✧Happy Reading ✧

Patna City woke before the sun fully rose. The Ganga flowed quietly beside it, wide and patient, reflecting the soft amber of dawn. At the ghats, the city breathed,priests ringing bells with practiced devotion, women offering flowers and whispered prayers, boats slicing gently through the river's stillness.

Narrow lanes stretched awake, old houses, peeling paint, balconies heavy with history. Somewhere between the ghats and the crowded mohallas, a household was already alive with noise.

The Rao house buzzed with movement. Utensils clanged in the kitchen. Footsteps rushed up and down the stairs. Half heard instructions were thrown into the air and forgotten just as quickly. Everyone had work to do, yet nothing seemed fully done.

Siya descended the stairs tugging at her kurti, irritation clear on her face. The fabric hung looser than it should have.

"Maa," she complained, stopping midway, "yeh kya jhola pehanne diya hai?"

(Maa what's this sack you made me wear?)

Raavi looked up from her work, eyes narrowing instantly.

"Tum logon ko saare kaam mere hi sar daalne hote hain," she snapped. "Pehlay bola tha pehen kar dekh lo. Tab nahi suna. Ab is samay main kya karoon?"

("So now you notice? "You all put everything on my head. I told you to check it earlier. You didn't. And now, at this hour, what am I supposed to do?")

Before Siya could reply, Raavi waved her off.

"Go, your child is crying."

Siya huffed and stomped back toward her room, her footsteps echoing her frustration.

Raavi turned and stopped abruptly.

"Ab tu bandar ki tarah wahan kyun chadh gayi hai?" she demanded.

("And you, why are you climbing there like a monkey?)

At the doorway, a girl stood on her toes on the table, arms stretched high, carefully adjusting the flower garland drooping from the frame. Her face lit up at being noticed.

"Arey Maasi," she said proudly, "mala nikalne wali thi. Humne ekdum set kar diya."

("the garland was slipping. I fixed it perfectly.")

But as she stepped back to admire her work, her foot slipped. She landed hard on the floor, a sharp gasp escaping her as she clutched her hip.

"Hey Bhagwan!" Raavi rushed forward. "Tu jab bhi ek cheez sudhaarne jaati hai, khud chaar jagah chot lagwa leti hai. Kab sudhregi tu?"

("Oh god, You go to fix one thing and end up hurting yourself in four different manners. When will you ever learn?")

She helped the girl stand, muttering under her breath as she walked away. The girl remained there, rubbing her hip, silently wincing.

"Iski bhais ki aankh... itni zor ki lagi,"she complained to herself.

(Oh that hurts badly.)

Moments later, she wrapped her dupatta securely over her head, tucking every strand of hair inside and pinning it neatly, habit more than modesty.

Just then, Sujata entered.

"Tu abhi tak yahin kya kar rahi hai?" she asked sharply. "Gayi nahi?"

("Why are you still here? Why didn't you left yet?")

"Par kyun, Chachi?" the girl replied, dusting her hands. "Ladka dekh kar hi jayenge. Apni Diya ko aise hi thodi na kisi ke haath mein de denge."

("Why should I leave, Chachi?" I'll go after seeing the boy. We won't just hand over our Diya to anyone.")

"Tu yahin rahegi toh yeh rishta hona mushkil hai," Sujata muttered.

("You stay here and this alliance won't happen at all," )

"Sujata, shubh-shubh bolo," Raavi said from the kitchen, stirring a pot.

("Sujata, speak auspiciously)

"Sach keh rahi hoon," Sujata replied. "Isse dekhne ke baad wo ladka Diya ko dekhega hi nahi."

("I am speaking the truth. After seeing her, that boy won't even look at Diya.")

"Arey Chachi," the girl laughed, "aisa kyu bol rahi hain? Hum toh poori tarah covered hain, ek baal bhi nahi dikh raha. Kahengi toh muh bhi chhupa lenge."

She said with a little laugh.

("Chachi, what are you saying? I'm fully covered, no hair visible. If you want, I'll even cover my face.")

She reached for a carrot. Sujata immediately slapped her hand away. "Salad ke liye hai."

(It's for Salad)

The girl made a face.

"Khane do use," Raavi said calmly. "Ek se kuch nahi hoga."

("Let her eat one. One carrot won't ruin anything.")

Her face brightened. "Thank you, Maasi!"

"Tu bhale hi poori dhaki rehti ho," Sujata said while arranging utensils, "par teri yeh aankhein... itni teekhi hain ki kisi ko bhi bhatka sakti hain."

("You may cover yourself completely, but these sharp eyes of yours...one glance and anyone can lose his way.")

