~•Dhananjay's POV•~

The summer sun blazed mercilessly in the sky, its golden rays pouring down upon the land like molten fire. A warm breeze danced around me, brushing against my skin every few seconds, but I barely noticed.

My focus was consumed by a complicated math problem, as I sat cross-legged beneath the ancient peepal tree—the same tree where my baba often held his meetings.

Despite the scorching heat, the old tree remained loyal, spreading its wide, wrinkled arms to offer a comforting shade. It stood like a wise guardian, its thick roots dug deep into the soil, whispering stories of generations past. This was nature’s own embrace—silent, steady, and sacred.

I paused for a moment, letting my pencil rest. Tilting my head up, I looked at the sky—a wide expanse of blue, endless and calm. A small smile tugged at my lips, peace settling momentarily in my heart.

But just as my thoughts began to drift, a sudden movement caught my eye.

Oh God… these kids.

There they were—Ganga and Ritwik—in the middle of the courtyard, right under the unforgiving sun. Ganga was holding a rock, eyes locked on her target: a perfectly ripened mango dangling from a tree that wasn’t even ours.

Behind her, Ritwik was already clutching a handful of stolen mangoes, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

They should be studying, I thought with a sigh. They should be dreaming of a better future, aiming higher. But no, their version of joy was chasing mangoes that belonged to someone else.

I shook my head with a soft chuckle, returning my gaze to my notebook. They’ll always be kids..

Just as I resumed my calculations, thwack!—a sharp pain shot through my head.

“Aah!” I gasped, my lips parting in surprise.

Clutching my head, I turned toward the direction of the attack—and there she was. Ganga.

She stood frozen, guilt written all over her face, her tongue peeking out between her teeth in a sheepish expression.

As soon as my furious glare met her wide eyes, she grabbed Ritwik’s hand and both of them bolted, making strange noises as they fled the crime scene.

My head throbbed. I wanted to run after them, catch them, scold them, maybe even lock away their mangoes for a week. But before I could take a step forward, my eyes caught something else—something far more powerful.

Ma.

She stood just a few steps away, calm and graceful, draped in her usual cotton saree with faded floral prints. Her smile—oh, that serene, motherly smile—was enough to make my heart forget every ache.

Before I could say a word, she approached and took the corner of her pallu, gently placing it against the spot where the stone had hit me. Her fingers were soft, her touch full of warmth. She pressed lightly, as if trying to soothe the pain away—not knowing she didn’t need to do anything more.

Her presence alone was a balm.

"Har chhoti baat par gussa nahi karte, beta..." she whispered softly, her voice like a lullaby from another world.

And just like that, I was convinced. So easily. So completely.

Even now, her voice echoes in my soul—whenever life wounds me, whenever I feel alone. That voice... it still brings tears to my eyes. I wish I could go back to that moment. I wish she were still here—to treat my broken heart the way she once treated my scraped knees and aching head.

But she’s not.

She’s gone.

And this time, no pallu, no touch, no soft words can make it better.

I lost her.

I lost the most precious person in my life.
I lost my Ma...

And all because of him.

Thakur Digvijay Singh.
My baba.

The man who took away her smile. The man who turned my home into a battlefield. The man I now see not with admiration, but with fury.

I hate him.
I hate him with every breath I take.

I hate you, Thakur Digvijay Singh.
I will never forgive you....