43
The morning air was sharp, but not sharper than the silence in my chest.
Today was the day.
The Sharma family would burn-not with fire, but with justice.
I stood in front of the mirror, completely dressed in black. A sleek black skirt, black collared shirt tucked in neat, my hair tied back in a no-nonsense bun. Kohl rimmed my eyes like warpaint. There was no emotion on my face, only silence and steel.
I turned around at the sound of the door and paused.
There they stood - my army.
Dattatriya leaned on the doorframe, eyes proud, wearing an all-black sherwani that screamed power.
Beside him was my father, his eyes misty but filled with pride.
Bhairava Bhaiya stood tall, his usual fierce expression hardening even more.
Arya bhabhi had tears in her eyes but strength in her smile.
Gyan and Dyan Bhaiya had their arms folded, rage simmering under calm surfaces.
Utsav, my ladla, gave me a nod of pure confidence.
And Adya-Adya stood near the window, dressed in a muted navy, eyes locked on mine with silent encouragement.
They didn't need to say anything. But they did anyway.
Papa came first and hugged me tight, whispering, "Mera sher puttar... go show the world what happens when a lioness roars."
Bhairava bhaiya rested his forehead against mine and whispered, "Today, your words will shatter them, Katha. Break them."
Arya bhabhi kissed my cheek and murmured, "We're all behind you, always."
Gyan bhaiya hugged me gently. "Give them no mercy."
Dyan bhaiya smirked. "And if you feel merciful... just remember what they did."
Utsav kissed my forehead. "I'm so proud of you, Didi."
Adya came last, cupping my face. "Make that courtroom your battlefield. Burn them with truth."
Then Dattatriya came forward, pulled me close and held me for a moment. His lips brushed mine softly, grounding me.
"You don't need to win this case to prove your strength," he whispered. "But you'll win anyway. Because you're Katha. And Katha doesn't lose."
I melted into him for a second. Just a second.
Then I pulled back, nodding. "Let's go."
We walked down. I sat beside Dattatriya in his car while the rest followed behind in separate vehicles.
As we drove, he held my hand.
"You sure you're ready?" he asked softly.
"I was ready the moment Manya whispered 'save my baby,'" I replied coldly.
He nodded, jaw clenched. "And I swear, sunshine... if even one judge plays dirty-I will burn the entire judicial system down."
"No need," I said. "I'll do it legally."
He smirked. "That's my wife."
Finally, we reached the courthouse.
I stepped out.
The flash of cameras and a sea of reporters waited. For a second, silence rippled across the crowd. Murmurs started-
"The Choudhury family?"
"Wait-isn't that the Chief Minister?!"
"Why is Katha Dattatriya Agnivanshi here herself?"
"What is this case-who are the Sharmas?"
"Is this about the woman who burned alive?"
Reporters started yelling questions:
"Ma'am! Is it true the Sharmas were responsible for the dowry death?"
"Sir! Mr. Agnivanshi, are you personally involved in this case?"
"Choudhury family members-why have you all shown up?"
"Mrs. Agnivanshi-what do you want to say about this tragic case?"
I didn't look at a single one of them. I walked ahead expressionless, my heels clicking against the marble like war drums. Dattatriya and my family flanked me like shadows of power.
No smiles.
No words.
Only silence.
And that silence... screamed louder than any press statement.
As I walked into the courtroom, a heavy silence fell over the room.
The echo of my heels striking the marble floor resonated louder than anything.
Behind me, Dattatriya walked with an aura of thunderous calm, his presence alone making people shift in their seats.
My entire family followed - Bhairava bhaiya, Gyan bhaiya, Dyan bhaiya, Utsav, Papa, Arya bhabhi, and Adya.
A united force, unshaken and unbending. The moment we entered, all eyes turned.
Some with fear, some with curiosity, others with the bitter taste of regret.
I walked past the Sharma family. Rajeev Sharma sat with fake remorse dripping from his face like sweat, playing the innocent, eyes lowered as if shame lived in them - it didn't. His parents, those two old devils, sat dressed in dull white, acting like grieving saints.
My fists clenched as I passed them, but I didn't react. Not yet. I had a war to win.
I sat at the plaintiff's desk, placing my files down with cold precision. Lana sat beside me, her eyes filled with fury, pain, and strength. The judge arrived and the hearing began.
"Your Honour," I stood, my voice sharp, clear.
"This is not just a case. This is not just about a girl named Manya.
This is about every daughter who begged to be believed.
Who begged for safety inside the four walls of her own home and never received it.
This is about every unborn child who never got the chance to live because her mother was married into a house of demons. "
The judge nodded. The defense attorney - a sleek, overconfident man hired by the Sharma family - stood.
"Objection, Your Honour. The plaintiff is giving a monologue."
The judge replied, "Overruled. Continue, Ms. Katha Agnivanshi."
"Thank you," I turned back to the court. "Manya Sharma, 27 years old. Pregnant. She was burnt alive in front of my firm. Not only was she doused in petrol, but she was also held down by her in-laws as they lit the match. We have CCTV footage."
I nodded to Lana. She brought up the footage from the lobby of my office - grainy, but clear. It showed Rajeev's father pouring petrol, his mother holding Manya's hair, and Rajeev lighting the fire with a disgusting calmness. The video played. The courtroom gasped. One juror even covered her mouth.
Rajeev stood up, "That... that's fabricated!"
"Silence," the judge warned him.
I continued. "Manya was being abused for months. She reached out to me, terrified, weeks ago. She wanted to leave him. She had recordings." I played the voice note Manya had sent me.
"Didi, please help me. They're hurting me again. Rajeev hit me with his belt... they say the baby will be a burden. Didi, I don't want to die. I want to keep her safe."
