Brihannala

The next morning, Archana dressed in yellow.
A soft yellow half-saree, a maroon blouse and matching skirt.
Everything else followed the same quiet care she had developed over the months—matching bangles, small jewellery, jasmine, kajal, bindi and the familiar black-bead chain with the location tag resting against her chest.
She looked at herself briefly before leaving.
Then she went downstairs.
The morning routine was already waiting.
By the time she left for college, the house was in order.
The first half of the day passed normally.
There were lectures.
Notes.
Assignments.
A little project work.
And, as usual, the boys kept their distance.
The girls were different.
They still watched her.
But something had changed since yesterday.
There was curiosity now.
Not merely mockery.
During the internal break, Archana went to the restroom.
Ten minutes later, she returned.
This time, nobody was waiting outside.
She entered the classroom.
It was almost empty.
Archana walked to her usual seat in the last row.
Then she noticed something on her desk.
A cover.
She stopped.
For a moment, she simply stared at it.
Then she smiled.
“Again?”
By now, she knew the routine.
Someone would leave something.
There would be a letter.
And usually there would be some humiliating joke attached to it.
She picked up the cover.
Her first thought was absurdly practical.
What haven't they given me yet?
She almost laughed.
“Only sanitary pads are left.”
She shook her head at herself.
Then she opened the letter.
There was no insult.
No vulgar joke.
No sarcastic message.
Just one word.
Written in large letters on a blank sheet of paper:
Sorry.
Archana stared at it.
The handwriting was unmistakably feminine.
She read it again.
Sorry.
Nothing else.
She looked inside the cover.
A large premium Dairy Milk bar.
Worth nearly ₹500.
A single expensive bar rather than several small chocolates.
And beside it was a pink rose.
Archana's expression changed.
She picked up the rose first.
Looked around the empty classroom.
Then, almost unconsciously, placed it in her hair.
She touched it once.
A tiny smile appeared.
Then she turned her attention to the chocolate.
Immediately, suspicion returned.
She examined the packaging carefully.
She looked for a broken seal.
Nothing.
She checked the edges.
Nothing.
She held it up against the light.
No holes.
No cuts.
No signs that anyone had tampered with it.
She carefully opened the wrapper.
Then the silver foil.
Still nothing.
Archana examined the chocolate again.
Finally, she broke off the first row.
She looked at the small piece in her hand.
For some reason, she hesitated.
Then she put it into her mouth.
She stopped.
Her eyes widened slightly.
The expression that crossed her face was so genuine that nobody watching would have believed it was an act.
She chewed slowly.
Then smiled.
It was almost the expression of a child tasting something wonderful for the first time.
The truth was even simpler.
It had been months since she had eaten chocolate.
Not because she hated it.
Not because she had taken some vow.
She simply hadn't spent money on things like that.
And nobody at home had thought to buy one for her.
She closed her eyes for a second.
The chocolate melted slowly.
She enjoyed every bit of it.
Then she opened her eyes and immediately looked at the remaining bar again.
She broke another tiny piece.
This time she smiled before eating it.
When she finished, she carefully wrapped the rest back in the silver foil.
Then the outer wrapper.
Then placed it back in the box.
She put the box inside her bag.
Only after wiping her mouth did she sit down again.
Her expression returned to normal.
As though nothing had happened.
What Archana didn't know was that several girls had seen everything.
One of them had placed a mobile phone inside her bag earlier, positioned so that only the camera lens remained visible.
They had accumulated dozens of little recordings over the months.
Some had been made for cruel reasons.
Some had been jokes.
Some had been sent around the group with laughter.
But this one was different.
Nobody was laughing.
They watched Archana examine the chocolate suspiciously.
They watched her check the seal.
They watched her inspect the silver foil.
And then they watched her taste it.
The transformation in her face was astonishing.
The moment she realized it was simply chocolate.
The tiny smile.
The shyness.
The almost reverent enjoyment of something so ordinary.
One girl covered her mouth.
Another whispered,
“Oh my God.”
