|debt|
It felt warm. Safe. Like a world completely opposite to the one I came from.
He sat beside me, watching in silence for a few moments before he finally spoke—his voice low, not wanting to startle me.
"You've never sat in a car before?"
I shook my head slowly, still looking around.
"No... never even touched one before. I used to see them on TV sometimes... from far..."
I paused and looked down at my hands.
He didn't respond immediately. But the silence between us didn't feel uncomfortable.
"What's your name again?" he asked after a moment.
I looked up at him hesitantly.
"Devyani," I said softly. "Devyani Sharma."
"Pretty name," he said genuinely.
I looked down again, blushing slightly behind my shawl. "Babu says it's unlucky..."
He frowned faintly. "Why would he say that?"
I hesitated... then said in a barely audible voice,
"Because my maa died after giving me birth... He says I brought her death... so I'm not allowed to smile or go out or look at anyone... because I'm a curse."
He didn't speak.
But I saw his jaw clench slightly.
Like someone had just insulted something precious in front of him.
I quickly added, trying to shift the topic, "But don't worry, uncle... I just stepped out for a little while... only this once... I'll go back before anyone sees me."
He turned to look at me fully now.
"And what if I tell you," he said softly, "that maybe you were never meant to stay hidden in that house? That maybe you were meant to be seen... known... protected?"
I looked at him, eyes wide, not knowing what to say.
No one had ever said something like that to me.
Ever.
Before I could answer, he asked gently,
"Now tell me, Devyani... where is your house? Do you remember any name... any turn... anything?"
I looked out the window, trying to think.
"There's... a small pond nearby... and a big neem tree at the end of our lane... and... a temple bell I hear every morning. But... I don't know any names."
He nodded thoughtfully. "That's enough for me. We'll find it."
My heart softened a little more.
Maybe... just maybe... tonight I wasn't completely lost.
I gave a tiny nod and looked back outside the window.
The village lights were slowly dimming. The streets were clearing. Just as he had promised—people were already off the roads.
I didn't understand how he did it... but I didn't question it either.
For the first time in my life... someone was trying to help me without wanting anything in return.
I leaned my head slightly against the window, the smooth glass cool against my skin.
I didn't even realize when my eyes began to flutter.
The warmth of the car... the softness of the seat... the strange sense of safety around this unknown but kind man...
It was too much for a heart that had only known walls, belts, and silence.
My eyes closed slowly.
And before I knew it... I had dozed off.
He glanced toward the girl—her face now peaceful, lashes still wet from tears, her small frame wrapped tightly in her shawl like she was trying to protect herself even in sleep.
She looked younger than eighteen.
More like a scared child pretending to be grown-up.
He didn't move. Just sat silently, watching her breathe softly.
His phone buzzed.
He picked it up quietly.
"Yes?"
A voice on the other side responded.
"Sir, lockdown is in place. Every street is cleared. Not even a dog outside now."
"Good," he replied.
"Now find out who Devyani Sharma is. Where she lives. Quietly."
He ended the call and looked at her again.
She stirred slightly in her sleep, whispering something under her breath.
"Don't tell Babu... please... don't tell Babu..."
His heart clenched.
There was a storm coming in her life—he could feel it.
And somehow, fate had pushed her into his path.
A soft nudge on my shoulder made me stir.
"Devyani... beta... wake up," a calm voice spoke gently.
My eyes snapped open, panic instantly flooding me.
I jolted upright, heart racing.
Where am I?
What did I do?
My breaths came fast. "I—where—no—I have to go back—he'll hit me!"
"Shhh... relax, Devyani," Virendra said softly, placing a careful hand on my shoulder, not to hold me—but to comfort me.
"You're safe. We're just trying to find your house now. We're driving through the village. See? No one's outside."
I looked out the window—he was right.
Empty streets.
Doors shut.
No noise. No stares. No Babu.
