The orphanage wasn't as quiet as I imagined. When the Jeep passed the rusted iron gates, I saw the state of the small house. About ten or eight young children were playing in the yard. As soon as we stepped down from the Jeep, they surrounded us curiously.

"Chachi! Thakur Ji aaye hai!" One of them shouted and ran inside.

(Chachi! The Thakur Ji has come!)

A fairly old couple and a young woman stepped out of the house. "Bhairav Ji... Kitne din hue hain..." The man smiled, holding my husband's hand. Even his wife seemed very happy to see him.

(Bhairav Ji... It's been so long!)

I stayed near the Jeep, not wanting to move. Bhairav Ji ignored me as he talked to the others. We hadn't even looked at each other after my outburst earlier.

"Didi? Aapke pet mei bacha hai?" A little girl asked me curiously.

(Didi? Is there a baby in your stomach?)

I gave her a forced smile, "Aapka naam kya hai, beta?"

(What's your name, beta?)

"Sitara!" She grinned, "Aapne Thakur Ji se shaadi ki hai?"

(Sitara! Have you married the Thakur Ji?)

"Sanjana, idhar aana."

(Sanjana, come here.)

It was Bhairav Ji's voice, and I looked up to find everyone staring at me intently. I went near him to keep up appearances.

"Namaste, Thakurain Ji... Chanda, inhe andar lekar jao," the older woman told the other girl.

(Namaste, Thakurain Ji... Chanda, take her inside.)

"Chaliye, Thakurain Ji," Chanda smiled, taking my hand.

(Let's go, Thakurain Ji)

"Mai shaam ko ise lene aunga." I heard him say, but I didn't acknowledge it. Chanda looked like she was in her early twenties. She led me to an empty classroom, and on the blackboard, there were many adorable drawings.

(I'll come get her in the evening.)

"Bacho, chalo... Bahut khel li, ab padne ka samay hai," the older woman from earlier led all the children into the classroom. I was seated on a chair at the very back, next to the window. Little Sitara had a bright smile on her face as she sat on the floor beside me.

(Kids, come on... You've played for a long time, now it's time to study.)

Chanda brought me a glass of water, "Aapko aur kuch chahiye toh bata dijiye, Thakurain Ji." She smiled kindly.

(If you need something else, don't hesitate to ask us, Thakurain Ji.)

At that time, the children began chanting the Hindi alphabet out loud, led by the older couple.

"Shukriya..." I gave her a weak smile, "Par... Aap log...?" I had so many questions that I didn't know where to begin.

(Thank you... But you people...?)

"Mere Bhaiya aur Bhabhi hai," Chanda smiled, leaning back on the wall beside me. "Bhaiya hi aashram chalate hai. Isliye naam CS rakha gaya hai, bahar. Bhaiya ka naam Chandrashekhar hai, aur Bhabhi, Savita... Unki shaadi pandrah saal pehle hui thi par bache nahi the... Aur ab dekho Thakurain, unke itne saare bache hai. Par woh..." She pointed to a little boy sitting at the very front.

(They're my Bhaiya and Bhabhi. He's the one who runs the orphanage. That's why the name is kept as CS outside. Bhaiya's name is Chandrashekhar and Bhabhi's name is Savita... They got married twelve years back but have no kids... And now look at them, Thakurain Ji, they have so many kids. But that one...)

"Woh mera beta hai. Karan," she smiled.

(He's my son. Karan.)

I was surprised to hear this, "Aur aapki shaadi..?"

(You're married...?)

"Shaadi hui thi par... Humare swami shaadi ke do saal baad hi guzar gaye... Vidhwa hu. Aur Bhaiya ne yaha bulaya, unke madad karne ke liye. Thakur Ji bhi humare bahut madad karte hai. Unke bina aap jo kuch bhi dekh rahe hain, woh mumkin nahi ho pata."

(I was... but my husband passed away two years after the wedding. I'm a widow. And my brother called me here to help him. Thakur Ji has helped us a lot as well. Whatever you're seeing around you wouldn't have been possible without him.)

