A dusky little face kept speaking, yet they
said, "Silence her!" But she kept soaring, reaching for the sky. A small, dark-skinned girl with words as
sharp as a blade—one who could silence
anyone with just her voice. She was no
older than five, and her name was
Rudrakshi. When I first met her, she was just five
years old—anger always perched on her
nose, her dusky complexion, and the way
she stood in the street, boldly saying, "Just try touching my brother and see
what happens!" Rudrakshi had two brothers—one older, one younger. She was the middle child. Since childhood, she struggled with
studies, while both her brothers were
exceptionally intelligent, always topping
their classes.As Rudrakshi grew older, her struggles
grew with her. Her short temper and
habit ofjumping into conversations were
bound to cause her trouble. Her mother
couldn’t tolerate this. "If she speaks so
much at just five, what will she do when
she grows up?" she often wondered. Rudrakshi’s mother was a strict woman, always standing by what was right. Whenever Rudrakshi spoke too much, her
mother silenced her—sometimes with
scoldings, other times with beatings. And
perhaps, over time, Rudrakshi really did
fall silent. For her mother, this was a relief. But for
Rudrakshi, life was becoming more and
more difficult. They say people who talk a
lot have the purest hearts, and maybe
Rudrakshi was just like that. Yet, slowly, she learned to keep quiet. Studies were always a struggle for her.A few years later, Rudrakshi and her
family moved to the city of Jaipur. In the new city, Rudrakshi was admitted
to 2nd grade through an entrance test. Her scores weren’t great, but since it was
a small private school, she got in. Her
2nd-grade class teacher taught Hindi. A few weeks later, the teacher made
Rudrakshi the class monitor. Perhaps
she, too, had noticed how quiet Rudrakshi
remained in class. Some time later, a parent-teacher
meeting was held, which Rudrakshi’s
mother attended. The teacher showed her
test copies and said, "Rudrakshi is starting to follow the right
track." Her results were decent.Rudrakshi’s journey with teachers had its
ups and downs—some were very good, while others were terrible. The year passed, and Rudrakshi got
promoted to 3rd grade. Her class teacher
also changed. Looking back, Rudrakshi says that if she
could, she would erase her entire
3rd-grade experience from her life. She
recalls how she got a terrible teacher that
year. The little progress she had made in 2nd
grade was completely lost. She started
scoring very low in tests, and
punishments from the teacher became
routine. The teacher’s scoldings felt like a
deafening noise, and the fear turned her
face pale. Then came the school’s annual function.Rudrakshi’s two brothers received
invitation cards and were called to receive
trophies for their excellent academic
records. But Rudrakshi did not receive an
invitation. She felt deeply hurt. Both her brothers were awarded trophies, but she got nothing
A teacher's kind nature and
encouragement are essential for students. If
a child is made to believe that they can
achieve something, they truly can. But
Rudrakshi’s 3rd-grade teacher only knew
how to punish—as if she had never
spoken with love. Then came the winter vacations. Rudrakshi and her family traveled to her
maternal grandmother’s house to spend
the holidays. Her maternal uncle (mama)and maternal aunt (mausi) were there
too. Everyone loved her dearly. But Rudrakshi was fighting another silent
battle—this time, with her complexion. Her mausaji (maternal aunt’s husband)
would taunt her, saying, "Your mother sold you for two rotis... These aren’t your real parents." The little girl, who had once silenced
people with her sharp words, now had no
words left. She had already learned to stay quiet, but
now, she couldn’t even respond. Crying alone and wiping her tears before
stepping outside had become a habit. Despite everything, Rudrakshi loved her
mother deeply. She had often witnessed fights between
her parents. The reason was always thesame—her father’s family. Their
behavior toward her mother was terrible. The constant arguments, the harsh
treatment... Over time, Rudrakshi started hating her
grandparents, uncles, and
aunts—perhaps even her father. She had seen her father raise his hand
against her mother, and her mother only
cry in silence. And at her maternal home, when she was
compared to the very people she despised, it felt like her heart was about to burst. How could anyone tolerate being
compared to those they hated the most?
