The End

Pronounced Guilty delves into second chances and societal redemption. Through the intertwined journeys of Vijendra, Dushyant, and Anusuya—each grappling with loss and stigma—it questions the rigidity of the legal system and our labels of "criminal." A powerful narrative advocating humane reform, it inspires empathy, action, and belief in new beginnings.

Whenever I read these words on the screen after watching a movie, I begin analyzing the theme, the characters, and especially the what-ifs: What if this had happened instead of that? Something similar occurred to me after I finished reading the book Pronounced Guilty.

The book must have ended, but my thoughts refuse to call it the end. Because the book speaks of second chances, my mind is busy conjuring up the second part of this novel. What if we don’t label criminals with the tag “The End”? What if prisons are not the end of one’s dreams and aspirations—dreams forgotten in the pursuit of crime? What if the crime itself is merely a misguided attempt to achieve those dreams? And what if we told those who have erred that after every end, there is always a beginning?


Vijendra, an ex-convict, is on a mission to change the lives of convicts and address the inhumane conditions prevalent in our jails. He ropes in Dushyant, a high-profile criminal lawyer, to join his endeavor. Their paths intersect with Anusuya, a psychotherapist, and together, the three embark on a journey of redemption, reformation, and relaxation of laws—the three R’s of second chances.

What is remarkable about these three characters is that each of them has experienced an ending.

  • For Vijendra, as an ex-convict, it is the end of living a normal life as a responsible citizen. People easily target him as a criminal and scapegoat whenever suspicion arises. Conspiracies are hatched to frame him, even when he tries to work sincerely.
  • Dushyant has lost his only son. His life lacks a goal, mission, or purpose beyond earning money and fame. He trudges through life, unfulfilled and disillusioned.
  • Anusuya, grieving the loss of her husband Vinu, struggles with the void left by years of companionship. When the prison reform movement appoints her to its panel, Anusuya finds an opportunity to rebuild herself and begin anew.

The story challenges us to reflect on the shortcomings of our legal system. Why do we divide ourselves into “the pious ones,” loved by God and society, and “the cursed ones,” condemned to rot in living hells? The boundaries we draw, the walls we erect, and the labels we impose often turn people into hardened criminals. We treat their mistakes as irredeemable blunders and shut them out of society. Their path to redemption becomes an arduous, thorny journey.

The book emphasizes the need for humane treatment for those behind bars. While it does not excuse crime, it advocates for offering second chances after the necessary punishment has been served.


From a writer’s perspective, I marvel at the author’s restrained and controlled storytelling. Despite the presence of many characters, the narrative delves deeply only into those with a significant impact on the story. This ensures that, as a reader, I remain focused on the plot and its development rather than being overwhelmed by unnecessary details. The limited backstory and concise descriptions prevent the narrative from feeling like a crowded railway platform.

The protagonists naturally rise above the secondary characters and speak for themselves. The author doesn’t forcefully point out who the hero is—you are free to choose your own.


The story maintains a consistent pace, though it ebbs and flows as needed. At times, it meanders to allow you to absorb the nuances of human nature. When sensitive themes arise, the narrative slows, giving you time to reflect, only to pick up speed again to build toward the climax. In the final chapters, the pace dips once more, immersing you in the complexities of human behavior.

The alternating perspectives of Dushyant, Anusuya, and Vijendra enrich the storytelling. Their voices are distinct, so much so that even without dialogue tags, you can discern who is speaking.


Though the setting is fictional, it carries a strong sense of reality. The rehabilitation center between Pune and Mumbai feels convincingly real. The scenes—from the McDonald’s parking lot where Vijendra parks his employer’s car to Anusuya’s house, where she converses with her late husband—are vivid and grounded. The descriptions are simple yet realistic, with no attempts to romanticize or embellish.


For me, Dushyant stands out. I love how he transitions from being a grey, self-absorbed figure to someone with a golden heart. The dapper advocate, with his tough exterior and professional demeanor, had me rooting for him. I wanted him to find closure, but then again—does closure signify an end?

If you ask me who the real hero is, I’d say it’s the story itself. The sheer determination behind its writing won my heart. This book doesn’t aim to entertain; it aims to inspire. It moved me to take action—to do my best to offer opportunities to those society has relegated to “The End.”


And now, let me ask you: Do you believe in the end? Is there such a thing as a true, definitive end?

They say where there is termination, there is also initiation. Let us find that point of initiation—the point where we include those suffering in the dark, dingy cellars of life. After all, don’t we all deserve a second chance?


Aparna Salvi Nagda

Dr. Aparna Salvi Nagda is a consulting homeopath by profession and writer by passion. The Labyrinth Of Silence is her first full-length novel while previously she published Not So Grave, a novella, on Kindle. You can reach out to her at aparnanagda04@gmail.com

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