There wasn't a dry eye in the room.
Lana took the stand. "I was the one who picked up the call from Manya. She was shaking, hiding in my office. She was terrified. Minutes later, they stormed in, grabbed her, and set her on fire like she was nothing."
The defense tried. "There is no conclusive proof that the fire caused her death directly. She could have done it herself in emotional distress."
My voice cut through him. "Suicide? She was six months pregnant. She had begged for her daughter to be saved. She whispered to me as her skin melted, 'Save my daughter, Didi.' Does that sound like a suicidal woman to you?"
The judge glared at the defense.
I took a deep breath and walked to the center.
"Rajeev Sharma not only tortured his wife, he murdered her.
He murdered his daughter. And his parents are equal criminals.
They were never family - they were executioners.
Manya's father died years ago, and her mother married her off, hoping she'd be safe. Instead, she was sent to hell."
I faced the judge, my voice raw. "Your Honour, I don't just want punishment. I want justice. For Manya. For her daughter. For every girl who thinks no one will stand up for her. I will be that voice."
There was silence.
The judge finally spoke. "All evidences are overwhelming. This court orders immediate custody of Rajeev Sharma and his parents. The charges are: Dowry death, 304B, 302 - Homicide, 498A - Domestic violence, and criminal conspiracy. They will be held without bail until the final verdict."
As the officers came to handcuff them, Rajeev screamed, "This isn't over!"
I stood calmly. "You're right. It isn't. Your suffering has just begun."
As they were dragged out, wailing, crying, and cursing, I turned around and saw my family - all of them with pride in their eyes. But Dattatriya, he had tears. Silent. Strong. Like me.
I stepped down from the bench and walked out, head high. Justice had been served.
But I wasn't done.
I never will be.
We stepped out of the court, the harsh sun
As the heavy courtroom doors swung open behind us, we walked out not as individuals, but as a force.
The media had no words left. People stepped aside.
Fear, awe, and silence followed every step the Choudhurys and Dattatriya Agnivanshi took.
The Sharma family - Rajeev and his grotesque parents - were being dragged by the police toward the prison van, wailing, their earlier arrogance shattered.
But I wasn't done.
"STOP!"
My voice sliced through the air, halting the officers and causing even reporters to freeze in place. The police looked back at me, unsure, and then at Dattatriya, who gave a single nod.
I walked forward slowly, heels echoing on the concrete, expression emotionless but eyes burning with fury. I came face-to-face with the people who had set a pregnant woman on fire and pretended to be victims in court.
"You thought this was it?" I asked, laughing softly. "You thought the court would be your only punishment?"
They looked at me in confusion, fear trickling in.
"Let me explain," I said, voice cold, sharp, final.
"The court justice is over. But don't mistake that for me letting you go easily. You'll die... slowly. Disgustingly slow. And let me tell you something - when I say you'll die, you will. And not peacefully."
Their eyes widened. Rajeev stuttered, "Y-you can't-"
I cut him off with a smile that had no warmth. "Oh, but I can. Let me tell you how."
I raised a finger and began.
"First - halfway through your transit, the police van will be hijacked. You'll be declared 'missing' temporarily. But the court already sentenced you. That means you're criminals. Death row criminals."
Their breaths hitched.
"Second - you'll be dragged to my family's favorite playground. The dungeon. You know what we call it?" I leaned closer, smirking. "Home."
"The Choudhury Dungeon. Mine. Bhairava bhaiya's. Gyan bhaiya's. Dyan bhaiya's. It's where justice doesn't just breathe - it screams."
I stepped back slowly, then tilted my head.
"Third - My husband, the Chief Minister of Rajasthan, Dattatriya Agnivanshi? His men will begin the process. Brutal. Scientific. Political. Cold. But that's just the beginning."
I looked at the father and mother of Rajeev with dead eyes.
"Then come the Choudhurys. The clan known for violence that even devils fear. You'll be tortured so slowly, your mind will break long before your body does. You'll beg to die. And we... won't allow it."
They were shivering now. One of the officers even stepped back, sensing what was about to happen.
"You three will die every day, inch by inch. But death will be denied to you until I say it's enough."
I smiled darkly, turned around, and called out, "Bhairava bhaiya, you know what to do."
Bhairava bhaiya cracked his neck and grinned. Gyan bhaiya and Dyan bhaiya shared a smirk that could chill blood. Dattatriya stood silently, his presence speaking more than any words could. They were ready. They'd been waiting.
I looked at Arya bhabhi, who was standing with calm strength. I gently took her hand.
"Let's go, bhabhi. We need to feed you. And the baby inside you deserves a warm meal." She smirked, her eyes gleaming with pride.
"Ladlee," I called. Utsav ran to me and grabbed my other hand without hesitation. "My prince, my Sheraa must be missing me."
I turned once more and stared at the Sharma family. Then, without a word, I spat out the window in their direction. Disgust. Disdain. Finality.
"Bhairava bhaiya, Gyan bhaiya, Dyan bhaiya, Datta," I said softly. "You all know what to do, right?"
They all nodded. Smirking. Already planning.
Papa had already left. He didn't need to be there - he trusted us to deliver justice the Choudhury way.
I stepped into my black Range Rover. Bhabhi sat beside me, calm, strong. Utsav in the back, protective and proud. I revved the engine and drove away, eyes not looking back.
As we left the chaos behind and headed home, I whispered softly to myself, looking at the fading cityscape through the window:
"I fought for you, Manya. And I will fight for all the Manyas out there. One by one, I'll make the monsters bleed."
And I drove home.
To my family.
To my snow leopard cub, Sheraa.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Do vote