"Achha?" the girl teased. "Itni achhi hain kya humari aankhein?"

("Oh!! Are my eyes that beautiful?")

Raavi smiled softly, shaking her head.

"Tujhe sab mazaak lagta hai," Sujata muttered. "Kisi din inhi aankhon ke sadke koi chala jayega."

("You joke about everything. Some day someone will lose himself because of those eyes. And you line them with kajal day and night making it more pretty.")

"Aur din-raat kajal laga kar rehti hai, jisse aur chokhi lagti hai" she added.

"Sachhi, Chachi?" the girl grinned. "Itni tareef uff, kahi hum mumtaz to nahi jiske liye tajmahal bnawaya jaye"

(oh really , this much praise!! Whether I'mumtaj that tajmahal should be built for me )

"Kahin kisi din inhi aankhon ke chakkar mein tu khud kisi chakkar mein na pad jaaye," Sujata warned.

("You might land yourself in trouble someday because of them.")

"Oho Sujata," Raavi intervened gently, wiping her hands, "aise mat bola karo. Din mein ek baar Saraswati maa zubaan par aati hai, yaad hai na?"

("Oho, Sujata, don't say things like that. You know, Saraswati visits the tongue once a day.")

"Main ise kya hi bolun, Bhabhi," Sujata sighed. "Yeh dheet hai, Iske palle kuch nahi padta."

("I won't say anything, Bhabhi. She's too stubborn. Nothing gets through to her.")

"Chachi," the girl said cheerfully, wrapping her arms around Raavi from behind, "hum aapko Chachi isi liye bulate hain.Tana maarna, taang kheenchna, muh par humein hi bura-bhala bolna...ye sab Chachi ke gun hain aapne hain. Aur humari Maasi ke gun? Humein pyaar karna, humein daant se bachana."

("Chachi, I call you Chachi for a reason," the girl said cheerfully, wrapping her arms around Raavi from behind. "You have all the chachi qualities, taunting me, pulling my leg, scolding me openly. And my Maasi has all the maasi qualities..loving me and protecting me.")

Raavi laughed softly. Sujata turned her face away.

"Haan haan, main toh teri dushman hoon," Sujata muttered.

("Yes yes I'm your enemy")

"Arey nahi," the girl said instantly. "Aap toh humari pyari Chachi ho."

(No , you're my lovely chachi)

Suddenly, a voice rang out from the lane outside.

"Noori... Noori!"

The girl froze.

"Oh no," she groaned. "Hum toh bhool hi gaye,Ammi ne jaldi bulaya tha."

(oh no, I completely forgot that ammi had called me early)

"Thik hai, Maasi. Thik hai,Chachi. Shaam ko aayenge."

Instead of heading to the gate, she ran toward the wall, climbed it effortlessly, and jumped down to the other side.

(Okay chachi, okay masi, I'll come in the evening)

"Noori!" Raavi called after her. "Kitni baar kaha hai, darwaze se jaya karo! Chot lag jayegi!"

(Noori how many times I have told you to use the gate. You'll hurt yourself someday)

"Maasi, I'm alright!" Arshi called back, already inside her house.

Noori slipped inside her house, landing softly on the cool floor.

Her mother, Heena, was already there, pulling the bedsheets tight, her movements sharp, her silence loud. The moment she turned and saw Arshi, her eyes hardened.

"How many times have I told you not to roam around like this?" she snapped. "But no, tum sunogi tab na. You never listen to me."

She continued changing the bedsheets, anger laced with exhaustion.

"Ammi," Arshi said gently, trailing behind her, "they're not strangers, na?"

"You're leaving tomorrow," Heena said, throwing her hands in the air. "And you still haven't packed a single thing. At the last moment you'll panic, Ammi yeh chhoot gaya, Ammi who reh gaya!"

(Ammi I left this, I left that)

She stopped suddenly, her shoulders sagging.

"I'm fed up with you," she said, her voice breaking as she sat down at the edge of the bed. "You never listen. You always do what you want."

"Ammi...?" Arshi froze for a second before sitting beside her. She slipped an arm around her mother's shoulders. "Why are you crying? I'll pack everything," she said quickly, wiping her mother's tears with her dupatta. "Pakki baat. Ekdum pakka."

Heena took Arshi's hand in hers, gripping it tightly, as if afraid to let go.

"Tum samajhti kyun nahi ho, Noori," she said softly now, worry etched deep into her words. "Sab log jaise dikhte hain, waise hote nahi."

("Why don't you understand, Noori? People are not always the way they seem.")

Arshi smiled faintly and kissed her mother's forehead.

