From Cauvery to Ganga

Chapter 7: The Slow Theft of Skin and Soul

A few days had slipped by like the quiet current of the Cauvery, steady, unstoppable, and carrying Satyaraj further from the shore of his old life without him fully realising it.

He stood completely naked in the marble bathroom of his luxurious bedroom, the cool AC air kissing his hypersensitive skin. The large mirror in front of him reflected a body that no longer felt entirely his own. His long hair, now softer and shinier thanks to the expensive serums, cascaded down his back, still slightly damp from the shower. Every inch of his body from neck to toes was baby smooth, the waxing had been repeated, and the creams were doing their insidious work.

He looked down.

His “brother”, once proud and free, was now trapped in that cruel, shiny metal chastity cage. Small, flat, and completely compressed. The sight still made him blush with deep humiliation every single time. He gently touched the cold metal, feeling the constant, frustrating pressure.

“Damn it… what else are they planning?” he muttered to himself, voice low.

He picked up one of the bottles Roberta had given him, a thick, faintly scented cream labelled “Advanced Contouring Lotion.” With a sigh, he squeezed a generous amount onto his palms and began applying it slowly over his buttocks and outer thighs. The cream felt cool at first, then strangely warm as it absorbed. He massaged it in circular motions, feeling the flesh there becoming softer, plumper, and more rounded with each passing day. His hips already looked noticeably wider. His waist had shrunk in a way that felt unnatural.

He moved to the mirror and applied another cream on his face, this one lighter, almost silky. It made his skin glow with an unnatural smoothness. His cheeks looked softer, his jawline less sharp. Even his lips seemed slightly fuller.

“What the hell are these creams even doing?” he whispered, staring at his reflection. A part of him knew. A part of him didn’t want to admit it.

He quickly dried himself, applied the rest of the medicines as instructed, and stepped out of the bathroom. He stuck on his fake moustache and light stubble with practised (and embarrassing) ease, then pulled on a simple white t-shirt and grey track pants. The fabric felt different now, looser around the waist, tighter around the growing curves of his hips and butt. He adjusted his t-shirt self-consciously, trying to hide the changes.

Downstairs in the grand dining hall of Gounder Illam, the family was already gathered for breakfast.

His mother, Lakshmi Amma, was serving steaming idlis and coconut chutney. She glanced at him as he sat down and narrowed her eyes.

“Satyaraj… have you lost weight, da? You look thinner. And your face…” She reached out and touched his cheek. “Why is your skin so smooth nowadays? Smoother than your sister’s! Are you using some girl’s fairness cream behind our backs?”

Satyaraj nearly choked on his coffee. “Ma… it’s nothing. Just… the weather.”

His elder sister, Dr. Priya, smirked while scrolling through her phone. “Weather? Please. Your skin is glowing like you went to a salon every day. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve started skincare routine better than me. What’s the secret, little brother?”

Their father, Mahendran Gounder, grunted from the head of the table, chewing loudly. “Enough of this nonsense. Look at you, long hair, soft skin, roaming around doing nothing. Grow up, Satyaraj! Tomorrow I want you to come with me to the mills. The labour contractors are coming for inspection soon. You should learn how to handle these Bihari and Odiya workers. They need strict hands. Lazy fellows.”

Satyaraj froze for a second, the irony hitting him like a slap. ‘These Bihari workers…’ His father had no idea that in two days, his own son might be standing in front of him dressed as one of those very “lazy” migrant wives.

He forced a weak smile. “Yes, Appa… I’ll come.”

The rest of the breakfast passed in relative normalcy ,family chatter, complaints about rising cotton prices, and plans for the upcoming temple festival. But every time someone looked at him, Satyaraj felt a fresh wave of secret shame. His wider hips pressed against the wooden chair. His caged manhood throbbed uncomfortably. The creams were working too well.

Two days before the inspection, his phone rang while he was aimlessly scrolling in his room.

It was Nithya.

“Raj… come to my place today itself. We’re doing the full transformation now. Tomorrow we’ll train you properly, walking, talking, mannerisms, everything.”

Satyaraj’s heart skipped. “Today?! Nithya, is it really necessary? I thought we had more time…”

“Just one day, baby,” she replied sweetly. “You wanted it perfect, right? Come now. Roberta aunty is already here with everything.”

He sighed deeply, rubbing his face. The fake stubble felt ridiculous against his softening skin. He looked down at his body, the noticeably rounder butt, the narrower waist, the smooth hairless legs visible under his shorts.

“Okay… no other way,” he muttered. “I’m coming.”

He changed into decent clothes, carefully adjusting everything to hide the growing feminine shape. Before leaving, he applied the creams again as instructed, the contouring lotion on his hips and chest, the facial serum, and the voice-softening syrup that made his throat feel strangely smooth.

As he drove the BMW toward Nithya’s house, the evening sun painted the sky in deep oranges. His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than usual.

Deep inside, a quiet voice whispered: What have you gotten yourself into, Satyaraj?

But another, darker, more curious voice answered back.

And the river kept flowing.