14. The Necklace of Shame

The journey from Punyapur to the Aranthad residence was steeped in an awkward silence. Neither Raghav nor his father uttered a word.

Rithanya sat still, unusually calm, as though she had pacified the turmoil within her mind. She had no choice but to face the consequences of her decision.

The jeep rolled to a halt. Maheshwar Swamy stepped out and strode inside without a glance back.

Raghav walked a few steps, then stopped. He turned and looked at Rithanya, his eyes searching for an explanation.

Rithanya slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze but instantly lowered it again, unable to hold it.

Raghav cleared his throat, about to speak.

“Raghav,” Maheshwar Swamy called from inside.

“Yes, Father,” he replied, the moment slipping away as he turned and hurried in.

Rithanya walked towards the backyard, her heart numb, with no expectations left of Raghav.

The entire family had gathered in the living room, eagerly waiting for their return.

Annapoornamma hurried behind her husband, anxious for an update.

“What happened? Is everything fine?” she asked.

“Fine?... We have returned with a thief,” Maheshwar Swamy snapped, his face flushed with humiliation.

“A thief?” she repeated in shock.

“That girl Rithanya, humiliated us beyond measure. She stole Pratima’s sister-in-law’s kada bangle, got caught, and confessed.”

Annapoornamma gasped. Everyone stood stunned.

“What?... But why?” she asked, confused.

“Oh, what can we expect from a thief’s daughter? It runs in her blood,” he said coldly.

“It was our mistake to trust her and send her along with Pratima,” he continued.

“Call her here.”

“Vanaja, bring that ruby necklace from her bag,” he ordered.

Vanaja nodded and left.

Rithanya stood silently, prepared to hear her punishment.

“Vanaja, tie that necklace around her neck,” he instructed.

“You will wear this necklace for as long as you stay in this house. It will remind us never to trust you again, and the red stone will remind you that you come from a thief’s bloodline,” he declared, his gaze fixed on Rithanya.

He paused, steadying the anger that threatened to spill over.

“And I vow - never to let Devendra Pratap’s bloodline become a part of my family lineage,” he said.

In a village bound by unspoken laws, a vow was not merely words, it was fate sealed. Once spoken, it was carried to the last breath, unbroken, unquestioned.

That single vow did not just close the doors of acceptance, it denied her a place in the future of the family.

The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

No one dared to question the decision.

As instructed, Vanaja tied the necklace around Rithanya’s neck, its charm already gone, the cheap metal beneath beginning to show.

Everyone slowly dispersed.

Rithanya stood still, her fingers gently brushing against the necklace.

Days passed.

Her position in the household sank far below what it had been when she first arrived - insulted, excluded, and watched with suspicion.

But what hurt her most were the rashes and wounds forming around her neck from the cheap metal.

She began wandering in the garden, searching for suitable herbs for her remedy. As she reached the herb patch, she was shocked to find the healing plants freshly planted.

She had checked the garden the previous evening, they hadn’t been there.

The gardener had been on leave for two days. She turned around but saw no one who could have planted them so early in the morning.

Suddenly, she sensed a soft movement near the neem tree. She turned and walked a few steps closer.

There was no one.

The itching worsened. She quickly knelt down and plucked a few leaves to prepare her medicine.

Behind the bushes, someone quietly walked away, unnoticed, a single tear slipping down their cheek.

It was evening.

Everyone was busy with their routines. Rithanya sat near the pillar, aimlessly watching the backyard.

Bhavani, Vanaja’s daughter, was playing near the cattle shed. As she ran around, her hand struck a lamp, and it fell onto her clothes.

The fabric caught fire. She screamed.

Rithanya rushed to her and poured a pot of water, extinguishing the flames.

Everyone came running at the sound of the screams, but by then, it was already done.

Bhavani was safe, but her hand was burnt. Her face, however, had narrowly escaped harm.

Vanaja stood frozen in shock.

Tears began to flow uncontrollably.

“Vanaja, don’t worry. She is fine,” Rajendra, her husband, said, trying to console her.

But Vanaja and the rest of the family knew the importance of flawless beauty for a girl in their village.