They called him 'Ghumya'—the silent one—not because he had nothing to say, but because the world had already decided he wouldn’t be heard. In every nod, every lowered gaze, there was a history of humiliation carried like second skin. His silence wasn't emptiness—it was resistance, coiled and quiet. In a world where caste speaks louder than truth, Ghumya becomes both a name and a sentence.