Chapter 4: The Day That Broke Something Inside
The school bell rang, a sharp clang slicing through the classroom's hum, signaling the end of the half-day. Before his friends Dev and Tina could ask to walk home together, Soma was already on his feet, his bag slung over his shoulder before the echo faded. His half-eaten tiffin box sat abandoned on his desk as he bolted out the gate, his shoes kicking up dust on the sun-baked pavement.
An urgent pull drove him, like a thread tugging at his heart. The underground storeroom—his grandfather's hidden world—called to him, its secrets whispering in his mind. *What else is down there?* he thought, the memory of the lion-faced statue fueling his excitement, a spark of joy in a world that had dimmed too often.
He sprinted through the neighborhood, turning the corner to his grandmother's house, then stopped dead. Seven pairs of shoes were neatly lined outside the door, stark against the dusty porch. Soma's brow furrowed, unease creeping into his chest. *Seven men?* he thought, his mind racing. *Who's here? And why so many?*
Cautiously, he pushed the door open, its hinges creaking faintly. "Grandma?" he called, his voice swallowed by the quiet house.
No answer.
He stepped into the living room, and a voice—harsh, familiar, and laced with fury—cut through the stillness. "...I heard you wrote the house and all your property in Soma's name! Why would you do that?" his uncle roared.
Soma froze, his heart sinking like a stone in deep water. This was the man who had stripped him of everything after his parents' accident, claiming their home, their savings, their legacy as his right. His sharp suit gleamed under the dim light, his jaw clenched, eyes glinting with a predatory edge as he towered over Savitri. Six other men loomed behind him, their faces stern and unreadable, like shadows come to life.
Behind the wall, Soma held his breath, peeking around the corner. His grandmother stood small but unyielding, her cotton sari crisp, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her voice trembled slightly, but her words were resolute, a quiet fire burning beneath. "You've already taken everything from Soma," she said. "What more do you want? After I die, who will look after him?"
Those words—"after I die"—struck Soma like a physical blow, ripping open the wound he'd tried so hard to heal. *Not her too,* he thought, a flash of his parents' smiling faces flickering in his mind, now forever silenced by that fateful accident. Something inside him shattered, a fragile piece of his heart cracking under the weight. Tears welled up, spilling over before he could stop them. The thought of losing Savitri—the only person who had pulled him from the darkness, who made him feel seen and loved—was unbearable. His hands trembled, and a soft sob escaped, betraying his hiding place.
Savitri turned sharply, her eyes softening at the sight of his tear-streaked face, but her expression hardened as she faced his uncle again, her voice rising like a thunderclap. "Get out. Right now! Or I swear, I'll call the police!"
The room fell into heavy silence, the air thick with tension, broken only by the ticking of the wall clock. Soma's uncle stood frozen, his fists clenched, a vein pulsing in his temple. The other men shifted uneasily, exchanging glances. For a long moment, no one moved. Then, with a muttered curse under his breath, his uncle stormed toward the door. As he passed Soma, he paused, his gaze locking onto the boy's tearful eyes—a sharp, bitter glare heavy with resentment and unspoken threats, like a promise of more pain to come. The door slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing like a final judgment, leaving the house feeling smaller, more fragile.
Soma stood there, tears streaming freely now, his small fists clenched at his sides. Savitri crossed the room in an instant, kneeling beside him, her hands gentle on his shoulders. She wiped a tear from his cheek, her touch soft as a whisper, her own eyes glistening. "Soma, beta, it's alright," she said, her voice a soothing balm against the storm raging in his chest. But before she could say more, Soma reached out, taking her hand and placing it gently on his head, a silent plea for comfort.
"Grandma," he whispered, his voice trembling with raw fear, "promise me… you'll never talk about dying again."
She looked at him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes—the eyes of a boy who had lost too much, too soon. Slowly, she nodded, pulling him into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around him like a shield. "I promise," she said, her voice firm yet tender, holding him close as if to ward off the world's cruelties. "I won't speak of it again. I'm here for you, always. We're in this together, you and me."
