Chapter 3: The Unspoken Truth

The house became a museum of grief. Every corner held a relic of her presence: the empty stone grinder where she would grind fresh coconut chutney, the single chappal left by the door, the faint, fading smear of turmeric on the kitchen wall where she would wipe her hands. The air, once thick with the promise of food and love, was now thin and cold, tasting only of dust and tears.

The funeral was a blur of white clothes, mournful hymns, and the acrid smell of sandalwood smoke. Anand, draped in a rough, white cotton veshti that scratched his skin, felt like a ghost watching a play about his own life. People patted his head, their touches heavy with pity, but their words were empty sounds. He saw Suresh Anna there, standing with his parents. Suresh’s face was a mask of appropriate sorrow, but his eyes, when they met Anand’s for a fleeting second, were flat and cold as river stones. There was no remorse, only a guarded defiance.

It was that look, more than anything else, that cemented the terrible truth in Anand’s heart. *He did it.*

He waited for someone to say it. He waited for his Appa to stand up, point a trembling finger, and roar the accusation to the entire village. He waited for his elder brother, Muthu, to grab Suresh by his shirt and demand justice. He waited for the police to arrive and take the monster away.

But none of that happened.

The adults spoke in hushed, complicated tones. They used words like “fate” and “a tragic accident.” They talked about the slippery moss on the well’s edge, about how dangerous those old wells are. They clucked their tongues about the burden of a young life lost, but they carefully skirted the unspoken name that hung in the air like a poison cloud.

That night, as the last of the relatives left and an eerie quiet settled over the house, Anand found his courage. He approached his father, who was sitting alone on the porch, staring into the impenetrable darkness.

“Appa,” Anand whispered, his voice small but clear in the silence. “It wasn’t an accident.”

His father didn’t look at him. He didn’t move.

“Appa,” Anand insisted, a tremor of desperation in his voice. “It was Suresh Anna. I saw… I saw how he looked at Amma. He was so angry.”

Finally, his father stirred. He turned his head slowly, and in the dim light, his face was a landscape of pure agony. “Stop it, Anand,” he said, his voice a hollow rasp. “Don’t say these things.”

“But it’s true!” Anand cried, hot tears spilling down his cheeks. “He killed Amma! For the land!”

His father’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm, not in anger, but in a desperate, painful plea. “Enough!” he hissed, his eyes wide with a fear Anand had never seen in them before. “Do you want to get us all killed? Do you want more blood on this land? It is over. She is gone. Speaking of it will only bring more ruin upon this house. You will be silent. Do you understand me? You will be *silent*.”

The words hit Anand with the force of a physical blow. He wasn’t just grieving. He was alone. The one person who should have been his ally in seeking justice was too broken, too terrified, to even acknowledge the truth.

He pulled his arm away and ran, not to any particular place, but simply away from the suffocating weight of that silence. He hid behind the haystack at the back of their compound, curling into a tight ball. The sobs that wracked his small body were silent, just as his father had demanded. He cried for his Amma. He cried for the betrayal. And he cried for the terrible, crushing realization that in this world, sometimes evil wins, and the good are too afraid to even name it.

The unspoken truth became a wall between him and his family, a wall that was thicker and higher than any boundary *varapu*. He was ten years old, and he had just learned that the greatest secrets are not the ones we keep from our enemies, but the devastating truths we are forced to bury, alive and screaming, within our own hearts.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***