"Ammi, hum samajhte hain," she said. "Par kuch log achhe bhi hote hain... aap jaise."

(Ammi I understand, But some people are good too... like you.")

Heena's eyes softened instantly. She cupped Arshi's face, her thumb brushing over her cheek.

"Tu bahut bholi hai, Noori," she whispered. "Allah meri bachhi ki hamesha hifazat kare, bas."

(You're very innocent Noori. May Allah keep you safe, that's it)

"Haan haan," Arshi laughed lightly, standing up. "Jiski itni duayein dene wali Ammi ho, usse Allah Ta'ala achhe se hi rakhenge na."

("Well, when someone has a mother who gives so many prayers, Allah has to keep her safe, right?")

Heena shook her head, the worry still there, but lighter now.

"So, what would you like to eat?" she asked. "I'll make all your favourites today."

Arshi eyes lit up.

"Umm... biryani and chicken roast, please," she said eagerly.

Heena laughed despite herself.

"Alright, alright. You go and pack your things first. Till then, I'll cook your favourite meal," she said, turning toward the kitchen.

As Heena walked away, Arshi pulled out her suitcase and sat beside it for a moment, staring at the open lid, smiling, but with a quiet heaviness settling somewhere deep inside her chest.

Tomorrow was close.

After finishing a delicious meal, Heena and Arshi stepped out to buy a few important things. They moved from malls to small marts, buying clothes for Arshi, a few hijab dupattas, and edible items that Heena insisted were "necessary."

By the time they were done, evening had begun to settle in.

Arshi rode her scooty, her mother seated behind her. Both of them were in abayas, fully covered. At a red signal, Arshi stopped the scooty and sighed.

"Ammi, I'm not moving to Mars," she said lightly. "Why did we need so much stuff?"

"You don't know anything," Heena replied firmly. "You'll need it all. And if it were up to me, I'd give you everything I own."

Arshi smiled under her Abaya. Her heart softened.

She was waiting for the signal to turn green when her eyes caught something that made her blood boil.

A little girl, barely nine or ten, was selling pens by the roadside. Suddenly, a man shoved her aside impatiently. She fell, scraping her knees, her pens scattering across the road.

Heena was saying something from behind, but Noori didn't hear a word.

She parked the scooty immediately.

"Noori, what happened?" Heena asked, confused.

"Ammi, wait here for a minute," Arshi said and walked toward the girl, who was crying now. She helped her stand and gathered the pens, placing them gently in the child's hands.

Then Arshi turned toward the bike where the man sat, shamelessly watching.

("Abey oye, bhais ki aankh, sharam nahi aayi itni chhoti bachhi par hath uthate hue?")

"Hey!" she shouted. "Have you lost your mind? Don't you feel any shame pushing a child this small?"

The man looked startled.

"Excuse me?"

"Angrez ki chhatthi aulad, jab itna angrezi janta hai to thode se manners bhi seekh leta," Arshi snapped.

("Oh wow, You know English but not basic manners?")

His temper flared.

"Mind your own business," he said, starting his bike.

Before he could move, Arshi swiftly pulled out the keys.

"What nonsense is this?" the man shouted angrily.

"Badtameezi to abhi humne shuru bhi nahi ki hai, chup chaap is bachhi ke treatment ke paise nikalo aur use sorry bolo," she argued further.

("This? This is nothing. Now quietly pay for the child's treatment and apologize to her.")

"I'm not apologizing," he snapped, stepping forward. "Give me my keys or else...."

People began gathering around.

("Warna kya bey, huh? Chabhi toh Milne se rahi, aur dimag me jo gobar bhara hai usko nikal kar chup chaap paise de is bachhi ko,"she glared back)

"And if I don't?" Arshi challenged. "You won't get these keys back. Keep that garbage-filled brain of yours aside and do one decent thing, pay the child."

The man glared at her.

"I won't give a single rupee." He said reaching for his keys.

Arshi moved just out of his reach.

("Sade hue gobhi ke keede, akal to ghas charne gayi hi hai teri , tujhe bhi wahi bhej denge par usse pehle is bachhi ko chup chaap paise de de,)

"Your brain clearly went grazing somewhere. Either you pay up, or things will get worse."

"Noori, let's go," Heena tried to pull her back. "What are you doing?"

Arshi didn't budge.

At that moment, the man noticed traffic police approaching, the road was getting jammed.

"I didn't do anything," the man said quickly. "This girl is blocking my way." He tried to give a reason to Arshi.

("To ye road tere sasur ka hai jo ye nahi chal sakti ?")

"Oh really?" Arshi shot back. "Is this road owned by your family that she can't walk on it?"

