06-05-2026, 12:14 AM
Chapter 5: Ghosts of The Past
Continued.....
It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon. Swati’s little sister, Shruti, was at college. Her father was at work, and her mother had gone to the market. They thought they had the house to themselves. In the bedroom Swati shared with her sister, they were completely naked on the bed. Priya was on top of Swati, their bodies slick with sweat, their mouths locked in a passionate, messy kiss, their fingers buried deep in each other's wet slits. They were so intensely involved, moaning loudly, that they didn't hear the front door unlock.
The bedroom door swung open.
Swati’s mother stood in the doorway, dropping her grocery bags. The sound of the plastic hitting the floor shattered the world. Swati and Priya froze, their eyes wide with absolute horror. Swati’s mother stared at the two naked girls, her face draining of color, her eyes wide with disgust and disbelief.
"Maa..." Swati whispered, her voice cracking.
Her mother let out a guttural scream. She lunged into the room, grabbing Priya by her short hair and yanking her off Swati.
Smack!
A brutal, open-handed slap echoed through the room as her mother struck Priya’s naked face.
"Kutti! Randi!" her mother screamed, tears of rage streaming down her face.
"Tune meri bacchi ko kharab kar diya! Mere ghar mein yeh ghinouna kaam kar rahi hai?!"
Smack! Smack! Smack!
She slapped Priya three times more, her rings cutting into her cheek. Swati scrambled backward against the headboard, pulling a bedsheet over her naked body, sobbing hysterically.
"Nikal mere ghar se! Aaj ke baad apni manhoos shakal mat dikhana!" Her mother roared, throwing Priya’s clothes at her.
Priya, her face red and bleeding, didn't say a word. She looked at Swati with a heartbreaking expression of pure agony, gathered her clothes, and walked out into the hall to dress. She left the house crying silently.
The moment the front door closed, the real nightmare began for Swati. Her mother locked the bedroom door, grabbed a thick wooden hanger from the closet, and turned to Swati. For the next thirty minutes, Swati endured a merciless, brutal beating. The hanger struck her bare back, her thighs, her arms. Every inch of her body screamed in pain, but the physical agony was nothing compared to the suffocating shame.
When her father came home that evening, her mother told him in hushed, horrified tones, making sure little Shruti didn't hear. Her father walked into the bedroom. He didn't yell. He just looked at Swati with eyes full of tears and absolute, crushing disappointment. He slapped her twice, hard enough to make her ears ring, confiscated her mobile phone, and walked out.
Swati was placed under strict house arrest. For the next thirty days, the house became a tomb of heavy, airless silence, where even the clinking of a spoon against a plate felt like an accusation, and her father’s refusal to even look at her during dinner was a slow, daily execution of the girl she used to be. She couldn't make eye contact with anyone. Her mother gave her long, emotional lectures about purity, family honor, and the disgusting sin she had committed. Swati’s mind, already fragile, broke under the pressure. She began to believe she was dirty, a sinner who had ruined her family's peace.
When her first-year college exams approached, her mother dragged her in front of the small temple in their living room. She placed Swati’s hand on her own head.
"Kha meri kasam," her mother demanded, her voice cold.
"Kasam kha ki tu us ladki se dobara kabhi baat nahi karegi. Kasam kha ki tu aage se aisi koi ghinouni harkat nahi karegi aur khud ko pavitra rakhegi."
Swati, broken and sobbing, swore the oath.
Her father dropped her off and picked her up from her exams.
Priya, desperate and heartbroken, tried to send messages through Shruti, begging to meet. But Swati, consumed by guilt and her newfound desire to be 'pure,' refused. Finally, when her parents were satisfied she had changed, Swati was allowed to go to college alone. One afternoon, as she walked out of the gates, she saw Priya waiting on her Bullet motorcycle. Priya looked exhausted, her eyes red-rimmed.
She ran up to her. "Swati! Please, meri baat sun..."
"Mujhse baat mat karo, Priya," Swati said coldly, stepping back.
"Jo bhi hua, wo ek bohot badi galti thi."
"Galti nahi thi, Swati!" Priya pleaded, tears spilling down her cheeks right there on the open street.
"Hum dono ek doosre ke liye bane hain. Main tumse pyar karti hoon. Please mujhe chhod ke mat jao."
"Nahi! Main galat thi. Main aisi nahi hoon," Swati snapped, her guilt making her cruel.
"Mujhe akela chhod do."
Priya grabbed Swati’s hand, her voice cracking, her hand shaking.
"Tu apni padhai puri karle hum yahan se kahin dur chale jayenge, Mujhe malum hain, Tum bhi mere bina nahi reh sakti."
"Mera peecha mat karna. Mujhe kabhi contact mat karna," Swati yanked her hand away and walked off, ignoring the sound of Priya sobbing, her heart shattering into a million pieces.
Priya didn't follow her. She stood completely still on the road, watching Swati walk away, tears streaming down her eyes.
Two months later, Swati’s family hurriedly packed up and moved to a completely different corner of the city, far away from the rented flat and the shame it held. Priya tried desperately to find her. She rode her Bullet around Swati’s college, searched through mutual friends, and scoured social media. But Swati had changed college, and her parents had deleted all her accounts.
…The Priya chapter of Swati’s life was violently, completely erased.
Years passed. Swati buried the memories deep in her subconscious, locking away the dirty, horny girl who had scissored on a muddy rock. Through mutual contacts, an arranged marriage was fixed with Viraj. Swati’s lower-middle-class parents were overjoyed to get such a wealthy, successful IT professional as a son-in-law. Viraj’s family, especially Madhavi and Shrikant, were equally thrilled to get such a simple, homely, and pious daughter-in-law.