Yet, every night, she soaked her pillow
with tears. And every morning, she opened her eyes
with a beautiful smile.Even when Rudrakshi cried in front of
her mother, she never felt the kind of love
she needed—the kind that could heal her. Whether it was her mausi (maternal
aunt) or her mama’s children, everyone
made jokes about her complexion. She
would smile in front of them, but at
night, those same words would race
through her
mind like wild horses. She would scratch at those wounds again
and again, as if a poison was slowly
spreading through her body. Time passed. Rudrakshi recalls, "I had been promoted to 4th grade, and a
new teacher had joined our
school—Aparajita Ma’am, our science
teacher. She was incredibly kind, with a
very warm personality."One day, Rudrakshi fell sick at school. Aparajita Ma’am walked up behind her
and placed her hand on Rudrakshi’s
forehead to check her fever. "Maybe even my own mother had never
checked my fever with so much care
before." Rudrakshi began enjoying her classes. Science started feeling interesting. She says, "It was like a new chapter in my life had
begun." She was then promoted to 5th grade. But this time, her science teacher
changed again. Now, there was a new teacher—Priya
Ma’am.When Priya Ma’am entered the class for
the first time, her eyes seemed to search
for Rudrakshi—while Rudrakshi, unknowingly, kept looking away. First, Priya Ma’am introduced herself to
the class. Then, she asked, "Who comes 3rd in this class?"
It felt like she expected Rudrakshi to
raise her hand. She then asked, "Who comes 2nd in this class?" Again, her eyes were on Rudrakshi. But Rudrakshi’s hand remained down. Finally, Priya Ma’am asked, "Who comes 1st in this class?"This time, she seemed completely sure
that Rudrakshi’s hand would go up. But it didn’t. Her gaze remained fixed on Rudrakshi. And Rudrakshi?
She just kept avoiding eye contact. Finally, Priya Ma’am’s patience broke, and she asked me, "What do you even score in class?" The students laughed and joked, saying, "Nothing!" She looked at me and asked, "Why? Why is that? I thought you would
be the first-rank holder." Then, pointing at the rest of the class, she said,"Look at them—do they look like they
deserve to come first?" She always held me above everyone else. Her expectations from me were sky-high. She changed my seat, always making me
sit on the first desk, even though our
class teacher used to assign seats based
on roll numbers. My roll number was at
the back, but whenever it was Priya
Ma’am’s period, she called me to sit in the
front. Her entire focus was on me. Slowly, she started including me in her
work. I had never done a teacher’s work before. I was always a reserved girl, and teachers
never asked me to do anything because I
wasn’t like the other girls—I neverhovered around them, trying to impress
them. But Priya Ma’am?
No matter what the task was, she always
wanted me to take the lead. She told me, "I have high expectations from you, and I
know you can do it."
I started taking an interest in her subject. It didn’t matter if I did work for any
other teacher, but for Priya Ma’am, I
always did it first. For the first time, I began enjoying
studying. And when she noticed my improvement in
science, she started motivating me to do
well in other subjects too.She even organized a science
presentation—and she chose me to
present first. The next day, I was fully prepared. In fact, Priya Ma’am herself had given me
the topic and helped me prepare for it. But I was extremely nervous. The entire class was staring at me, and I
was looking at Priya Ma’am, who was
sitting in the very last seat.She kept
encouraging me, "Speak, speak… First, introduce
yourself." The presentation went well, but more
than that, I felt good—because Priya
Ma’am was standing by my side at every
step.She conducted tests, but only tested me
on what she knew I could remember and
score full marks in. She supported me immensely. A few months later, we had unit tests, and the results were based on these
scores. When Priya Ma’am checked the answer
sheets, she brought them to class and
distributed them one by one. She had placed my copy at the very
bottom of the pile. Then, holding up one test copy, she made
an announcement, "There is only one student in the entire
class who has scored 30 out of 30." That day, my happiness knew no bounds.Slowly, my school record started
improving. I was also good at sports, and my
school’s sports teacher called my parents. They requested my parents to let me play
at the national level. But my parents refused, saying I was too
young. Rudrakshi recalls, "If I had been allowed to go, I would be a
national-level player today." Despite this, Priya Ma’am made sure that
I received the Best All-Rounder Student
certificate from school. In 5th grade, I kissed my first-ever
trophy.Time passed, and she was now in 10th
grade. But after Priya ma’am, no good teacher
ever came into her life again in her
government school.She kept getting weaker and weaker in
her studies. The teachers weren’t serious about
teaching—so neither was she. Her focus on studies completely
disappeared. And when her 9th-grade results came
in, she had scored only 50%. Papa was a little upset, but Mummy
didn’t show any worry—she didn’t want
me to feel sad. Mummy was really kind, but just because
someone is good doesn’t mean they never
make mistakes, right?
