Prologue

High Court, Calcutta.

October 2019.

The black Innova squealed its tyres in front of the great red and white edifice. Almost immediately, there were correspondents all but clasping the car and wailing their lungs out. The rear door of the car unlocked to a volley of flickers. Rejecting all the commotions, Zubeida squinted at the flag fluttering tall at the top of the structure. Seizing a thick breath, she let herself be twitched and pulled into the main hallways. The High Court had constantly made her feel how tiny she was, and how enormous the commitment she hauled was. The correspondents continued to make commotion, and Zubeida did not earn any attempt to pay them any attention. With her chauffeur at one side and her secretary on the other side, she confidently strode towards her destination. Her gazes kept flashing towards the red and blue files her secretary assisted onto.

Her chunky platform heels clicked and clacked on the glossy marble as she strode forward. The Calcutta High Court was a colossal edifice that has witnessed a lot of events unwrap and unfold. Once known as the High Court of Judicature at Fort William, this structure has glimpsed ordinances, reasonable and illegal, being passed on to the ones who seek for it since it was 1862. Walter Granville imitated the image of Cloth Hall at Ypres, Belgium, when he first sat down to draw what would later be known as the altar of justice in and around Calcutta. One of the ancient benches in India, this massive building was where her client sought justice. Zubeida could only strive. She let a prayer escape her lips as she hurried through the long and contrarily mysterious corridors, with oddly-angled silhouettes looming over her.

At the apex of the aisle, there were women with their mouths covered. For Swara. Swara is one of the million cases where India could not ensure the safety of their daughter. The banners and signs were stern, and few caught her eyes- "Who is next? Me?" and " She raised her voice, we raised arms". She chuckled at the woman but got no smile in return. You forget to titter when you lose a part of your life when you lose a chip of your family to atrocities. Seizing in the vigour from the mob, she made her way upwards and eventually entered the courtroom. The first day of the prosecution was the leverage all advocates expect because a **** case is never given as much importance compared to other cases filed by people of money. Delaying would only mean she was forfeiting, and it was her experience speaking. Her attempts to save innumerable other households from their miseries have been fruitless in the past, as time tumbled on, they were forced to negotiate for money. How cruel could one soul be, offer bankrolls after raping a minor and mentally ravaging an entire family?

She looked around and found that there were not many people present at the court. Swara's parents were sitting on the first bench and bestowed her a cursory nod. All of their hopes were hooked on her. This case was going to be tough, tougher than all the other lawsuits she had fought before, because this time, she would be up against her guru.

Zubeida was skim reading her competent speeches and remarks that kept her wide awake for nights when her preacher or by the great epic, Dronacharya walked in. Zubeida bent and touched his feet.

"Ayushmaan bhava! May you win."

" You bless me to win, even when I'm against you?"

"My child, even in The Mahabharata, Drona had blessed the Pandavas, fighting against his army, and it was out of love and mutual respect."

Zubeida realised she had a lot to learn, a long way to go. But for now, she must become the Shikhandi who was born again to defeat Bhishma and bring victory to the Pandavas.

Standing tall on her stilettos, her lengthy black robe kissing the floor accordingly, she seized a view of the courtroom. She forcibly tugged the feeling of loneliness away. She was not alone, she had her sisters with her. That prompted her to switch off her mobile. She took out her smartphone and scrolled through the notifications, there were tagged posts with hashtags '#JusticeForSwara' and wishes of good luck. Zubeida hastily responded to a few of them and eventually freed the image of her sisters. The smiling ferocious beauties. Just then, a message popped up. It was Ashtami.

"Sam betrayed us. Going down, but still strong. We'll give them the fight of their lives. Make sure you win, for us, for Swara, and all the women across the country."

Her heart dodged a beat, it felt deserted inside. This could not happen, that was insane. Tears blurred her vision, and with fire raging inside her, she wiped them away as the jury banged the gavel.