Willingly Broken

Chapter 7: Becoming Mahalaxmi

Five months ago – Two months after the welding

The flat steel cage had become a permanent part of me. Every step, every bend, every time I sat or stood, I felt its heavy, cold presence between my legs. It no longer hurt as much, but the psychological weight was crushing.

That was when they decided it was time to erase Monish completely.

Lata declared one morning, “We can’t keep her named Monish in papers anymore. From today, we'll release her name as Mahalaxmi. And we are making it official.”

They went all out.

Using fake documents and heavy bribes, they created an entirely new identity for me. Charu (still secretly helping me) had already arranged most of the groundwork through backdoor agents.

The process took nearly three weeks and was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life.

First – Aadhaar Card
They took me to a small Aadhaar enrolment centre in a crowded area of Tambaram. I was dressed in a simple maroon saree, fully made up, little cleavage visible, glass bangles clinking. I had to stand in line for four hours as “Mahalaxmi, female, 26 years old.” When they took my fingerprints and iris scan, the operator looked at my smooth face and heavy breasts and smiled. “Beautiful sister,” he said. I blushed deeply and thanked him in my soft feminine voice.

Voter ID, PAN Card, Ration Card, Bank Accounts
One by one, they dragged me to every government office. I had to sign as Mahalaxmi everywhere. They even got me a community certificate showing me as belonging to a backward caste. Every time I stood in front of an officer and said, “My name is Mahalaxmi,” I felt a strange mix of shame and thrill.

They changed my passport too. The photo showed me with long hair, sindoor, bindi, and mangalsutra a perfect young Tamil woman

By the end of the third week, Monish Vijayan had almost completely disappeared from the system. Only my secret emergency trusts and hidden accounts (which they knew nothing about) remained under my old name.

They celebrated that night by making me cook a full feast wearing the heaviest silk saree while they drank and toasted “the death of Monish.”

I smiled through my tears and served them like an obedient maid.

Present Day – Ration Shop, Neelankarai

It was 9:45 a.m. and the line at the government ration shop was long and chaotic. The sun was already beating down mercilessly. I stood in the women’s queue wearing a simple light-pink cotton saree with a dark border. The pallu was tucked neatly at my waist, but sweat had already made it stick to my back and breasts. My mangalsutra pendant was nestled deep in my sweaty cleavage. glass bangles clinked on my wrists. Jasmine flowers wilted slowly in my hair.

I was holding my new shiny ration card that read:

Name: Mahalaxmi Murugan
Gender: Female
Age: 26
Husband’s Name: Murugan

The line moved slowly. Two aunties in front of me were gossiping loudly. Behind me, a young mother with a child kept pushing.

When my turn finally came, the ration officer a middle-aged man looked at me and asked, “Card?”

I handed over the card with both hands like a respectful wife. “Here sir.”

He scanned it, looked at my face, then at my breasts and mangalsutra, and nodded. “Mahalaxmi Murugan… 10 kg rice, 5 kg wheat, 2 litres oil, sugar…”

I collected everything in a big cloth bag, feeling the weight pull on my shoulders. The glass bangles kept chiming as I adjusted the heavy bag. Sweat rolled down my armpits and between my breasts. The flat steel cage tugged with every small movement, rubbing against my sensitive mound.

As I turned to leave, one of the older aunties looked at me and said with pity, “Poor thing… so young and already standing in ration line like a common maid. Your husband doesn’t take care of you?”

I lowered my head shyly, adjusting my pallu. “He works hard, aunty… This is my duty.”

The women around me nodded approvingly.

I walked out of the ration shop carrying the heavy bag, saree pleats swaying, anklets tinkling, mangalsutra swinging between my breasts, and the permanent steel cage reminding me with every step who I was now.

Mahalaxmi Murugan.
Driver’s wife.
Full-time maid.
Legal woman.

And still… I hadn’t stopped it.