"Now..." he asked gently, "can you tell me which house is yours? Or maybe your father's name? That would make it easier to find."
I froze.
My lips trembled.
I didn't want to say it.
But... I had no choice.
I had to go back.
I gulped, voice barely a whisper as I said, "My... Babu's name is hariram Sharma..."
The car went silent.
I looked up slowly—
His's eyes had changed.
He wasn't just surprised.
He was... shocked.
As if I had said something forbidden.
Like I wasn't supposed to exist at all.
His lips parted but no words came for a moment.
"Hariram... Sharma?" he repeated slowly, almost like he was confirming if he heard it right.
I nodded, my fingers clenching my shawl.
"Yes... do you know him?"
His jaw tightened just slightly, but he quickly masked the expression and forced a small nod.
"I... No ......y....yes I know him."
I didn't notice the change.
But he did.
And in that moment,he realized the girl sitting beside him...
Hariram Sharma..."he repeated quietly, trying to keep his expression calm.
The name stirred something in him—not anger, but a weight. A calculation. A silent memory.
He glanced at the innocent girl beside him, still clutching her shawl like armor.
She had no idea.
She had no clue that her father's name was known in Thakur haveli—but not for any reason she'd understand.
And she didn't need to know.
Not tonight.
So he smiled softly, hiding everything behind a fatherly warmth.
"Yes, I know him," he said again. "That makes it easier now."
I gave him a small nod, still wary. "Can we go fast? Please? If Babu comes back before me... I don't know what he'll do."
His face turned serious again, but his voice stayed calm.
"Don't worry. We'll find the house before anyone notices."
He rolled down his window and gave instructions to the guard walking beside the car.
"Check for Hariram Sharma house. Quietly. No noise."
I looked out, nervously watching each house as we passed.
My fingers trembled again. My breath was shallow.
I didn't know that behind that calm tone, his mind was racing too.
Because this girl... this soft, terrified girl...
Was unknowingly tied to a man who owed him more than just money.
And now, fate had dropped her straight into his hands.
After a few turns and dim lanes, the car finally slowed down near a small, crumbling house at the very edge of the village.
"This one?"He asked.
I leaned forward, eyes scanning the familiar broken wall, the old neem tree, the rusted gate.
My heart clenched.
"Yes," I whispered. "This is my house."
The car stopped.
He stepped out first, then gently opened the door for me. I stepped out, holding my shawl tightly around myself.
He walked toward the gate—but paused.
It was locked.
From the outside.
He turned to me slowly. "It's locked? How will you go inside?"
I looked down, hesitating. "I... I climb."
"Climb?" he echoed, stunned. "Why? Why is the door locked from outside?"
I didn't answer.
My lips stayed sealed. My eyes dropped to the ground.
Silence.
"Devyani," he asked again, softer this time, "why is it locked from outside?
Still nothing.
I just shook my head gently.
"It's nothing..." I whispered, stepping back. "It's just how things are. Please... don't tell Babu."
He looked at me then—not with pity, but with a growing ache.
A burning question in his chest.
What kind of life was this girl living... behind that gate?
Before he could speak again, I softly said, "You've done a lot already, uncle. Thank you... I'll go in now."
He watched in stunned silence as I gathered two bricks I'd stacked behind the tree long ago, used a metal pipe for balance, and began climbing the outer wall.
Like I had done it a hundred times before.
Like it was normal.
My shawl slipped a little, but I quickly fixed it. My bare feet scraped against the rough edge of the wall.
He didn't stop me.
He couldn't.
Because something in his heart had shattered—just from watching.
I climbed the wall like a shadow in the night.
No noise. No hesitation.
Like I had done it every single day of my life.
When I reached the top, I sat there for a second—just for a moment—looking at the world behind me.
The quiet road.
The parked car.
And the kind uncle still standing there, watching me with something deep in his eyes... something I couldn't understand.
I whispered, "Thank you..."
But I don't know if he heard it.
