Chapter 11: Digging Into the Past

Anaya was led into the small clinic by her father, Anil Deshmukh, to be examined by an elderly doctor.

Medical technology in this era wasn't advanced. Diagnosis depended almost entirely on a doctor's eyes and years of experience.

The elderly doctor carefully studied Anaya's pale face complexion, checked her pulse, listened to her heartbeat with a stethoscope, and measured her blood pressure. Then, he asked her a few basic questions. His brows furrowed deeper with each step of the examination.

Finally, he put down his instruments and looked gravely at Anil, who was already looking tense. "This girl's body is extremely weak."

Hearing this, Anil's heart clenched. "Doctor, what do you mean?"

The doctor sighed, his voice laced with concern. "She's severely malnourished, her body is completely drained. Years of physical exhaustion have left her with internal damage. Her blood pressure is low, and her heart is weak. There's a clear deficiency of essential nutrients. If she continues like this, her lifespan will be shortened."

Anil's breath hitched. His hands clenched into fists. "What?" His voice was hoarse. "Doctor, please… please be honest. How bad is it?"

The doctor gave Anaya a sympathetic glance. "If she doesn't start getting proper nutrition and rest, I won't lie to you—there's a risk of permanent organ damage. And more importantly, she's mentally exhausted. She's young, but her mental state is that of someone carrying immense burdens. This level of emotional suppression is dangerous."

Then, turning to Anaya, he softened his tone. "Beti (Indian word for -Daughter), you're still so young. You shouldn't be carrying so much sadness in your heart."

Anaya blinked at him, momentarily taken aback.

The doctor's gaze sharpened again as he looked at Anil. "And you, as a father, how could you let her reach this state? You cannot neglect your child like this, even if it's a girl, all should be treated as Equal, whether it's a Boy or a Girl, No matter what!" His voice carried a deep reprimand.

Anil felt like he had been slapped. Guilt burned inside him, spreading like wildfire. He knew she had suffered, but hearing it from the doctor made it all the more real. His daughter had been starved, overworked, neglected. And it was all because of the terrible mistake fifteen years ago. Because he had let his real daughter grow up in another man's home—a home that had destroyed her.

His hands trembled. He wanted to say something, anything, but what could he say? That he was sorry? That he hadn't known? That if he could turn back time, he would tear apart the heavens to bring her home? And even when the Doctor thinks wrong that he doesn't want a Girl, he still does not say anything. Because he is concerned about her health.

What use was regret now?

"I understand," Anil said, his voice thick with emotion. "Tell me what to do, Doctor."

The doctor sighed and wrote out a prescription. "These are herbal medicines. She needs to take them every day without fail. Also, if you can, give her jaggery water, malted milk powder, chicken soup, and eggs regularly. She needs strength."

Anil nodded firmly. "She will have everything she needs. I promise."

He had always known that Anaya's health wasn't great, but he never expected it to be this severe—to the point where it could shorten her life. His hands clenched in anger.

The Sharma family had the audacity to claim they had taken good care of her. This was their idea of 'nurturing' her?

His fury wasn't just directed at them but at himself as well. If only he and Seema hadn't made that mistake fifteen years ago—if only they had not taken home the wrong baby. Anaya should have grown up under their care, loved and cherished, instead of suffering all these years.

"It's good that you understand," the doctor said, his tone softening slightly.

He took Anaya's cold, small hand in his own. It was so thin, so fragile.

The doctor gave several instructions, which Anil absorbed attentively. Only when everything was noted did he finally lead Anaya outside.

All this time, Anil never let go of her hand.

"Anaya…" He wanted to say something, anything, to make this right. But his throat felt blocked.

She looked up at him, her dark eyes unreadable. He had the urge to kneel right there and beg her for forgiveness. Instead, he swallowed down his emotions and simply said, "Let's go buy your medicine. And then... we'll get you some malted milk powder."

Anaya nodded softly. She wasn't sure if she had imagined it, but just before her father turned away, she thought she saw the faint glimmer of tears in his eyes.

She glanced down at the rough, calloused hand holding hers. It was a worker's hand—worn from years of hard labour. And yet, it was warm. That warmth seemed to seep from his palm into her heart, bringing with it an unfamiliar feeling.

