Ranga's Daughter

Chapter Twenty: The Echo of a Forgotten Name
It had been almost three years since the storm shattered their family. Three years since the court case. Three years since Meenakshi’s son—Vikram—vanished from the family, from society, and eventually, from memory. Now the house sat in a hollow rhythm: morning rituals, polite silences, and hushed avoidance whenever his name surfaced.
But not for Meenakshi.
Her prayers still ended with his name. Her eyes still darted to the door on festivals. She still set aside a small portion of food each night—as if he might walk in any moment and ask for it.
That morning, her hands trembled as she sipped tea. The silence around her, punctuated by her husband flipping the newspaper, grew unbearable.
“How long will we pretend like he’s dead?” she asked, her voice shaking.
Her husband stiffened. “Not this again, Meena.”
“It’s been three years. Can’t we at least ask about him?”
Their daughter, now grown and bold in her university years, scoffed from the living room.
“Why would we want him back, Amma? After what he did? What he was?”
Meenakshi turned, calm but fierce. “You speak of him like you know his truth.”
“I do,” her daughter snapped. “He was... unstable. You always favored him. All I asked was not to be second to him all my life. I didn’t ask you to cry over a monster.”
Meenakshi’s husband interrupted, sighing, “Alright. I’ll call the advocate. If it puts your mother’s mind at peace.”
Unsettled, her husband reluctantly agreed to check with their family advocate, Mr. Rajan. A week later, the three of them sat in Rajan’s modest office. Papers were scattered, files piled in shelves, but the tension in the room made even the fan’s creaking seem loud.
“I looked into Vikaram’s case,” Rajan began slowly. “He was released eight months ago.”
Meenakshi leaned forward. “Eight months?”
Her husband blinked. “What? But no one informed us—”
“The court didn’t. Because Vikaram didn’t list any family to notify,” Rajan said, voice gentler now. “And I’m afraid... there’s more.”
He pulled out a single photograph. Faded, worn by age, but unmistakable. A boy in a crumpled salwar kameez. Thin, lips cracked, face oddly softened. Eyes hollow.
“That’s not him,” Meenakshi’s husband said automatically.
“It is,” Rajan said quietly. “Taken the day of his release.”
There was a heavy silence.
Rajan cleared his throat. “The story is complicated, and... painful. He wasn’t placed in a female prison. But due to the nature of his case—accused of attempted sexual assault on a woman—he was placed with hardened criminals. You know how such prisoners are treated inside.”
He looked pointedly at them.
“There was no physical protection. No special cell. The other inmates... they saw him as weak. They made him wear women’s clothes to humiliate him. And then they did worse.”
Meenakshi let out a sound that was half-sob, half-scream.
“Stop—” her husband choked, hand gripping the edge of the desk.
Rajan continued gently but firmly, “He became a target. Not an official report but unofficially i got news from inmates he sexuallly assaulted repeatedly, thier direct words was he was silent for a minute and told "he was there bitch". Some reports suggest he was forced into submission. One of the jail doctors confirmed he had injuries... consistent with sexual abuse.”
Their daughter’s face had gone pale.
“The court ordered chemical castration,” Rajan added quietly. “Not as punishment. But based on a manipulated psychiatric report that painted him as dangerous.”
“Who submitted that report?” Meenakshi demanded.
“Anonymous tip—signed off by an inspector whose name no longer appears on the current roster. Most likely, it was orchestrated. Convenient.”
Her husband was shaking now. “We didn’t know— We didn’t—”
Meenakshi turned to her daughter, her voice trembling. “Tell me. Tell me why you did it.”
“I didn’t want this,” the girl whispered, trembling. “I... I just wanted to be heard. You both always compared me to him. Always praised how ‘gentle’ he was, how he cooked, how he helped you... Amma, you said he had a girl's heart.”
“I said it with love,” Meenakshi cried.
“I was jealous!” the daughter screamed. “I just... wanted to matter more. So when he complained about the boys at college teasing him, I made it sound worse. I added that he tried to touch me. I thought... it would scare them, make them stop mocking me too!”
“But why didn’t you stop it when it went too far?” her father asked, eyes full of hurt.
“I was scared!” she wept. “Everything happened so fast. The police. The court. And then you both acted like he was gone already. I was afraid to tell the truth. I never imagined—this...”
The office felt like a tomb.
Rajan leaned forward. “After he was released, Vikaram refused the rehabilitation shelter offered. Said he didn’t want to be anyone’s burden. We tried locating him but he disappeared. Some say he begs near the highways. Others whisper he sells himself.”
Meenakshi broke into loud, wrenching sobs.
Her husband stood frozen.
Even their daughter couldn’t stop crying. “I didn’t mean this. I didn’t mean for him to be... destroyed.”
Meenakshi looked up, face pale but eyes full of fire. “You all meant to forget him. And you succeeded.”
“No,” whispered her husband. “We have to find him. Bring him back.”
Rajan shook his head. “You may not recognize him. The hormones and trauma have changed him. He may not even answer to Vikaram anymore.”
Meenakshi said slowly, almost in prayer, “Then we will ask every name, every shadow. Because even if he hates us, even if he spits in my face—I will bring my son home. Or my daughter. Or whatever she wants to be.”
Outside, the sun had set. But for the first time in three years, something stirred in Meenakshi’s heart.
Not just grief.
But resolve.