Brihannala

For several minutes after Archana shut the terrace-room door, nobody downstairs spoke.
The envelopes were still scattered across the table.
The jewellery was still there.
The cosmetics were still there.
The questions Lakshmi had asked were still hanging in the air.
Then Lakshmi suddenly picked up her phone.
"Wait."
Suresh looked at her.
"I want to call the HOD."
Kavitha looked up.
"Now?"
"Yes."
Lakshmi found the number and called.
The HOD answered after a few rings.
"Hello, Lakshmi?"
"Madam... I'm sorry to call at this time."
"It's alright. What happened?"
Lakshmi hesitated.
"I want to ask you something about Archana."
The HOD immediately became attentive.
"What about her?"
"We found some things in her room."
"What things?"
"Jewellery. Cosmetics. Clothes. Some letters."
There was a brief silence.
Lakshmi continued.
"They look suspicious."
The HOD suddenly laughed.
Not mockingly.
Almost with disbelief.
"Suspicious?"
"Yes, madam."
The HOD understood.
"Oh."
She laughed again.
"Those things?"
Lakshmi put the call on speaker.
"Yes."
"Mrs. Lakshmi, those are part of the humiliation she's been receiving in college."
Lakshmi looked at the table.
"What?"
"Students call her all sorts of things. Sissy. Hijra. Ussu. They give her things specifically to embarrass her."
Kavitha's expression changed.
"Some girls give her jewellery. Some give cosmetics. Clothes. Accessories."
"But some of these are quite expensive."
"I know."
The HOD's voice became lighter.
"Remember, half your son's college is from wealthy families. What is expensive to one student may be completely ordinary to another."
Lakshmi slowly nodded.
"But why would Archana accept them?"
"I asked her the same thing."
"What did she say?"
The HOD laughed softly.
"She asked me, 'If you take action against every girl who gives me something, won't they become even more angry with me?'"
Lakshmi looked at the envelopes.
"She said that?"
"Yes."
"And the gifts?"
"She told me something even more practical."
The HOD paused.
"She said, 'I'm not going to buy these things myself. They're free now. If they give me something useful, I'll use it.'"
Kavitha stared at the jewellery.
The HOD continued.
"She also told me she couldn't go around buying things just because she was embarrassed by them. She said if someone gives her something worth using, she'll use it."
Lakshmi suddenly remembered something.
"Madam..."
"Yes?"
"You said something about her not spending money?"
"She isn't."
"But how can someone who used to spend ₹1.25 lakh every month suddenly live without spending anything?"
The HOD went quiet.
Then she said:
"Oh."
There was genuine surprise in her voice.
"You don't know?"
"Know what?"
"About the food programme."
Suresh straightened.
"What food programme?"
The HOD took a breath.
"Arjun and his three friends were funding meals for students through the canteen."
Lakshmi stared at the phone.
"How much?"
"Initially, Arjun was paying around ₹1 lakh a month."
Suresh's eyes widened.
The HOD continued.
"Later his three friends joined. Together, they were contributing roughly ₹2.5 lakh a month."
Kavitha looked at her parents.
"For students who couldn't afford meals."
"Yes."
"Why didn't we know?"
"He specifically didn't want anyone to know."
The HOD explained that the programme had been privately arranged with the canteen owner.
"After the disciplinary action, Arjun's allowance stopped. His three friends transferred colleges. The funding stopped."
"What happened then?"
"The canteen stopped the programme."
Lakshmi's face fell.
"Students complained because they had depended on it."
"That's how we finally discovered that it had been privately funded."
The HOD sighed.
"Even the college administration didn't know about it beforehand."
"So he really didn't spend all that money on himself."
"No."
There was a pause.
Then the HOD's tone softened.
"Mrs. Lakshmi, I don't know why you're asking me all this now. But please don't misunderstand him."
Lakshmi swallowed.
"Why?"
"Because the first few days were terrible."
The HOD's voice became quieter.
"The students teased him constantly. He was called names. People laughed at him."
"What did he do?"
"He locked himself in a toilet and cried."
Lakshmi closed her eyes.
The HOD continued.
