Five Years Ago
1894, Dhaka, Bengal Presidency
It was the fourteenth day of their tour when Alice arrived in Dhaka with her family. At just five years old, she was a quiet child, carrying the weight of neglect from her father, who refused to acknowledge her as his own. His love and attention were reserved for his three-year-old son, leaving Alice an outsider within her own family.
That day, she accompanied her father to a temple, unaware that it would be the last time she would see him. As she marvelled at the unfamiliar sights, he quietly slipped away, abandoning her in an unknown land.
At first, Alice waited, believing he would return. But as minutes stretched into hours, the reality of her abandonment sank in. Panic set in—her small frame trembled, her eyes burned with unshed tears, and her heart pounded in her chest. Strangers passed by, throwing curious glances at the lost foreign girl, but no one stopped to help.
As dusk fell, a man approached her. He had warm brown eyes filled with kindness and a simple dhoti wrapped around his lean frame. He knelt beside her, speaking in a soft, unfamiliar tongue—Bengali.
"What's your name? What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice gentle in Bengali.
Alice didn't understand a single word. Her body tensed, and she shrank away from the unknown man, her fear intensifying at his foreign presence.
Sensing her fright, the man reached into his pouch and pulled out a round, golden sweet. He extended it to her with a reassuring smile. "Laddu," he said simply, his voice as comforting as the scent of the prasad he offered.
Hunger gnawed at her tiny stomach, and the warmth in his gaze softened the fear gripping her heart. Hesitantly, she took the sweet and bit into it. The burst of sugary goodness melted on her tongue, offering an odd sense of comfort in the alien world she found herself in.
The man, introducing himself as Arjun Chatterjee, took her home with him. His house was modest, yet it exuded warmth. He lived alone, but he never let Alice feel unwelcome. He spoke endlessly in Bengali, recounting tales of his homeland, the struggles of his people under British rule, and the world he hoped to change. Alice didn't understand a word, but she found solace in his presence.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. A year passed, and in that time, Alice had begun to understand Bengali, just as Arjun had picked up bits of English for her. Though they came from different worlds, they had become family—one formed not by blood, but by an unspoken bond of trust and care.
For the first time in her young life, Alice had found a home.