Tannu Kumar was born on a scorching May afternoon in the narrow lanes of Shikohabad, a town best known for its stubborn summers and stubborn families. Her father, Hakim, a man of modest means and immense patience, remembers holding her tiny fingers for the first time and whispering silently, “May you never need to bend your back for anyone.” A Faridabad bride was buried by her in-laws in a very serious case.
Little did he know that, two decades later, his daughter would bend to family pressure so deeply that she would disappear six feet beneath the earth — quite literally.
A Marriage Made in Dowry Heaven
In India, weddings are grand spectacles — silk sarees, ten-course feasts, and a whispered ledger of what the bride brings along: the sacred dowry. Tannu’s marriage to Arun Singh from Roshan Nagar was supposed to elevate her family’s social standing. Hakim borrowed money, mortgaged ancestral land, and even pawned his mother’s bangles to meet the “small expectations” of the groom’s father, Bhoop Singh — a man whose mustache was longer than his patience.
On her wedding day, Tannu smiled shyly beneath the weight of a silk veil, heavy jewelry, and heavier dreams. But a year later, she was back at her father’s door, bruised in places even words couldn’t reach.
The Panchayat and the Pit
In rural Uttar Pradesh and Haryana, the panchayat is often considered more powerful than the law. When Tannu refused to return to her in-laws after repeated harassment for more dowry, Hakim went to the village elders. The panchayat, a circle of wise-looking men with smartphones tucked in their dhotis, declared, “It’s a family matter. The girl should return.”
And so she did — only to vanish for good this time.
Missing Person, Missing Sense
April 23rd was just another humid day in Faridabad when Arun Singh and Bhoop Singh summoned an earthmover. Neighbors assumed it was for a new water line or maybe an illegal room extension (which is more fashionable than legal ones anyway). They dug a ten-foot pit in broad daylight — the kind big enough to hide secrets that never speak.
The next day, a mason was paid to cover it up neatly. And by evening, the same family sat inside the Palla Police Station, wailing crocodile tears about Tannu’s sudden disappearance. She was mentally unstable, they claimed — conveniently unstable enough to disappear but not unstable enough to stop cooking and cleaning.
Hakim’s Fight and a Police Nap
Hakim, suspecting foul play, visited his in-laws — and found the suspiciously clean mound in front of the house. He poked the pit with a stick and his suspicions with the local police. But the officers, more interested in chai and a bribe or two, advised him, “Arre Hakim bhai, women run away sometimes. She’ll come back.”
It took him two months, countless visits to the station, and a few sympathetic local reporters for the story to become too big to ignore. By then, the truth had sprouted roots deeper than the pit.
Truth Unearthed, Justice Still Buried
On a muggy Friday morning, a police team arrived with an excavator. Hakim stood by, heart pounding, as mounds of mud revealed the body he had dreaded to find. Tannu’s remains were unearthed in front of the same house where she had once dreamt of a new life.
Her funeral was a quiet affair. Some distant relatives whispered, “Karma,” while others muttered, “Bad luck.” But Hakim knew it was neither karma nor luck — just a system that allows a woman’s worth to be measured in gold coins and kitchen utensils.
The Nation Reacts — For a Day
Local news channels pounced on the story. “Shocking Murder in Faridabad: Woman Buried in Front Yard!” screamed the tickers, sandwiched between an ad for fairness cream and breaking updates on a celebrity divorce.
Social media lit up with hashtags — #JusticeForTannu trended for precisely 12 hours, overtaken by a viral video of a politician dancing awkwardly at a wedding.
Meanwhile, Bhoop Singh and Arun Singh were taken into custody, interrogated, and offered watered-down tea by policemen who might or might not file the final charges before the next election cycle.
Hakim’s Lament, India’s Silence
Hakim sits today outside his small house in Shikohabad, sipping stale tea and staring at a faded wedding photo of Tannu. He has become an expert at giving quotes to journalists who visit him for a quick bite of tragedy.
“I gave them everything,” he says. “And they still buried her like a stray dog.”
He doesn’t cry anymore — tears have deadlines too.
The Broader Rot
Tannu’s story isn’t new. Every few weeks, a headline emerges: “Bride burned for dowry.” “Woman missing, later found dead.” “In-laws absconding after suspected murder.” If you read enough of these, they start to rhyme. Yet in drawing rooms and TV studios, we keep debating women’s empowerment while ignoring the fact that an empowered woman remains a burden unless the man’s family is ‘compensated’ handsomely.
And if that ‘compensation’ falls short, some men dig pits, and some policemen nap through it all.
A Pinch of Humour — Because How Else?
Indians have mastered the art of tragedy with a comedic twist. You can buy an overpriced dowry package, lose your daughter to domestic violence, and still hear the uncle at the corner tea stall say, “Beta, shaadi toh compromise hai. Sab adjust kar lo.”
In Tannu’s case, even the pit was adjusted. Had it been a few feet deeper, maybe no one would have found her. Maybe the missing person sign would have stayed fresh forever. Maybe the local cop could’ve slept even longer.
Where Do We Go From Here?
Until dowry dies and domestic abuse is treated as an emergency rather than a ‘family issue,’ India’s daughters will keep filling shallow graves while fathers like Hakim fight lonely wars against an apathetic system.
Maybe one day, a future daughter will bend her back only to lift herself up — not to hide in the soil she once called home.
Until then, dear reader, check under every pit in your neighborhood. Who knows what “missing” truths you might find?
Disclaimer
This story is based on publicly reported information and aims to highlight real societal issues through serious narrative and dark humour. It is not intended to offend but to spark dialogue on women’s safety and dowry practices in India. Readers are urged to exercise discretion.
For more hard-hitting and thought-provoking stories in a satirical way, read Peak View stories regularly!