I still remember that bubbly, vibrant girl—Manna—who worked in our home. She was so full of life, her laughter like wind chimes in the air. At an age when other children of her age were wrapped up in books and crayons, she was sweeping floors and scrubbing corners while humming sweet tunes that made the house feel alive. I often watched her closely, especially when Mumma scolded her. She never answered back—just quietly did her work.
She’d often sit beside me, eyes shining.
“Didi, you look like a queen. I want to be like you,” she’d say, her voice filled with innocent longing.
“You already are, Manna. Your heart is too gentle not to be,” I would reply with a smile, stroking her hair.
She brought a kind of warmth to my life. Even when I was exhausted, her soft voice and gentle hands soothed my tired limbs. But as she stepped into adolescence, I noticed something changing. She began spending more time with Raja, our young driver. At first, I thought little of it, but eventually, I saw their discomfort when I was around.
After some time I left for higher studies. Two years later when I returned, I noticed an emptiness in the house.
“Where is Manna?” I asked Mumma.
“She’s gone,” she replied curtly.
“Gone where?”
“To her home,” she responded sharply.
That night I couldn’t sleep. Nor the next. My chest ached with anxiety. Her absence echoed everywhere—no songs, no footsteps, just a suffocating quiet.Then one day, my younger sister whispered the truth. Munna had gotten pregnant and was sent away in shame.
I felt like the earth had cracked beneath me. My chest tightened, my breath caught in my throat. That night, I didn’t sleep a wink. I lay in bed, eyes wide open, tears silently soaking my pillow. Her face, once glowing with innocence, appeared in my dreams. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her being dragged away, her sobs echoing in my ears. For many nights I had been haunted by her memories that never allowed me to sleep.
A week later, without telling anyone, I went to her village but when I saw her, I nearly collapsed. She was no longer the bright, bubbly girl I knew. She looked pale, her eyes lifeless. As soon as she saw me, she began to cry inconsolably. I held her and listened.
Raja took advantage of her innocence and then vanished out of fear. My parents, fearing shame, had sent her away. Her own family had disowned her.
Driven by rage and determination, I took her back to home and with the help of the police, we found Raja to make sure justice was done. He married her without any protests.
Only then, for the first time in weeks, I slept quietly. The silence that once screamed inside me had calmed. And as I closed my eyes, I saw Manna smiling again, just like she used to.
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