Then, like a frightened bird returning to its cage... I slipped down the other side.
And vanished.
?
He didn't move for a while.
He kept staring at that old wall. The cracked window. The silence.
No light inside.
Not even a flicker.
His hands slowly curled into fists.
This... this was how she lived?
Locked out of the world?
Climbing into her own home like a thief?
His phone buzzed again.
He picked it up.
"Sir, we've confirmed. The house belongs to Hariram Sharma.And yes—he owes money. A lot. Overdue for years."
He didn't speak.
The man on the other end continued, "Should we proceed with property claim, sir? We can seize—"
"No."
His voice was sharp. Final.
There was a pause.
"Sir?"
He didn't explain.
He just stared at the house one last time.
"No action. Not until I say so."
And then he turned, got in his car, and drove away—his heart heavier than it had been in years.
The faint light of dawn slipped through the cracks in the ceiling. The floor beneath me was still cold from the night. My back ached from sleeping curled up on the rough mat in the corner.
I had made it back.
Silently. Unnoticed.
Just as I always did everything—unnoticed.
But peace never lasted long in this house.
Thud.
The main door slammed.
My heart jumped.
Babu.
He was back.
I quickly sat up, straightened my dupatta, and ran to the corner—grabbing the steel jug as if I was doing some chore since morning.
His heavy boots thudded closer.
"Saali nikammi!" he barked, throwing his bag down.
"Ek glass paani bhi taiyaar nahi hota is ghar mein! Kis janam ka paap hai tu?"
("Useless girl! Not even a glass of water ready in this house! What sin from my past life are you?")
I rushed to him with water, trembling.
He snatched the glass and threw half of it on the floor.
Then, without warning—slap.
My face stung. Eyes welled up.
But I didn't cry.
Not here. Not in front of him.
"Sab kucch kha ke soyi thi na? Haan?"
("You must've eaten everything and slept comfortably, right?")
I shook my head quickly. "Nahi Babu... sach mein..."
He didn't care. He never did.
He pushed past me and entered his room, grumbling curses under his breath.
But before I could breathe, another shadow appeared at the door.
Bhaiyya.
Raghu.
Smirking. Cruel. Eyes full of disgust.
"Oye chhipkali," he sneered.
("Hey lizard.")
I froze.
He walked closer, lifted the plate I had kept for him on the side.
"Roti bhi sukhi si... kitni beswaad hai tu."
("Even this flatbread is dry... you're tasteless in everything.")
He threw the roti down and flicked my forehead, hard.
I gasped, but didn't move.
He always did this—tiny torments that wouldn't leave bruises, but scarred deeper than pain.
"Zyada shareef mat ban..." he said, leaning close.
("Don't pretend to be too innocent...")
He gave one last shove to my shoulder and walked away laughing.
I stayed there.
Frozen.
Silent.
Swallowing every scream. Every insult. Every bruise without a mark.
I was back.
Back in the cage.
And yet... my heart whispered about that night.
The road. The stars. That soft car seat. The kind uncle's voice.
It almost didn't feel real.
But it was.
And now... that dream was locked away inside me—like a secret fire in a dying body.
After cleaning the utensils, folding the washed clothes, and scrubbing the floor till my hands turned red... it was finally afternoon.
The sun was blazing outside, heat crawling through the broken windows.
I sat on the cold floor near the stove, sipping plain water—too afraid to even think of eating.
Just then...
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three sharp taps on the main door.
My entire body jolted.
Someone's here.
Without a second thought, I jumped up and ran toward the store room. My safest place. The only corner where no one looked for me unless they wanted to punish me.
I crouched behind a stack of empty sacks, holding my breath.
Bhaiyya's voice.
I heard his footsteps move toward the door.
I tried to listen...
But I couldn't make out a word.
The walls were too thick.
I pressed my ear to the wooden shelf, heart thudding.
Nothing.
