(Part 2/2) "The death of my daughter remained hidden from me for almost 4 years. I was away from home, toiling to make ends meet while trying to save some money to send it to my wife back home. On top of that, I had a loan that I took for my daughter's marriage that weighed on my shoulders.
The day I returned, the bus conductor told me that my destination has arrived. I told him it was not where I was getting off. He insisted that it was Bandipur and that my stop had arrived. The place looked and felt different to my eyes. There were wire barricades all around. I had returned after 4 years and the town had become unrecognizable. As I was walking towards where my hut was, a neighbour came calling and told me that my family had moved elsewhere. I was surprised that I was not told about this. As I followed him, I could see my wife and my grandchildren come towards me, running and crying. I hugged them all. I had missed them too and it felt good to have everyone surround me. But my wife would not stop crying. I tried to comfort her. 'I am back now, everything is going to be okay'. But she did not stop crying. I remember she was not able to control herself. I finally learned what had happened. I found out that my daughter has died. I understood that the tears that flowed from my wife's eyes were not out of happiness of seeing me but from the deep wound in her heart caused by the loss of our daughter.When her tears dried, my wife explained to me how they had to abandon their house and moved due to the fear of the army and the Maoists. But I wanted to return to the house I had built with my blood and sweat. I had the memories of my old days and the memories of my daughter. Once I was able to patch the walls, I cried some more. I just wished I could have bid her farewell properly. With time I understood why my wife did not disclose the tragedy of my daughter's death. It would mean I would leave work and return home and with no one working it would add to the existing financial distress we have been facing all our lives. Even today, we carry an open wound inside our hearts that will never heal.
Every day I ask myself - 'What was her fault? What was the fault of her unborn baby?' "