"I spoke to him."
"I told him that he couldn't control what other people said. I told him to stop reacting, accept the consequences, concentrate on his studies and simply get through the year."
"And he listened?"
"Slowly."
She smiled.
"He's doing remarkably well now."
Lakshmi said nothing.
"He has changed a lot."
The HOD added gently:
"Don't think too much about him, Mrs. Lakshmi. He's a good kid. He made serious mistakes. He deserves the consequences. But he's not the person you seem to be imagining."
Lakshmi's throat tightened.
"Thank you, Madam."
She ended the call.
For several seconds nobody moved.
Then Lakshmi suddenly looked toward Archana's handbag.
"Her purse."
Kavitha frowned.
"What about it?"
"Madam said she never spends."
Lakshmi picked up the bag.
She opened it.
There was a bus pass.
Some folded papers.
A few hair clips.
A handkerchief.
A small purse.
She opened it.
Inside was a single ₹500 note.
Lakshmi stared at it.
She recognized it immediately.
She remembered giving it to Archana months ago.
It had been part of the final pocket money she had given before the disciplinary restrictions began.
Lakshmi remembered the serial number.
It ended in 786.
She had noticed it that day and remembered it for no particular reason.
Now she was staring at the exact same note.
Still there.
Untouched.
For months.
Her fingers trembled.
"She really didn't spend."
Suresh looked away.
Kavitha lowered her head.
Lakshmi put the note back carefully.
Then she remembered the accusation from a few minutes earlier.
Are you doing something immoral?
Her face tightened.
"Oh God..."
Upstairs, the terrace-room window was open.
The three of them approached quietly.
They hadn't intended to listen.
But they heard music.
Not gentle music.
Not practice music.
It was loud.
Intense.
Rhythmic.
They stopped.
Through the open window they could see Archana.
She was dancing.
Furiously.
Not like the disciplined practice they had seen before.
Not like someone rehearsing for a college programme.
She moved as though she were trying to throw something out of her body.
Every movement was sharp.
Every turn carried anger.
Every stamp against the floor seemed to say something she couldn't put into words.
Kavitha stared.
Suresh stood frozen.
Lakshmi couldn't move.
Archana continued.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Her breathing became heavier.
Her movements became increasingly exhausted.
Then suddenly her strength disappeared.
She stumbled.
Dropped to the floor.
And began crying.
Not quietly.
Not trying to hide it.
She cried like a child who had finally run out of strength.
Her hands covered her face.
"How could you?"
The words were barely audible.
Then louder.
"How could you?"
She sobbed.
"How could you think that about me?"
Lakshmi's eyes filled.
Archana shook her head repeatedly.
"I'm not."
She struggled to breathe.
"I'm not."
Again.
"I'm not."
Her voice broke.
"I'm not a prostitute."
Suresh closed his eyes.
Archana pressed both hands against her chest.
"I am not."
Tears ran continuously down her face.
"I'm not that cheap."
She shook her head.
"I would never..."
Her voice disappeared.
Then came the same sentence again.
"I'm not."
Again.
"I'm not."
Again.
"I'm not."
Lakshmi couldn't bear it anymore.
She turned toward Suresh and Kavitha.
"Leave."
Neither moved.
"Please."
Her voice was firmer.
"Both of you. Go downstairs."
Suresh nodded.
Kavitha followed him.
Lakshmi waited until they had gone.
Then she approached the door.
She knocked gently.
"Archana."
No response.
Lakshmi knocked again.
"Archana, open the door."
Nothing.
She placed her hand against the wooden door.
"Please."
Still nothing.
Inside, Archana continued crying.
Lakshmi remained outside.
She didn't knock again.
She simply stood there with her forehead against the door.
And for the first time since this entire punishment had begun, Lakshmi understood something far more painful than anything the college had imposed.
Archana had learned to endure humiliation from strangers.
She had learned to endure insults.
She had learned to endure laughter.
She had learned to endure being called names.
She had even learned to turn cruel gifts into useful possessions.
But she had never learned how to endure being told that her own mother believed she had sold her dignity.
And that wound was far deeper than anything the college could have given her.