Just muffled murmurs. One voice low and calm. Bhaiyya's tone nervous.
That was unusual.
Bhaiyya was never nervous.
I chewed the corner of my dupatta. What was going on?
Who was at the door?
Why did he sound... different?
The air inside the store room felt hotter. My heart kept pounding in my ears.
Then, silence.
For a long moment—nothing.
And then—a soft creak.
Like someone just entered the house.
But not Bhaiyya.
Someone else.
I held my breath tighter.
Who had come to this house?
And why?
Minimum twenty black luxury cars rolled in—one after the other—engines humming like thunder, tyres raising clouds on the unpaved roads.
Doors opened in perfect sync.
And then—
The sun glinted off his crisp cream kurta, the gold-embroidered shawl resting over one shoulder. His very posture was power—chin high, stride calculated, eyes sharp enough to silence a crowd.
He wasn't just any man.
He was the King of Rajasthan.Not by crown, but by command.
The villagers watched from door cracks and rooftops, whispering prayers. Even animals backed away. Everyone knew—
When the Thakur arrives in a caravan, someone's fate changes.
Without a word, flanked by four guards, Virendra walked straight toward the oldest, most crumbling house at the end of the lane.
Inside, Raghu, Hariram's son, was chewing on a betel leaf lazily—until the cars stopped.
His heart dropped.
He rushed to the door, saw the towering figure approaching, and instantly forgot how to breathe.
"Ra... Rana sa..." he stammered, bowing instantly, palms joined, his tone turning sweet with practiced fear.
"Ghamma khanni rana sa... hamari kismet chamak gayi jo aap jaise mahan vyakti humre ghar aaye.
.."
("Forgive me, Rana sa... we're blessed beyond fortune that someone like you has come to our humble home. ..")
But Virendra didn't even blink.
He didn't take the compliment.
He didn't return the greeting.
His eyes scanned the house with disgust barely hidden in his calm expression.
Then he spoke—cold, clipped, clear.
"Where is Hariram?"
Raghu instantly straightened, his voice shaky. "Babu... babu is inside, rana sa. Please... please have a seat, I'll call him right now."
Virendra stepped past him without a second look.
Raghu's smile vanished.
He looked toward the store room quickly—did she do something?
His mind raced in panic.
What on earth had brought Virendra Thakur to this broken house?
And more terrifying...
What would happen next?
Hariram stepped out from the inner room, still tying the end of his turban, his kurta half-buttoned. His face was flushed—clearly woken from an afternoon nap.
He didn't expect a king to be waiting in his living room.
The moment his eyes met Virendra Thakur, his breath caught.
"Ra... Rana sa... aap?"
("Ra... Rana sa... you?")
His voice cracked under the weight of fear.
His knees bent immediately in half a bow, hands folded in trembling respect.
"Maafi chahta hoon Rana sa, agar pata hota toh swagat achhe se karta..."
("Forgive me, if I had known, I would've welcomed you properly...")
Virendra didn't react.
He looked around the broken room once. Dust. Weak walls. Poverty.
Then his eyes locked on Hariram.
"Eighteen years, Hariram Sharma."
His voice was low. Controlled. More dangerous than a shout.
Hariram's throat went dry.
Virendra took a step forward.
"18 years I gave you time. Not for free. I charged you less interest than I charge the world because you cried about your dead wife and your daughter."
Hariram's eyes widened.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Virendra raised a hand.
Silence.
"I want my money." His tone didn't allow negotiation. "You either pay me... or your life will be the interest."
Hariram fell to his knees. "Rana sa... raham... bas kuch aur time... thoda waqt aur..."
("Rana sa... mercy... just some more time... a little longer...")
Virendra leaned forward slightly, voice now cold enough to cut steel.
"Time is up. You've stolen enough of mine."
He turned away for a second, then looked over his shoulder and added with deadly calm:
"I don't leave loose ends, Hariram. Especially not ones who hide things from me."
