaked open.

A person stepped inside.

Short, messy black hair. Simple male shirt and lungi. Rough, sun darkened skin. A tired but sharp face.

He looked exactly like how I used to look, the old Satyaraj. Lean, slightly delicate features, that faint arrogance still lingering in the eyes despite the exhaustion.

The room froze.

The person,the real Sunita, stopped dead at the doorway. Her eyes widened as they landed on me. On the woman wearing her face, her body, her saree, her mangalsutra.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Nithya’s mouth fell open. Ramesh stood near the stove, plate in hand, completely still.

Pihu, sitting on the floor, looked between us with huge, confused eyes.

“Mummy… do Mummy?”

I spoke first, my voice trembling in that soft feminine tone I had perfected.

“Kaun… kaun ho tum?”

The person at the door stared at me for a long moment, then answered in a hoarse but recognisably male voice.

“Main Sunita Devi hoon… asli Sunita.”

Silence.

Then chaos in slow motion.

I took a shaky step back, my glass bangles clinking loudly. My pallu slipped off my shoulder. The heavy breasts rose and fell rapidly under the blouse.

“Main… main bhi Sunita hoon,” I whispered, voice cracking.

Nithya was the first to recover. She quickly stepped between us, raising her hands.

“Everyone calm down. No one panic. Sit. All of you. Now.”

We sat on the floor in a rough circle, me in my saree, the real Sunita in male clothes, Nithya in the middle, Ramesh looking completely lost, and Pihu watching everything with wide eyes.

Nithya spoke gently but firmly.

“Tell us everything. From the beginning.”

The real Sunita started first.

She spoke of her miserable life, the constant abuse, the pressure to have sons, the feeling of being a servant in her own home, the loss of identity, the suffocation. How she had planned her escape for months. How she cut her hair in that isolated temple by the Cauvery, stole men’s clothes, bound her chest, and disappeared into the labour crowd as “Sunith.”

She had worked hard. Learned Tamil. Saved money. Studied at night. She had built a small, hard-earned life as a man. She was free.

But she missed Pihu every single day.

That’s why she came back today, just to see her daughter from afar. But then she saw me. An exact replica of herself.

She looked at me with a mixture of shock, pity, and strange relief.

“I’m sorry for what you went through because of me,” she said quietly. “But… I can’t come back. I don’t want this life anymore. I’m not Sunita anymore. I’m free now.”

I listened with tears streaming down my face.

I told her my story, how it started as a silly bet, how it spiralled, how I got trapped, how I stayed for Pihu, how I had lived as her for the past month. The communal baths, the factory work, the beatings, the Chhath Puja, the permanent anklets and toe rings, the nights with Ramesh.

My voice broke multiple times.

The real Sunita listened with wide eyes. When I finished, she looked at me with something close to gratitude.

“Thank you… for taking care of my daughter. For keeping her safe when I couldn’t.”

We both cried.

Nithya finally spoke.

“We’ll figure this out. No one has to be Sunita from tomorrow. We’ll find a way to explain everything gradually. Ramesh… you understand?”

Ramesh sat silently for a long time, then nodded slowly, looking exhausted.

“Pihu ke liye… jo bhi hoga, theek hai.”

Pihu, sensing the heavy atmosphere, crawled into my lap and hugged me tightly.

“Mummy mat jao…”

My heart broke all over again.

We were just beginning to breathe again, trying to process the impossible situation, when Nithya’s phone rang.

She answered it, her face turning pale within seconds.

It was from Gounder Illam.

Satyaraj’s father, Mahendran Gounder, had suffered a massive heart attack. He was in critical condition in the hospital. The family was desperately looking for their son. They needed him immediately.

Nithya looked at me, the fake Sunita, still dressed in the saree, mangalsutra around her neck, permanent anklets on her feet.

Then she looked at the real Sunita, dressed as a man.

The room fell into heavy silence once again.

The nightmare that was supposed to end today… had just found a terrifying new beginning.