Soma leaned into her embrace, his tears slowing as her warmth enveloped him, a fragile peace settling over the room. For the first time in a year, amidst the ache, he felt a glimmer of safety—like the boy who had once played king with a plastic sword, protected by unbreakable love. Exhaustion from the emotional whirlwind pulled at him, and he drifted into a restless nap on the couch, Savitri's hand still stroking his hair.
When he woke, the wall clock showed 4:00 PM, its hands pointing accusingly at the lost time. He sat up quickly, glancing around in confusion. His eyes widened in dismay. "Ahh! I missed the storeroom again!" he exclaimed, a pang of regret hitting him like a wave. He'd been so eager to uncover more of his grandfather's treasures, to lose himself in that world of wonder and escape the pain above ground.
Savitri chuckled softly from her nearby chair, her eyes twinkling with mischief despite the earlier chaos. "I can see you're upset," she said kindly. "Because you're late to explore the underground room today, right?"
Soma nodded, his shoulders slumping, disappointment etching his young face.
She smiled and gently brushed his hair back, her touch a tender reminder of his parents' warmth. "Well, don't worry, beta. Why not make up for lost time? I don't have any work left, and you don't have homework today. So why don't we go together? You and me. We'll clean the rest of the room and see what treasures we can find."
Soma's eyes lit up like fireworks, his disappointment melting away in an instant. "Really?! You'll come with me?!" he asked, his voice bright with excitement, the earlier tears forgotten in this spark of shared adventure.
She nodded, her smile warm and reassuring. "Of course. It's been too long since I stepped into that world myself."
Excitement bloomed in his chest, warm and bright, like the first rays of dawn chasing away the night. Savitri stretched, wiping her hands on her sari, and together they headed down, the air between them lighter, bonded by the promise of discovery.
The metal lock of the underground storeroom creaked open, yielding more easily this time, as if welcoming them back. As Soma pushed the door, the familiar musty scent washed over them—dust, old wood, and the heavy echo of forgotten time. The air was cool, clinging to their skin as they stepped inside, the faint hum of silence wrapping around them like an old blanket.
Soma's eyes widened with awe. Even after his last visit, the room felt alive with secrets, its shadows hiding stories yet to be told. Savitri paused at the threshold, her gaze softening as it swept across the cluttered space. "This place," she whispered, her voice thick with memory, "your grandfather and I used to spend hours here. He never let me clean it fully—said some things should stay buried, waiting for the right moment to surface."
They set to work, moving as a team, their laughter echoing softly off the walls. They lifted heavy crates, the wood rough under their fingers, and unrolled faded maps, their edges curling like ancient scrolls. They folded yellowed cloths, dust rising in playful clouds, and dusted off books with spines etched in scripts Soma couldn't decipher. Each object seemed to hum with a story—an ancient dagger with intricate inscriptions that Savitri said came from a forgotten market in Morocco, a glass jar filled with shimmering blue sand from a distant desert, a rusted compass whose needle spun aimlessly, defying north, which made Soma giggle as he tried to "fix" it.
Savitri's voice wove through the work, bringing the artifacts to life with tales that made Soma's heart swell. "Your grandfather traded a silver coin for this idol in Peru," she said, holding up a chipped clay figure, her smile fond and wistful. "And this," she gestured to a tattered scarf, "he grabbed it while escaping a sandstorm in Turkey. Nearly didn't make it—came home looking like a skeleton." Soma listened, rapt, the storeroom transforming into a world of wonder, each item a piece of his grandfather's wild, untamed life, a bridge to the man he'd never met but felt closer to with every story.
Hours passed like minutes, the clock on the wall ticking unnoticed. After more than three hours, they reached the far wall, hidden behind stacked furniture and dusty trunks. Soma's arms ached, but his excitement burned brighter than ever, the earlier confrontation fading like a bad dream in the glow of this shared moment. Savitri gasped, her hand pausing mid-motion. "There…" she said, pointing, her voice soft with recognition. "That painting. Can you bring it down, Soma?"