Hariram's face turned pale.
He didn't know what Virendra meant.
But the king knew something.
Something more than just money.
Hariram's hands clutched his knees as he remained bowed low.
Virendra took another step forward—his presence suffocating the air in the already crumbling room.
"If I don't get my money by tomorrow, Hariram..."
He paused, lowering his voice to a deadly whisper,
"...I will make sure your dead body gets sold for the same debt you couldn't pay."
Hariram's lips trembled. He folded his hands deeper, forehead nearly touching the floor.
"Maaf kardo Rana sa..."
But then—
Virendra tilted his head slightly. His voice changed.
Calmer. Calculated.
"But... I have another offer."
Hariram slowly looked up, hope flickering faintly in his anxious eyes.
"Offer...?"
Virendra stared at him with eyes that held centuries of power behind them.
"I'll dismiss your debt. All of it. Every single coin you owe me... gone. Just like that." He clicked his fingers softly.
"You'll owe me nothing, Hariram."
Hariram's eyes widened. Mouth slightly open in disbelief. He leaned forward.
"Sach mein Rana sa...?"
Virendra nodded once.
Then added—
"In return... give me your daughter."
Silence.
Thick. Suffocating. Shocking.
Hariram blinked like he misheard.
"Kaun... ...?"
Virendra's lips curled into a sharp smirk.
"Yes. Your daughter . For my son,RIVAN Thakur ."
Panic.
Hariram stumbled backward a step.
How...?
How did he know?
No one in the village knew she was alive. Everyone believed his daughter had died at birth—just like he let them believe. She had been hidden away like a secret shame. A ghost no one saw.
Hariram's face drained of color.
"Aapko... aapko kaise pata...?"
("How do you know...?")
Virendra stepped closer now.
"You should worry less about how I know... and more about what I can do if you say no."
He leaned in, his words slicing through Hariram's last bit of resistance.
"Say yes, and your debt disappears. Say no... and so do you."
Hariram's throat dried.
He gulped hard, staring at Virendra Thakur like he'd seen a ghost.
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Thakur sa... aapko kaise pata... Devyani ke baare mein...?"
("Thakur sa... how do you know... about Devyani?")
Virendra didn't even blink.
"I don't have time for your useless questions, Hariram."
His voice dropped, sharp and cutting.
"Give me your daughter, or dig your grave. Choose quickly."
The air in the room froze. The ground beneath Hariram felt like it vanished.
His mind was spinning.
But one thing was clear—Virendra Thakur wasn't a man you said no to.
Without another second to think, Hariram turned around and rushed inside, heart pounding, blood boiling.
"Devyani!!" he roared.
Devyani, still hidden in the store room, jolted upright in fear.
Before she could even move, Hariram stormed in, eyes wild with panic and rage.
He didn't ask.
He didn't speak.
He grabbed her arm so tightly she winced and fell forward.
"Chup chaap chal!" he growled.
("Walk silently!")
"Babu...? Kya hua...?" Devyani's voice cracked. Her feet stumbled behind him as he dragged her through the hall.
"Babu... please... dard ho raha hai..."
("Babu... please... it hurts...")
But Hariram didn't care.
His heart was beating so loud he couldn't hear her pleas.
He yanked the main door open.
And there—standing tall like destiny itself—Virendra Thakur waited.
His guards stood in silence behind him.
The village watched from the shadows, none daring to breathe.
Devyani's eyes widened the moment she saw him.
Him.
The same man from the road.
The kind uncle.
Her trembling lips parted. "Aap...?"
But Hariram didn't let her speak.
He threw her forward, barely letting her stand.
"Yeh rahi meri beti... Devyani."
("Here is my daughter... Devyani.")
His voice was bitter.
His pride broken.
And Devyani?
She stood frozen.
Not knowing that this very moment...
Was the end of her old life.
And the beginning of a fate darker than she'd ever imagined.