The next night the risk became real. The Punjab haveli felt smaller than ever. Chacha had not drunk as much daaru that evening. He woke up in the middle of night — thirsty. He got up quietly from bed. Walked down the corridor in dark. Passed the kitchen. Heard soft sounds from the back room near cattle shed.

He stopped. Listened. A low moan. A slap of skin. A man’s rough whisper. Chacha’s heart beat fast. He knew that voice — his nephew Aryan. And the woman’s cry… his wife Anjali.