Someone else typed into the group:
Look at her face.
Another replied:
She really hasn't eaten chocolate in months.
The first girl wrote:
Why did that make me happy?
Nobody answered.
They simply watched the recording again.
And again.
There was something deeply uncomfortable about it.
This wasn't the Arjun they remembered.
The old Arjun would have bought an entire box without thinking.
Probably eaten one piece and forgotten the rest existed.
This person had treated one chocolate bar as though it were precious.
And when she thought nobody was watching, she had reacted with complete honesty.
No attitude.
No performance.
No concern about what anybody thought.
Just happiness.
One girl finally typed:
Who is this person?
Another answered:
I don't know anymore.
And someone else wrote:
Maybe this is actually Arjun.
That message stayed on the screen.
Nobody made a joke.
At the end of the day, the HOD called Archana.
When Archana entered the room, she smiled.
“Everything is fine now, ma'am?”
The HOD smiled.
“I think so.”
Archana looked at her suspiciously.
Then the HOD said,
“You're glowing today.”
Archana's eyes widened.
“Ma'am!”
The HOD winked.
Archana laughed.
The HOD immediately closed the door.
“Don't let anyone see me say things like that.”
Archana laughed again.
Then the HOD became serious.
“There is something I want to ask you.”
“Ask.”
“But don't misunderstand me.”
Archana smiled.
Yes, ma'am. Please, HOD, get some money from her bag and put it in her hand
Archana didn't take it the wrong way; she looked at the HOD and asked for all of the money in her bag
She took out all the cash from here with a happy smile and gave it to Archana.
Archana accepted it.
But instead of putting it into her bag, she carefully placed the notes in the edge of her pallu.
The HOD watched curiously.
Archana gently placed the pallu over the HOD's head.
“Ma'am, just stay like this for a moment.”
The HOD obeyed, half amused and half confused.
Archana quietly recited a short prayer she had learned from Revathi.
She then gathered the money near herself for a moment, continued the prayer, and returned it to the HOD.
“Keep some of it in your pooja room.”
The HOD listened.
“Some in your bag.”
She nodded.
“And some in your locker.”
“Why?”
Archana smiled.
“According to the tradition I was taught, keeping money in different places like that is supposed to invite prosperity and prevent everything from being lost in one place.”
The HOD looked at the notes.
“And you don't need any?”
Archana shook her head.
“Why should I?”
“It's money.”
“I have enough for what I need.”
She paused.
“If you really want to do something for me, feed somebody who needs food.”
The HOD smiled.
“That would make you happier?”
“Yes.”
Then the HOD looked at her carefully.
“I'm still worried about something you said yesterday.”
Archana knew immediately.
“About becoming a hijra?”
“Yes.”
Archana laughed softly.
“Ma'am, I don't know.”
“You genuinely don't?”
She shook her head.
“Only Krishna knows.”
The HOD frowned.
“Krishna?”
“The Lord.”
“Oh.”
Archana smiled.
“Maybe he knows what is happening to me.”
The HOD laughed.
“You really think Krishna is going to come and rescue you?”
Archana's expression became playful.
“If Duryodhana had trouble, Karna would come because they were friends.”
The HOD nodded.
“And if Arjun is in trouble?”
“Krishna.”
“Exactly.”
Archana pointed toward herself.
“So if this Arjun is in trouble, Krishna will come.”
She paused.
“Even if I somehow become Brihannala.”
The HOD laughed.
“You've already thought that far?”
Archana grinned.
“Maybe.”
Then she became quiet.
“Whatever happens, I don't think I should be afraid.”
The HOD looked at her for a long moment.
She still didn't know whether Archana was joking, whether she genuinely believed her future was changing, or whether she was simply using mythology to give herself courage.
Perhaps it didn't matter.
Because underneath all of it was something the HOD understood perfectly.
Archana was no longer asking:
“Why is this happening to me?”
She was beginning to ask:
“Whatever happens, how do I face it?”
And somehow, that was a much stronger question.