For the first time, she didn't pull her hand away.

________________________________________

At the hospital's dispensary, Anil collected five doses of herbal medicine before taking Anaya to the ration shop.

The shop was crowded, filled with people pushing and shoving, eager to buy whatever was available. Anil pulled Anaya through the throng and finally reached the counter.

"Excuse me, do you have malted milk powder?" he asked.

The woman behind the counter, around thirty years old, barely glanced at him. "Mom's Dairy brand, three rupees per can. Do you want it?"

"Yes. Give me four cans."

For the first time, the woman looked up, eyebrows raised. Buying one can be already considered a luxury—buying four was unheard of. But then, her eyes landed on Anil's clothes. A factory worker. Ah, that explained it. Some factory workers made decent money, enough to afford such things.

She handed him the cans. Anil pulled out a ten-rupee note and two single rupees coin. Twelve rupees—more than half a month's wages for many families.

Most of the Deshmukh family's money was handled by Seema. Anil's wages were usually given to his wife for household expenses. But this time, Seema had given him extra money before he left—specifically for Anaya's medical care, nutrition, and supplements.

Malted milk was an expensive commodity, something only a few could afford.

The bystanders who had overheard the conversation looked at Anil with a mixture of awe and envy.

The people around them stared.

"Twelve rupees, just like that?" someone whispered.

"Rich people don't think twice, do they?" another muttered.

"Must be nice to have that kind of money."

Of course, everyone knew malted milk was a great nutritional supplement—but knowing and affording were two different things.

Even Anaya was taken aback.

Father actually bought malted milk for me? I thought he was just saying it casually...

In her past life, the original Anaya had never tasted malted milk powder. Not once in the three years before her death. Forget malted milk powder—she hadn't even been allowed a cup of jaggery water.

Anil, carefully holding the cans, suddenly felt as if he had heard Anaya's voice. He turned toward her, puzzled.

"Anaya, did you say something just now?"

Anaya blinked. "No."

No?

Had he imagined it?

Shaking off the thought, he handed the malted milk cans to Anaya. "Here, hold these. Keep them in your room. Whenever you want some, just take it out and make yourself a cup. And if you finish them, tell me. I'll buy more for you."

She stared at him. This man… is really treating me as his daughter?

As they walked outside, eyes followed them.

The factory worker's daughter was clutching four tins of malted milk powder. People whispered, their voices a mixture of envy and admiration.

But Anil didn't care.

He hadn't just bought malted milk for her. He also bought soap, towels, a toothbrush, and other daily necessities. These were tied to the front of his bicycle.

Sitting on the backseat of Anil's bicycle once again, Anaya held the four cans in her arms.

His mind was on something else entirely.

_____________________________________________________

Their last stop was the police station.

However, this time, Anil didn't take Anaya inside.

"Anaya, wait outside and keep an eye on the bicycle and our things. I need to talk to Uncle Raj for a bit. I won't take long."

Anaya nodded obediently.

She had no idea why her father needed to go to the police station. Though curious, she didn't ask.

Inside, Anil met an old friend—Inspector Zafar Choudhary.

Years ago, during an operation, Zafar had been gravely wounded. He had collapsed in an isolated alley, bleeding out. If not for Anil, who had found him and rushed him to a hospital, he wouldn't have survived. By the time Zafar woke up, Anil had already left for work.

It had taken him months to track down his savior. When he finally did, he expressed his immense gratitude. As they got to know each other, they realized they shared similar principles and soon became close friends.

When he finally did, he expressed his immense gratitude. As they got to know each other, they realized they shared similar principles and soon became close friends.

This time, Anil had come to ask for his help.

"Zafar, I need you to investigate something for me."

Zafar leaned forward. "What is it?"

Anil clenched his fists. His voice was low, rough. "Fifteen years ago, my daughter was switched at birth. I want to know everything about it. And I want to know exactly how that bastard Sharma family treated my daughter all these years. Even everything about them since then"

Zafar's expression turned grim. "Consider it done."

Anil nodded. His jaw was tight, his chest burning with rage and regret.

This was just the beginning.

(End of Chapter)