The assassin, now carrying the weight of two deaths (the politician and the innocent Malli) plus a child, needed a temporary hiding place. He decided to drop the boy at his grandparents' remote village. One night. No strings.
"Arrest me," he said. "But let them keep believing he came home." The trial was quiet. The assassin gave a full confession, except for one thing: he never revealed the family’s real Pardhu was just a lost, scared child who had used him. The family, in turn, testified that the stranger had brought them more love in two months than their real blood had given them in fifteen years. athadu
He stayed.