He followed her finger to a rectangular wooden frame, half-hidden behind a pile of crates, its edges untouched by time. Climbing onto a creaky stool, Soma carefully lifted it down, the wood cool and surprisingly light in his hands. It wasn't overly heavy, but it felt… significant, like holding a secret. He handed it to Savitri, his heart thumping with curiosity.
She took a cloth and began wiping away layers of dust, her movements gentle, almost reverent. As the image emerged, her eyes softened, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. "This…" she said, "was your grandfather's favorite painting."
Soma leaned closer, his breath catching. The canvas was breathtaking. Two enormous mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks glistening with white snow under a vibrant sky. Below, endless green meadows stretched, dotted with tiny yellow and red flowers, their colors vivid even in the dim light. Above the mountains hung two suns—one a warm, vibrant orange, casting a golden glow across the scene, the other larger, stark white, pulsing with an eerie, cold brilliance.
At first, Soma thought the white orb might be the moon. But it wasn't. It shone with its own light, brighter and larger than the orange sun, giving the scene an unsettling beauty. *Another sun,* he thought, a shiver running through him, his mind whirling with possibilities.
"This doesn't look like Earth," Soma murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, a sense of otherworldly wonder settling over him.
Savitri nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the frame's worn edges. "Yes," she said, her smile tinged with nostalgia. "Your grandfather was very secretive about it. He said he found it in South America… in a thousand-year-old temple. But that's all he'd ever tell me. Once, an old Chinese man offered him a fortune for it, but he refused—not only to sell, but to even show it to outsiders."
Soma reached for the painting. "Can I hold it?" he asked, his voice hushed with reverence.
"Be careful," Savitri warned. "The edges are sharp."
He took the frame carefully, its weight settling in his hands like a promise. The painting felt alive, not just an image but a window, a glimpse into something beyond. The orange sun warmed his thoughts, evoking home and evening skies, but the white sun chilled him, its cold light unnatural, almost forbidding. *Could it really be another world?* he thought, his heart racing. *Who painted this? How did Grandfather find it? And why keep it so hidden?*
He turned the frame over, searching for a clue. No signature. No label. Just the rough grain of old wood, silent as the grave.
"Grandma," he said softly, "this isn't Earth. I'm sure of it. And there's no signature either…"
Savitri chuckled, a playful twinkle in her eye, though a hint of something deeper—perhaps unease—lingered. "Then maybe it's a painting of a different world," she said, half-teasing, half-wistful, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken questions.
Soma grinned, but a quiet curiosity burned in his chest, sharp and insistent. What if it really was a different world? A memory, a glimpse, a secret his grandfather had carried to his grave—one that now felt like it was meant for him. As he stared deeper into the canvas, he could almost feel a pull, as if the white sun were whispering to him, drawing him toward an unknown horizon.
Savitri glanced at her watch and gasped. "Oh no! It's already 7:30 PM! We lost track of time completely!" She gently took the painting from Soma's hands, propping it against the wall with care. "Quick, Soma. Go take a bath—fifteen minutes! Then come straight to the dinner table. I've got food ready."
Soma blinked, the last three hours gone in a flash, leaving him dazed but fulfilled. He nodded, dashing toward the bathroom, the painting's image seared in his mind. As warm water washed over him, he stared at the tiled wall, lost in thought. Two suns. Snowy mountains. Red and yellow flowers. A secret temple in Central America. A grandfather who brought home pieces of other worlds.
Something stirred deep in his bones—a sense of destiny unfolding, a doorway cracking open to mysteries that could heal or unravel everything he knew. But as he dried off, a faint unease crept in: what if some secrets were meant to stay buried? What if uncovering them invited dangers his grandfather had fought to keep at bay?