Swati had successfully reinvented herself. She was the perfect wife, the perfect mother.
Continued.....
It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon. Swati’s little sister, Shruti, was at college. Her father was at work, and her mother had gone to the market. They thought they had the house to themselves. In the bedroom Swati shared with her sister, they were completely naked on the bed. Priya was on top of Swati, their bodies slick with sweat, their mouths locked in a passionate, messy kiss, their fingers buried deep in each other's wet slits. They were so intensely involved, moaning loudly, that they didn't hear the front door unlock.
The bedroom door swung open.
Swati’s mother stood in the doorway, dropping her grocery bags. The sound of the plastic hitting the floor shattered the world. Swati and Priya froze, their eyes wide with absolute horror. Swati’s mother stared at the two naked girls, her face draining of color, her eyes wide with disgust and disbelief.
"Maa..." Swati whispered, her voice cracking.
Her mother let out a guttural scream. She lunged into the room, grabbing Priya by her short hair and yanking her off Swati.
Smack!
A brutal, open-handed slap echoed through the room as her mother struck Priya’s naked face.
"Kutti! Randi!" her mother screamed, tears of rage streaming down her face.
"Tune meri bacchi ko kharab kar diya! Mere ghar mein yeh ghinouna kaam kar rahi hai?!"
Smack! Smack! Smack!
She slapped Priya three times more, her rings cutting into her cheek. Swati scrambled backward against the headboard, pulling a bedsheet over her naked body, sobbing hysterically.
"Nikal mere ghar se! Aaj ke baad apni manhoos shakal mat dikhana!" Her mother roared, throwing Priya’s clothes at her.
Priya, her face red and bleeding, didn't say a word. She looked at Swati with a heartbreaking expression of pure agony, gathered her clothes, and walked out into the hall to dress. She left the house crying silently.
The moment the front door closed, the real nightmare began for Swati. Her mother locked the bedroom door, grabbed a thick wooden hanger from the closet, and turned to Swati. For the next thirty minutes, Swati endured a merciless, brutal beating. The hanger struck her bare back, her thighs, her arms. Every inch of her body screamed in pain, but the physical agony was nothing compared to the suffocating shame.
When her father came home that evening, her mother told him in hushed, horrified tones, making sure little Shruti didn't hear. Her father walked into the bedroom. He didn't yell. He just looked at Swati with eyes full of tears and absolute, crushing disappointment. He slapped her twice, hard enough to make her ears ring, confiscated her mobile phone, and walked out.
Swati was placed under strict house arrest. For the next thirty days, the house became a tomb of heavy, airless silence, where even the clinking of a spoon against a plate felt like an accusation, and her father’s refusal to even look at her during dinner was a slow, daily execution of the girl she used to be. She couldn't make eye contact with anyone. Her mother gave her long, emotional lectures about purity, family honor, and the disgusting sin she had committed. Swati’s mind, already fragile, broke under the pressure. She began to believe she was dirty, a sinner who had ruined her family's peace.
When her first-year college exams approached, her mother dragged her in front of the small temple in their living room. She placed Swati’s hand on her own head.
"Kha meri kasam," her mother demanded, her voice cold.
"Kasam kha ki tu us ladki se dobara kabhi baat nahi karegi. Kasam kha ki tu aage se aisi koi ghinouni harkat nahi karegi aur khud ko pavitra rakhegi."
Swati, broken and sobbing, swore the oath.
Her father dropped her off and picked her up from her exams.
Priya, desperate and heartbroken, tried to send messages through Shruti, begging to meet. But Swati, consumed by guilt and her newfound desire to be 'pure,' refused. Finally, when her parents were satisfied she had changed, Swati was allowed to go to college alone. One afternoon, as she walked out of the gates, she saw Priya waiting on her Bullet motorcycle. Priya looked exhausted, her eyes red-rimmed.
She ran up to her. "Swati! Please, meri baat sun..."
"Mujhse baat mat karo, Priya," Swati said coldly, stepping back.
"Jo bhi hua, wo ek bohot badi galti thi."
"Galti nahi thi, Swati!" Priya pleaded, tears spilling down her cheeks right there on the open street.
"Hum dono ek doosre ke liye bane hain. Main tumse pyar karti hoon. Please mujhe chhod ke mat jao."
"Nahi! Main galat thi. Main aisi nahi hoon," Swati snapped, her guilt making her cruel.
"Mujhe akela chhod do."
Priya grabbed Swati’s hand, her voice cracking, her hand shaking.
"Tu apni padhai puri karle hum yahan se kahin dur chale jayenge, Mujhe malum hain, Tum bhi mere bina nahi reh sakti."
"Mera peecha mat karna. Mujhe kabhi contact mat karna," Swati yanked her hand away and walked off, ignoring the sound of Priya sobbing, her heart shattering into a million pieces.
Priya didn't follow her. She stood completely still on the road, watching Swati walk away, tears streaming down her eyes.
Two months later, Swati’s family hurriedly packed up and moved to a completely different corner of the city, far away from the rented flat and the shame it held. Priya tried desperately to find her. She rode her Bullet around Swati’s college, searched through mutual friends, and scoured social media. But Swati had changed college, and her parents had deleted all her accounts.
…The Priya chapter of Swati’s life was violently, completely erased.
Years passed. Swati buried the memories deep in her subconscious, locking away the dirty, horny girl who had scissored on a muddy rock. Through mutual contacts, an arranged marriage was fixed with Viraj. Swati’s lower-middle-class parents were overjoyed to get such a wealthy, successful IT professional as a son-in-law. Viraj’s family, especially Madhavi and Shrikant, were equally thrilled to get such a simple, homely, and pious daughter-in-law.
Swati had successfully reinvented herself. She was the perfect wife, the perfect mother.
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