"What's going on here?" the police officer asked.

"Sir," the man said immediately, "this girl is misbehaving with me. She forcefully took my bike keys."

"Sir," Arshi said firmly, "this man pushed that child, injured her, and is refusing to pay for it. He caused the damage."

"She's lying," the man protested.

"Then let's check the CCTV cameras," Arshi said calmly. "We'll see who's lying."

The man gulped.

"Sir... we'll just clear this," he muttered to the police.

"Finish it quickly and move," the officer said.

"Give her the money," Noori said, not breaking eye contact.

The man pulled out his wallet and handed over a two-hundred-rupee note.

"One thousand," Arshi said flatly.

The man stared at her, furious but helpless. He handed the money to the child.

"Now apologize to her," Arshi added.

Grinding his teeth, the man muttered, "Sorry," snatched his keys, and shot Arshi a venomous look.

"Next time, think before you argue," Arshi said evenly. "The truth never loses."

She turned away, adding loudly, "Bada aya sasur ka naati."

("What a disgrace.")

She looked at the child, the girl smiled at her "Thank you didi," the girl said.

"It's okay Baby. I would have gone with you for your treatment but my mother will scold me more."

Arshi said patting the girl's head.

She got back on her scooty and drove home.

The entire way, Heena scolded her.

"Do you even realize how reckless that was?" she said. "And the kind of language you use!"

"Okay, Ammi, enough," Arshi said softly as she parked outside their house. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

Heena muttered under her breath and walked inside.

Arshi stood there for a moment and sighed.

"If Ammi ever truly finds out the kind of words I actually use," she muttered to herself, "I'm as good as dead."

.

.

.

Two trucks tore down the highway, engines roaring, while a line of police jeeps chased them relentlessly.

In the lead vehicle sat a senior police officer, eyes fixed on the trucks ahead. The distance between them was closing, too fast, too close, when suddenly a gunshot rang out from one of the trucks.

The bullet struck the tyre of the police vehicle.

The jeep swerved violently, skidding across the road before finally coming to a halt. The police jeep behind it braked hard and stopped just in time.

Officers jumped out instantly.

"Sir, are you alright?" one of them asked urgently.

Manish stepped out of the vehicle, his jaw clenched. Instead of answering, he kicked the damaged tyre in frustration.Just then, his phone rang.

"Yes, sir?" he answered immediately.

"Manish," a sharp voice snapped from the other end. "Did you catch them or not?"

"Sir, we were about to...," Manish replied carefully.

"About to?" the senior officer roared. "I told you to hand this case over to him. But you insisted you'd handle it this time. And once again, once again, you've disappointed us!"

"I'm sorry, sir," Manish said through gritted teeth.

"Sorry?" the officer snapped. "I should have given this case to him from the start!"

"Sir, they're almost out of Agra," Manish tried to explain. "We can't..."

"You CAN'T, Manish," the voice cut him off coldly. "But he CAN." The call ended.

Manish lowered his phone slowly. His fists clenched, his eyes burning with rage.

"He's a bloody criminal," he muttered under his breath. "And one day I'll prove it. That day will be the end of him and his career."

The truck driver laughed loudly, mocking the police officer.

"They really thought they had us," he sneered. "We made fools out of them."

The trucks sped ahead.

Deep inside the jungle road, under the pale wash of moonlight, a Wrangler stood parked right in the middle of the road, blocking the way.

A man lay casually on its bonnet.

He was dressed in a white kurta, eyes closed, head resting against the jeep's front. His goggles lay loosely against his chest. One arm was folded behind his head, while a silver bracelet glinted around his other wrist. One leg rested lazily over the other, black boots gleaming under the moonlight.

A gun lay beside him, carelessly placed on the bonnet, as if it were just another accessory.

The trucks approached.

The drivers noticed him and began honking repeatedly.

"He's not moving," one driver said nervously.

"Kuuchal do," the other snapped, accelerating.

(Run over him)

As the truck came dangerously close, the man picked up his gun, without even opening his eyes.

A single shot rang out.The bullet shattered the truck's front mirror.

The driver slammed the brakes instantly, the vehicle screeching to a halt. The truck behind it stopped abruptly as well.

Furious, the drivers jumped down, shouting, but the words died in their throats.

On the side of the Wrangler's bonnet, written in bold cursive letters, was a single name: SULTAN

Blood drained from their faces.

"S... Sultan," one of them whispered, hands almost joining instinctively.

The man on the bonnet slowly opened his eyes, dark, sharp, unreadable. He lazily reached for his gun and stood up.

His boots hit the ground with a heavy thud.