I was quiet. There had been people praising my husband left and right since morning.

Maybe it was true.

Maybe he was a wonderful human being at heart.

But he was a terrible husband.

I watched as the children took out books and began reading silently. It was all Hindi literature.

"Aap in bacho ko kya kya padhati ho?" I asked curiously.

(What do you teach these children?)

"Unhe bas padhna-likhna hi sikhaya jaata hai... humein isse zyada kya sikhana aata hai..." She smiled.

(They only know how to read and write... What more can we teach them?)

"Aur ganit?" I frowned. That was supposed to be the most fundamental thing to be taught in schools.

(And arithmetic?)

"Hume... Nahi aati Thakurain..." She looked at me helplessly. I only nodded and watched the children study. Judging from Sitara's book, the Hindi that she learnt was also elementary. At home, I had been teaching Saarang even more advanced things. The children really had to be taught more.

(We ourselves don't know much, Thakurain.)

Sometime later, Chanda and Savita led me to the kitchen as it was time to prepare lunch. They didn't let me work, however, but instead kept a stool for me so that I could sit.

Their kitchen reminded me of the one in my parents' home. Dingy, rustic... Yet there was a warmth from the wooden stove that made me feel nostalgic. Both Savita and Chanda began preparing lunch in bulk for fifteen people. They moved in a lovely sync, and I was fascinated by just watching them.

One of the younger children came skipping into the kitchen, "Chachi... Bhuk lagi hai..." He whined while clutching Savita's Sari.

(Chachi... I feel hungry...)

"Bas thodi der mei laati hu, beta. Tum jao," She caressed his hair and smiled, just like a mother. It made me realise that you didn't really have to go through labour to step in as a mother. Maybe that was what it had meant all this time. Being a Maa meant unconditional love, patience, and hope that your kids would turn out better than you.

(I'll bring lunch in a bit, beta.)

I wondered what my mother had in mind though.

"Mai bhi madad karu aapki?" I asked finally, not wanting to sit idle anymore.

(Can I help you as well?)

"Nahi, nahi, aap baithiye Thakurain Ji... Aap mehman hai-"

(No, no, please stay seated Thakurain Ji... You're our guest-)

"Savita Ji, koi baat nahi," I smiled, "Mai bhi bacho ke liye kuch banana chahti hu."

(It's fine, Savita Ji... I want to make something for the children as well.)

They smiled to themselves and finally allowed me to help. While Savita and Chanda took care of the main course, I prepared besan laddoos as dessert. In the orphanage, they managed to give the children something sweet at least once a week.

The children sat along the hallway with their plates. I could see their twinkling eyes as soon as the food was brought before them. Chanda helped me sit beside a pillar, and she prepared my plate of lunch herself. The children dug in enthusiastically as soon as Chandrashekhar and Savita served them lunch. Even Karan ate with them, and not with his mother, because I realised Chanda didn't want the other children to feel left out. Seeing all of them truly made my stomach churn in guilt.

I touched my baby bump. My sweetheart was growing inside me. I couldn't bear the thought of my child growing up in an orphanage like this. I just couldn't.

Even if the birth were hard, I'd make it out alive. Definitely. I'd fight to live. I wouldn't leave my child alone in a world like this.

After lunch, the children surrounded me impatiently. I had the box of laddoos in my hand, and they stretched their little arms for dessert. It honestly made me laugh. Even though I had given some of them once or twice already, they kept begging for more. How could I ever deny them?

Sitara was skipping happily as she ate the laddoo. Her toothless smile made my day, "Aap phirse humare liye laddoo banayegi, Thakurain Ji?" She asked me.

(Will you make us laddoos again, Thakurain Ji?)

I caressed her cheek, "Zaroor banaungi, beta. Agli baar bahut saari banungi."

(Of course I will, beta. Next time I'll make a lot more.)

She squealed and bounced around me, making me laugh even more.