If, instead of scolding and silencing me, Mummy had taught me what to say and
what not to, then maybe today, even ifsomeone said something harsh to me, I’d
know how to respond. But now?I just stay quiet and cry alone. I was very attached to my mother
because I was very young when she was
diagnosed with blood cancer. Her health was never stable. And whenever Mummy talked about not
making it, I would cry alone. Ever since she fell ill, I had only one
prayer to Bholenath:"Please make my
mother well again, Baba."
I never asked for anything for myself. Day and night, I had only one fear—that
something might happen to her.I would
spend sleepless nights crying, just
watching over her.Those were thedarkest nights of my life.How much pain
could a little girl endure?
Was I supposed to handle the struggle of
my studies?Or the insults about my
complexion?Or the body shaming?Or the
loneliness of losing my best friend?Or my
own illness?Or just the weight of all this
pain?
Depression was inevitable. Time passed, and Mummy’s health
started improving.Or maybe… it was just
the power of my prayers. With tears in her eyes, Rudrakshi
continues: "My father was blinded by family love." Papa was the eldest in his family, and he
had two younger brothers—my uncles."But Uncle didn’t love him at all because
only my father was somewhat educated
in the family and was the only one who
moved out of the village to earn a living. Uncle always tried to put my father
down. The youngest uncle—whom I
never liked—was the worst. Girls have an instinct. They can sense
very quickly how a man is looking at
them or touching them. I never liked my
youngest uncle because the way he looked
at me always made me feel insecure. But
I couldn’t tell anyone. I chose to stay
silent… because my father loved him
dearly. In front of his brothers, he would
even forget about us. Father planned a family trip. His whole
family, along with my mother, my two
brothers, and I, went to Vaishno Devi. The youngest uncle also went. During the
journey, he put his hand around my neckfrom behind—right in front of my father. Maybe my parents found that touch
normal because they never said anything
about it. Father would always say, "Look
at the love between an uncle and his
niece." But only I could feel what that
touch truly meant. My mother never let me speak, never
even let me laugh freely. In our village, everyone knew my father and praised him
a lot because neither of my other two
uncles was educated or earning anything. But to damage my father’s reputation, my uncle had made me his target. We had booked a room in Vaishno Devi
for a one-day stay after our journey so
that we could rest and recover from
fatigue, and also because Mom and
everyone else wanted to do some
shopping. During the journey, I wasn’tfeeling well, and the next day, I
developed a fever. I didn’t really feel like shopping, but I
still went because I knew that if I stayed
back in the room, Uncle would also stay
back, and I didn’t want that at all. Mom
was insisting that I rest in the room
since
I wasn’t feeling well, but I stubbornly
decided to go shopping with everyone. As soon as we reached a little distance, I
started feeling dizzy and could barely
walk properly. Mom made me sit down
somewhere, but my condition worsened. Dad then suggested that we go back to
the room. I was ready to return since
Dad was going with me. But just then, Uncle interrupted and said, "I’ll take her back. Anyway, I don’t need
to buy anything. You all continue
shopping."I firmly refused to go back to the room, but Uncle held my hand and said, "Come
on, you have a fever, you need to rest. You're exhausted." Dad told him, "Hold her properly so she
doesn’t fall." Uncle and I started walking towards the
room. He was holding one of my hands
with his, and his other hand was placed
on my waist. After walking a short
distance, I pushed his hand away from
my waist, but then he immediately placed
it on my shoulder. I was extremely scared because I knew
there would be no one in the room except
for me and Uncle. I could hear my own
heartbeat loudly. Just before entering the
apartment, I sat down outside and told
him, "I don’t want to go to the room rightnow. Mom will be here soon, let’s wait for
her." Uncle didn’t respond to what I said. Instead, he simply said, "Come upstairs
and rest." He grabbed my hand and took
me to the room. I sat down on the bed. That’s when he
asked me, "Will you come with me?"
