Chapter 1 - The Day Everything Changed
Chanda was only three years old when the world around her changed forever.
At that age, she did not understand death. She did not know why the house had suddenly become quiet, why people spoke in low voices, or why her mother’s eyes remained swollen from crying.
She only knew that her father was no longer there.
For several days, the house remained crowded with relatives and neighbours. Women sat together in one room, whispering prayers and wiping their tears with the edges of their scarves. Men entered and left with serious faces, speaking in voices Chanda could not fully understand.
Chanda moved silently between them, looking for the familiar face that had always made her feel safe.
She searched near the doorway.
She looked inside the small rooms.
She waited beside the place where her father used to sit.
But he did not return.
Whenever someone asked her where her father was, she pointed towards the door and said innocently, “He will come back.”
No one had the courage to correct her.
Her mother would hear those words and turn her face away, pressing her hand against her mouth so that Chanda would not hear her crying.
At night, Chanda would lie beside her mother and listen to the sound of her quiet sobs.
“Why are you crying, Ammi?” she asked one night.
Her mother quickly wiped her tears.
“I am not crying,” she whispered. “Go to sleep, my child.”
Chanda placed her small hand on her mother’s cheek.
“Will Baba come tomorrow?”
Her mother froze.
For a few moments, she could not answer. Then she pulled Chanda close to her chest and held her tightly.
“No, my love,” she finally said in a broken voice. “Your father has gone to Allah.”
Chanda did not fully understand what that meant.
“Will Allah send him back?”
Her mother closed her eyes as fresh tears rolled down her face.
She kissed Chanda’s forehead and said, “He will always watch over you.”
That night, Chanda fell asleep in her mother’s arms, still believing that her father might return one day.
But the next morning, his place was still empty.
Days passed, and the visitors slowly stopped coming. The house became quieter, but it no longer felt peaceful. It felt hollow.
Her mother tried to stay strong. She woke early, prepared food, washed clothes, and did everything she could to keep life moving. But behind every task, there was sadness.
Sometimes, Chanda would see her mother standing alone in the kitchen, staring at nothing.
Sometimes, she would wake in the middle of the night and find her mother sitting in the darkness.
Chanda was too young to understand grief, but she understood fear.
She began following her mother from room to room.
When her mother went outside, Chanda cried.
When she disappeared from sight, Chanda called for her.
She had already lost one parent, and somewhere deep inside, she was afraid that she might lose the other one too.
Her mother noticed this.
She tried to smile more often. She told Chanda stories before bed and braided her hair in the mornings. She held her close whenever Chanda became frightened.
But their life had changed.
Without Chanda’s father, there was no longer anyone to protect them from the harshness of the world.
Relatives began visiting less often. Some offered advice, while others offered judgment.
People spoke about what Chanda’s mother should do, where she should live, and how she should raise her daughter.
Very few asked what she wanted.
Very few asked whether she was afraid.
Chanda’s mother was still young and beautiful, but after becoming a widow, her beauty became another reason for people to interfere in her life.
Whispers followed her.
Some people questioned her movements. Others criticised her clothes, her decisions, and even the way she spoke.
It seemed that no matter what she did, someone was ready to judge her.
Chanda did not understand their words, but she understood the way her mother’s face changed after hearing them.
She understood the silence that followed.
She understood the heaviness in the room.
One evening, Chanda found her mother sitting near the window, holding one of her father’s old shirts.
The fading light touched her face, revealing tears in her eyes.
Chanda climbed into her lap.
“Ammi, are you sad?”
Her mother looked at her for a long moment.
Then she held Chanda close.
“I am not sad when I have you,” she said.
Chanda rested her head against her mother’s chest.
“I will never leave you.”
Her mother’s arms tightened around her.
“You are my whole world,” she whispered.
Neither of them knew how difficult the coming years would be.
They did not know that they would soon leave behind the place they had once called home.
They did not know that Chanda would spend years moving from one relative’s house to another.
They did not know that she would long for school, friendship, safety, and a room of her own.
At that moment, Chanda was simply a small girl in her mother’s arms.
A child who had lost her father.
A child who did not yet understand that the day he died was also the day her childhood began to disappear.