Chapter 6 The Letter That Arrived at Dusk

The postman came late that evening, his cycle tires whispering against the wet mud paths of Padmapur. The village had nearly folded into silence, the smoke from cooking fires curling low, the temple bells already rung. Children still played beneath the banyan tree, their laughter weaving through the amber air like threads of forgotten joy.

Arinay was sweeping the last of the fallen leaves when he saw the postman approach. The man offered no smile, only a folded parchment sealed in red wax-embossed with the insignia of the District Education Board.

A few children huddled close, watching as their teacher opened the letter. His eyes moved slowly across the words. Each line felt like a fist.

Summons. Formal hearing. Misconduct. Political provocation. Violation of educational code.

He folded the letter without a word. The silence that followed was not of confusion, but of something colder-fear.

"What is it, Masterji?" little Uma asked, her voice thin.

"A lesson," he said softly, his smile brittle. "On how truth sometimes carries a price."

That night, he sat beneath the banyan tree long after everyone had gone home. The fireflies danced like sparks from a fire not yet lit. He packed little-a change of clothes, his engraved book, and Rohan's folded poem. These were not just things. They were reminders.

Before dawn broke, he left Padmapur. The banyan tree stood solemn behind him, its branches whispering a farewell only he could hear.

He did not look back.