I couldn’t understand what he meant, so I
didn’t say anything. He came and sat
down beside me on the bed, then asked
again, "Tell me, will you come with me?"
I was so scared that I could hear my own
breathing. I was sick, weak, and terrified. In a very soft voice, I asked, "Where?" He replied, "Wherever I take you."
I told him, "No, I don’t want to go
anywhere with you."He then asked, "Why not?"
I looked straight at him and asked, "What do you want?" He said, "I want to take you far away."
I asked, "Why do you want to take me
away? You don’t love my father at all. Then why do you want to take me with
you? Why do you love me so much?" He responded, "You’re very smart. No, I
don’t love your father, and I don’t love
you either. Everyone who visits our
house always praises your father. You
are his pride, and that’s why I want to
take you away. Run away with me." Terrified and furious, I shouted, "Shut
your mouth!"
In an instant, he slapped me across the
face.I mustered the courage to say, "I will tell
Papa everything." Grabbing my wrist tightly, he warned, "If you say anything, you’ll see what I
can do." And with that, he walked out of
the room. I sat there alone, crying for a long time. After a while, I walked to the balcony
and looked outside. I saw Mom walking
toward the room. I quickly wiped my
tears, lay down on the bed, and pretended
to rest. Soon, Mom and everyone else arrived in
the room—except for Papa. I asked Mom, "Where is Papa?" She replied, "I don’t know. He said, ‘You
all shop, I’ll have some tea and join you
’ " soon.My eyes immediately went to Uncle. He
was looking straight at me. I couldn’t
gather the courage to say anything in
front of everyone. I decided I would tell
Papa everything once we got home, when
Uncle wouldn’t be around. The next morning, we boarded our train. By the time we reached Jaipur, Uncle and
the rest of the family had gone to their
respective homes. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell Papa
anything. Our relationship had never been the
warm, friendly kind that some fathers
and daughters share. By the time I was
old enough to understand things, I had
already become deeply introverted. So, I chose silence.I told myself, Uncle is back in his own
home now. Everything is fine. Let’s just
forget about it. But after some time, Uncle planned to
come to Jaipur. Papa told us, "Chacha Ji is coming
tomorrow." The color drained from my face, and I felt
a wave of panic. I immediately said, "Papa, please don’t call anyone right now. I
have exams going on." Papa, annoyed, yelled, "Is he a child that
his arrival will stop you from studying?"
I knew Papa would scold or even hit me, but he would never question his brother. I
was afraid of him, which is why I had
never told him the truth.The next morning, at 6:00 AM, Uncle
left his home for Jaipur. I asked Mom, "Why is Uncle coming?" She casually replied, "Why are you
asking? He loves you so much."
I didn’t respond. The train journey from our village to
Jaipur was about six hours long. At
10:10 AM, Papa spoke to Uncle on the
phone. After that, when Papa tried
calling him again at 11:30 AM, his phone
was unreachable. Papa said, "It’s probably a network
issue." He tried again at 11:45 AM, but the
phone was still not reachable. As the six-hourjourney stretched beyond
its expected time, my anxiety keptrowing. I kept praying, Please, God, don’t let him come. Let something happen
so that he returns home. By 12:10 PM, there was still no contact. Papa was starting to get worried. By 2:00 PM, eight hours had passed, yet
there was no sign of Uncle. Papa called my grandmother at home, but
even she didn’t know anything. Growing more concerned, Papa went to
the nearby railway station to check. He
inquired about the train Uncle was
supposed to arrive on. That’s when he found out—the train had
already left. There was no trace of Uncle—he neither
returned home nor arrived at our place.By 8:00 PM, Papa’s face had turned pale
with worry. That night, he went to the
police station and filed a missing person
report for Uncle. When he came back home, he broke
down in tears. The entire family back in
the village was distressed—after all, the
youngest son of the house had vanished
without a trace. Papa kept visiting the police station for
updates, but there was no news of Uncle. A whole year passed. Still, no sign of him. Everyone was worried, but I felt a
strange sense of relief. Deep down, I was
happy. I thought to myself, The train
must have swallowed him whole.
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