I was sitting in the veranda of our house, built with coconut tree leaves touching the steel collars around my neck, thinking about the problems I didn't want to face—my brother, my upcoming birthday, and how our lives had recently changed course.

Yesterday, I overheard my father scolding my brother. "You're going too far! Think before you act. Do you want to implicate your younger brother?". My father Chola chekavar was a very strict man who follows tradition

I was outside, but since our house is made of coconut leaf fibers, there are small cracks between the walls, just enough for me to hear what they were saying. I couldn't help but wonder what they were talking about so secretively. At that moment, my mother, who had just returned from work, saw me leaning against the wall.

"Aromal, what are you doing? Are you making a hole in the house? its too hard to close these holes and you are making more" she asked.

"No, Amma," I replied, jerking back suddenly, as though I'd been caught doing something I shouldn't. I hadn't been careful enough. She gave me a glance but went inside without saying anything more.

Once she was gone, I pressed my ear back to the wall and strained to hear the conversation again, but this time, there was only silence. That night, I couldn't shake my curiosity. During dinner, I finally asked, "Amma, Appa, what did brother do? Did he do something wrong?"

My mother's hand froze in mid-air as she served rice to the banana leafe . She didn't look at me. "Finish your food," she said softly, as though trying to avoid the question.

Unsatisfied, I pushed further. "But Amma, why won't anyone tell me? What's going on?"

My father, who had been eating quietly, put his spoon down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. His eyes met mine, weary but firm. "You're not old enough to understand yet," he said. "When the time is right, you will know."

"But I'm turning fifteen tomorrow," I argued. "I'm not a kid anymore!"

At that moment, my brother, who had been sitting silently until now, slammed his cup onto the table, spilling water everywhere. "Enough," he snapped, glaring at me. "Stop asking questions you don't need answers to."

The sharpness in his voice stung. Amma glanced at him, alarmed, and Appa shot him a stern look, but neither of them said anything. The air around us felt heavy, thick with unspoken tension, as if some hidden truth lingered just out of reach.

I ke

pt quiet for the rest of the meal, frustration bubbling inside me. I realized that if I asked directly, I would never get the answers I wanted. There was more to this than they were letting on.

Aside from worrying about my brother, something else weighed on my mind: starting next week, I'd have to pay the blood tax. Now that I was turning fifteen, I was no longer exempt. In Dravida, the laws are strict. Break one, and the punishment is severe—sometimes even death.