Years later, Rudrapratap’s representatives approached me again. They wanted your name attached to documents concerning the printing business.
I refused.
Then Shashidhar discovered something he believed would make him wealthy.
I stopped reading.
My cousin.
I looked toward the gate.
Shashidhar had gone quiet.
I continued.
There is an old declaration signed by Rudrapratap acknowledging you as his son. It also refers to property intended for your benefit.
But that document does not give anyone the right to control you.
Shashidhar obtained a copy and began negotiating with people connected to the Singh estate.
When I confronted him, he threatened to tell you that we had stolen you from your mother.
My eyes filled.
That is a lie.
Your mother asked us to care for you. Whatever mistakes were made afterward, our love for you was never one of them.
If anything happens to me, do not surrender your name, your home, or your peace to people who use blood as an excuse for greed.
And please forgive Sulochana. She has lived every day afraid someone would take her son away.
You were never a debt we carried.
You were the blessing that made our house a home.
Your Baba,
Harivansh.
I lowered the letter.
For thirty-seven years, my father had been trying to tell me that I was loved.
And someone had made that truth dangerous.
I returned to Amma’s bedside.
“Why did Baba die three days after that photograph?”
She looked toward the window.
“The funeral was for a former employee of the press. He had discovered records concerning illegal transactions.”
I remembered Mrinalini Chachi’s warning.
“What happened to him?”
“He died after falling from a warehouse staircase.”
“And Baba?”
“He believed the death was suspicious.”
I looked down at the photograph.
“Shashidhar was there.”
Amma nodded.
“Your father confronted him afterward. He believed Shashidhar had helped conceal the records.”
My chest tightened.
“Did Shashidhar kill Baba?”
Amma began trembling.
“I don’t know.”
I stared at her.
She continued.
“Your father came home frightened. He said someone had threatened him. Two nights later, he collapsed.”
“Poison?”
She shook her head.
“The doctor said it was a heart attack. I never had proof otherwise.”
I sat quietly.
For years, I had imagined my father’s death as an ordinary tragedy.
Now I understood that he had died while carrying a terrible burden.
But I would not turn suspicion into certainty simply because it explained my grief.
I needed evidence.
And I needed Amma safe.
I called the police.
Then I called Mrinalini Chachi.
By the time officers arrived, Shashidhar had disappeared.
I showed them the threatening circumstances and the documents.
They recorded my account and advised us on preserving the material.
An old death could not be reclassified simply because a frightened son had found a letter.
I understood that.
But I also knew I could no longer ignore what was happening around our house.
The next morning, I changed the gate lock.
I informed the nurse that no visitor was to enter without my permission.
And I placed Baba’s letter inside a secure folder.
Amma watched me from her bed.
“You’re angry,” she whispered.
I sat beside her.
“Yes.”
She began crying.
“With me?”
I took her hand.
“I’m angry that you carried this fear alone.”
Her lips trembled.
“I thought you would leave if you knew.”
I felt my heart break.
“Amma, where would I go?”
She looked at me.
“To your real family.”
I leaned forward.
“You are my real family.”
She began sobbing.
I held her carefully.
For the first time in thirty-seven years, she cried without trying to hide it.
Two days later, Shashidhar called.
I answered.
“Nandu,” he said, “we need to discuss the Singh property.”
I closed my eyes.
“So that’s why you’ve been visiting.”
He sighed.
“Don’t be sentimental.”
“What do you want?”
“There are assets you may be entitled to.”
“Then why were you trying to buy our house?”
He hesitated.
“Because the builder’s project would benefit everyone.”
I almost laughed.
“Everyone?”
He became irritated.
“You have no children. What will you do with an old house and a possible inheritance?”
There it was.
The same cruelty people had repeated for years.
As though a childless man’s life had no purpose beyond leaving money for others.
I answered calmly.
“I will decide.”
His voice hardened.
“Your mother isn’t well. She cannot keep you trapped forever.”
I looked toward Amma’s room.
“She never trapped me.”
“She lied to you.”
“Yes,” I said. “And you used her fear.”
He fell silent.
Then I asked:
“Were you involved in Baba’s death?”
For several seconds, I heard only breathing.
Finally, he whispered, “You don’t know what happened.”
“Then tell me.”
He disconnected.
Over the following weeks, I met a lawyer named Ishwari Rao.
