Part 2 Chapter 7
This part dives into Indra’s family dynamics, starting with his mother, Tara. It explores her upbringing, the lessons she carried forward, and how these shaped the foundation of Indra’s world. I plan to upload chapters weekly, so stay tuned as the story unfolds.
Thank you for reading, and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts along the way!
Part 2: Roots of Us
1984
Chapter 7: Tara
Tara’s Song of Grief
Tara sat alone by the riverbank, her bare feet sinking into the soft, damp soil. The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, but she barely noticed. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, staring at the water that rippled with the breeze, its flow steady and unrelenting unlike her life, which had stopped the moment her father died.
Her father, the one person who had always been on her side, was gone. It had been three months since she buried him, yet the pain felt as fresh as the day she saw his lifeless body lowered into the earth. She had spent hours by his grave, whispering secrets to the silent headstone, as if he could still hear her. Some days, she stayed until the moon hung high in the sky, until her mother dragged her back home with harsh words and colder hands.
“Get yourself together, Tara,” her mother snapped one night, her voice trembling with both frustration and exhaustion. “Do you think sitting by that grave will bring him back? You have responsibilities now. You can’t waste your days crying like a child.”
But how could Tara explain that she felt like a child again? Lost, abandoned, helpless. Without her father, she had no one to protect her from her mother’s sharp tongue or her siblings’ jealous schemes. He had been her anchor, the one who saw her not as a rebel, not as a dreamer with foolish ideas, but as his Tara—the daughter he loved, the daughter he believed in.
When she was little, her father used to call her his “little songbird.”
“You’ll sing your way into the hearts of the world someday, Tara,” he’d tell her, his eyes crinkling with a warm smile. “And when you do, I’ll be in the front row, cheering the loudest.”
She used to believe him. She had dreams of standing on a stage, her voice filling the air, her heart soaring as the audience clapped and cheered. She’d imagine herself traveling the world, her songs bringing joy to people in faraway places. But those dreams felt like a cruel joke now. What good were dreams when the world was so harsh and unforgiving?
The weeks after her father’s death were a blur of grief and resentment. Her siblings, particularly her older sisters, had little patience for her mourning.
“Stop sulking,” one of them sneered one evening as Tara sat quietly in the corner of their shared room. “You’re not the only one who lost him, you know. We all did. You’re not special.”
Tara clenched her fists but said nothing. She knew why they were so cruel. They had always envied her closeness to their father, the way he treated her like she was the center of his world. But they didn’t understand how much she needed him. They didn’t know how empty she felt without him.
Her mother was no better. While she, too, mourned her husband, she seemed to channel her grief into anger—at Tara, at life, at everything.
“You’ve wasted enough time,” her mother said one morning, thrusting a broom into Tara’s hands. “If you can’t get into university, then you need to work. This family doesn’t have room for dead weight.”
Tara tried. She really did. She took the job as a cleaner in a nearby office building, waking up before dawn and returning home long after the sun had set. The work was grueling, and the pay was meager, but she endured it because she had no choice. She saved every penny she could, dreaming of a day when she might afford to take a course or learn a skill that could pull her out of the endless cycle of drudgery.
She found small moments of solace in music. After her shifts, she’d sit by the riverbank with her battered notebook, scribbling down lyrics and humming melodies to herself. Her voice, once vibrant and full of hope, was now tinged with sadness, but it was still hers. It was the one part of herself she refused to let go of.
One evening, as she sat by the river, a coworker named Suraya joined her. Suraya was older, with kind eyes and a quiet demeanor.
“You’re always out here,” Suraya said, sitting down beside Tara. “What are you thinking about?”
“Everything,” Tara replied softly. “My father, mostly. And how unfair life is.”
Suraya nodded, her gaze fixed on the water. “It is unfair. But we keep going. Because that’s all we can do.”
Tara sighed. “Sometimes, I think about running away. Just packing up and leaving this place. Starting over somewhere far away.”
“And then what?” Suraya asked gently. “What would you do once you’re there?”
Tara didn’t have an answer. She looked down at her hands, calloused and rough from hours of scrubbing floors, and felt a pang of shame.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just… I don’t want to be here. I don’t want this to be my life.”
Suraya’s words stayed with her in the days that followed. What would you do once you’re there? Tara didn’t know, but she wanted to find out. She saved enough money to enroll in a short clerical course, spending her evenings learning how to type and organize files. It wasn’t the glamorous life she had dreamed of, but it was a start.
When she finally got a job as an assistant clerk, she felt a flicker of pride. It was the first time in years that she felt like she was moving forward, however slowly. Yet, even as she built a life for herself, the emptiness lingered. Her father’s absence was a shadow that followed her everywhere, a constant reminder of what she had lost.
Late at night, when the world was quiet, Tara would lie awake and think of her father.
“Are you proud of me, Papa?” she whispered into the darkness. “I’m trying. I really am. But it’s so hard without you.”
She didn’t expect an answer, but in the silence, she imagined his voice, warm and steady as it had always been.
“You’re my little songbird, Tara,” he’d say. “Keep singing. No matter how hard it gets, keep singing.”
And so, she did. Even when her voice wavered and her dreams seemed out of reach, Tara kept singing. For herself, for her father, and for the life she still hoped to find.
1990
Tara’s Silent Heartbreak
Years passed, and the dream of singing faded like a distant echo. Tara’s days were consumed by work and caring for her sick younger brother, Azman, who had developed a chronic illness. She worked longer hours to afford his medicine, sacrificing her own needs to ensure he had what he required. The small victories—Azman smiling after a good day, or her mother expressing quiet gratitude—were enough to keep her going.
But as she approached her late twenties, her family began pressuring her to marry. “You can’t waste your life working forever,” her mother said sternly one evening. “You need a husband to take care of you.”
It was around this time that she met Arman.
Thank you for reading. Stay tune for the next chapters!!
Comments
Post a Comment