Anya’s heart pounded in her chest as the old man’s words echoed in her mind: She wasn’t a villain. It was hard to reconcile the image of her quiet, reserved grandmother with the idea that she had been at the center of a village’s destruction.
“How did it happen?” Anya’s voice was barely above a whisper, as though speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile truth she was about to uncover. “What was she trying to protect?”
The old man leaned back in his chair, his eyes clouded with memories. “It wasn’t something tangible. Not gold or jewels. What she protected was knowledge… ancient knowledge. The kind that shouldn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
Anya frowned, struggling to understand. “What kind of knowledge?”
“There were rumors,” the old man continued, his voice low and cautious, as if the very walls might betray him. “Rumors of a hidden truth. Something that could change the world. Your grandmother, she was a guardian of that truth. But not everyone agreed with what she was protecting.”
Anya’s mind raced. Could her grandmother have been part of some clandestine order, a keeper of secrets that were bigger than the war that had swept through their country? It seemed unbelievable—like something from an old myth, not the real, grounded woman she had known.
But then again, her grandmother had always been a mystery. The long walks she took at dusk, the locked chest she kept in her bedroom, the faraway look in her eyes when she thought no one was watching. And now, it all began to make sense—pieces of a puzzle that Anya had never even known existed.
“Who disagreed with her?” Anya asked, her voice tight with urgency. “Who turned against her?”
The old man’s eyes grew cold. “Everyone. In times of fear, trust is the first thing to go. The villagers—people she had known all her life—turned on her when they realized what she was hiding. They were afraid. They thought she had brought a curse upon them.”
Anya felt a wave of nausea roll through her. “A curse?”
“Superstition is a powerful thing,” the old man said, his voice heavy. “Especially when people are desperate. The war had already taken everything—our crops, our homes, our families. All we had left was each other. But when strange things started happening, when people fell ill without explanation, the village needed someone to blame.”
He paused, his hands trembling as he rubbed them together. “Your grandmother became that person.”
Anya’s mind swirled. This was the kind of twist she hadn’t expected—her grandmother, once revered, now vilified by the very people she had lived among. The story felt like it was slipping away from her, becoming something larger, darker.
“Did she… did she try to defend herself?” Anya asked, her voice cracking.
The old man nodded slowly. “She did. But no one would listen. Fear had already taken hold, and once that happens, reason is lost. They said she was hiding something dangerous, something that would bring doom to us all. And in a way… they were right.”
A chill ran down Anya’s spine. “What do you mean?”
The old man stared into the flickering light of the lamp. “It wasn’t just the villagers who turned against her. Outsiders—men with power, men from the government—they heard the rumors. They came here, demanding answers. And when she wouldn’t give them what they wanted, they made her a target.”
Anya’s stomach churned. Her grandmother had been caught in the crossfire of something far bigger than she could have imagined. And now, it seemed, Anya was stepping into the same shadows, chasing the same truths that had destroyed her grandmother.
“What happened to her?” Anya asked, her voice barely audible.
The old man’s face grew solemn. “She vanished. One day, she was there, and the next… gone. Some say she fled. Others say she was taken. But no one knows for sure. All that’s left of her is the story, and even that has faded with time.”
Anya’s fingers tightened around the edge of her chair. “And the knowledge? The truth she was protecting—did anyone find it?”
The old man gave a weary shrug. “Some say it’s still hidden, somewhere in this village. Others believe it died with her. But if you’re asking whether her sacrifice was in vain… well, that’s a question only you can answer.”( To be continued)
Rajat chandra Sarmah
Guwahati , Assam India
18/09/24
mail ID; rajatchandrasarmah@ gmail.com
musingofrajat.wordpress.com 