He straightened his kurta, sleeves folded neatly over his forearms. The goggles rested lazily in his other hand.

"In such a hurry," he said calmly. "Where to?"

"S-Sultan... that... we..." the driver stammered badly.

"What's inside the truck?" Sultan asked, moving forward casually.

The men instinctively stepped back.

"N-nothing, Sultan," the driver lied weakly.

"Powder le ja raha hai," Sultan said flatly, leaning against his jeep. "And lying on top of that."

(Smuggling drugs!")

The driver wiped sweat off his forehead.

"Unload half the consignment," Sultan ordered.

"Sultan our boss won't spare us!" the driver cried.

"Kyu bey lala, Jaan pyari nahi hai?" Sultan said softly, wiping the muzzle of his gun. "Malik tab kuch karega jab tu yaha se jayega!"

("Why? Is your life not dear to you? Your boss can only touch you if you leave from here alive.")

The men exchanged fearful glances. Behind them, another truck stood parked silently, waiting.

They began unloading the contraband, transferring it into the other vehicle.

"Half from both trucks," Sultan added.

They exchanged puzzled glances but No one dared to question him.

Once the work was done, the drivers stood before him with folded hands.

"It's done, Sultan... just like you said."

"Niklo," Sultan replied simply. (Go)

They rushed back to their trucks and sped away. Only one truck remained. Sultan called out to the driver.

The man walked up cautiously.

"Sultan... this one?"

"Adde par daal de," Sultan said.

("Deliver it to the den,")

The driver nodded quickly, turned the truck around, and disappeared into the dark road.

Sultan picked up his phone and dialed a number.

"Sir," he said calmly. "They've been caught."

On the other end, Rajan, Commissioner of Police, the senior officer who had shouted at Manish earlier, laughed in relief.

"I knew it, Sultan. No one else could have done this. I was sure you'd catch them. I'm proud..." before he could throw more praises on Sultan.

"Radhe Radhe, sir," Sultan cut in quietly and disconnected the call.

At the next toll gate, the two trucks that had fled earlier were intercepted by the Agra police.

Sultan drove straight to the minister's farmhouse. No one dared to stop him. His black Wrangler gleamed under the floodlights as it rolled through the gates, which opened instantly at the sight of his vehicle. The engine went silent, and Sultan stepped out. The guards and men immediately bowed down.

His boots echoed against the stone path as he walked forward, black goggles resting firmly over his eyes. With every step, the faint sound of music grew louder.

Inside the farmhouse hall, several ministers were already gathered. Music filled the air. Young women, dressed for the evening, moved around them, laughing, entertaining, leaning close in ways meant to please.

Sultan didn't spare them a glance.

He walked straight toward the Home Minister.

The minister noticed him immediately. His face brightened as he stood up.

"Ah, Sultan... welcome," he said warmly.

"The consignment has reached the den," Sultan replied, his voice flat, uninterested in anything else around him.

The Minister smiled wider.

"I knew it. When you take on a job, it never goes unfinished. Come, sit. Relax a little."

Two women stepped closer, reaching for Sultan's arm. He shook them off sharply.

"Stay away." His voice firm and almost like dangerous warning. The Minister laughed it off lightly.

They moved out of the hall into a quieter room.

"What's wrong?" the old man chuckled. "Didn't like them? I can call for others."

"I have no interest in all this," Sultan said calmly, taking a seat across from him. "Only one woman will ever have any claim over me...my wife."

The Minister raised an eyebrow, amused.

He opened a briefcase filled with neatly stacked bundles of cash and slid it across the table.

"So," the Minister said mockingly, "when are you getting married?"

"Never," Sultan replied, closing the briefcase without looking inside. "Marriage and love aren't meant for me."

"Who said anything about love?" the Minister laughed. "Just enjoy yourself."

"I'm not the kind of man who throws himself at any girl," Sultan said, standing up. "And love will never in my task, not in this life."

"And if it does?" the Minister pressed.

"It won't."

"Let's say you do get married someday," the Minister said casually. "We'll see what kind of taste you have in girls."

"Mera ishq numayish karne ke liye nahi hoga, warna Zinda dafna dunga," sultan replied coldly.

("My love won't be for display, who tries will be buried where they stand.")

The Minister laughed again.

"Then your wife won't survive a single day."

Sultan slowly put his shades back on. ( "Maine kab kaha biwi ko kuch karunga. Devi ki toh puja karte hain..")

"I never said I'd harm my wife. Godess should be worshipped not harmed."

For the first time, the Minister's smile faltered.

"I'm leaving," Sultan said calmly. "Radhe Radhe."

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

_________

See you soon my lovelies 🥰