Ch2 The Girl in White #2
Dhara couldn't help but burst out laughing, covering her mouth as a blush spread across her cheeks. The absurdity of their tiny, defiant forms standing against the intimidating guards was almost too much.
Before any confrontation could escalate, the pandits recognized them.
Gentle gestures and subtle nods signaled the guards to stand down.
Relief washed over Rivanya and Dhara as they folded their hands respectfully, offering a silent pranam from a safe distance.
The procession continued down toward the ghat, leaving the girls in the soft hush of the riverbank.
The Ganga shimmered in the twilight, its surface dotted with hundreds of flickering diyas.
Each flame danced on the gentle current, reflecting the last golden hues of the sun as it dipped behind the distant city skyline.
The moment was sacred, serene, yet carried a quiet electricity-an unspoken promise of destiny moving in the background.
Rivanya and Dhara stood side by side, the weight of their prayers held in the stillness of their hearts.
With careful, reverent movements, they placed their diya into the flowing river, watching as it floated downstream, steady yet alive, carrying with it their devotion, hopes, and wishes.
The gentle ripples reflected the glow of their faith, mingling with the light of countless other prayers, creating a river of gold and devotion that seemed to stretch endlessly into the horizon.
And somewhere within that calm, a presence watched-the man in ash, observing silently, his own gaze following the floating lamps with an inscrutable expression.
A storm of curiosity, intrigue, and unspoken tension hovered in the air, unnoticed by the world, yet palpably binding the paths of destiny for the girl and the man about to cross each other's lives.
A few steps away, amidst the gentle flow of the Ganga, another figure lowered his diya into the river.
His presence was different-immense, commanding, almost otherworldly, as if the very air around him bowed to his being.
The river's ripples mirrored the weight of his aura, the flickering lamp in his hand struggling to compete with the intensity he radiated.
Even from a distance, there was something magnetic, impossible to ignore.
Rivanya and Dhara, hearts still brimming with the quiet satisfaction of their offering, ascended the stone steps of the ghat.
They paused before the Maha Pandit ji, bowing deeply, palms pressed together in respect.
The old priest's gaze lingered on them, warm and knowing, and as his hand rested gently upon their heads, it felt more like a silent acknowledgment of their courage, devotion, and perhaps something unseen yet deeply significant.
It was as if he glimpsed into the hidden threads of their destiny, sensing the coming intersections of lives yet to entwine.
Meanwhile, just a few paces away, Rudraksh's attention had shifted.
The diya had barely drifted from his hands before his eyes lifted to the ghat steps.
The Maha Pandit ji stood there, blessing the two girls.
Their backs were turned, but one figure-the girl in white-seemed to hold a stillness that was arresting, while the other, hidden behind her, radiated a quiet innocence.
The sight pricked something deep inside Rudraksh, a curiosity that was sharp, almost instinctual.
His mind, disciplined and guarded, had little tolerance for distractions-but this, this was different. He felt it immediately.
One of his guards, head bowed low, approached cautiously.
"Kuwar-sa... Rana-sa has summoned you to Vardhanpur."
The words were like a dagger he did not want to feel. That cursed place again, pulling him into obligations he did not wish to fulfill. Rudraksh's jaw tightened as he weighed his response. Finally, after a pause that carried the weight of command, he spoke coldly, almost dismissively:
"Tell him that I leave for Mumbai tomorrow. I cannot return to Vardhanpur now."
The guard, visibly trembling under his authority, bowed deeper and retreated without another word, leaving Rudraksh to his own thoughts.
As he began to move toward the temple, intent on completing his duties, a sharp, lilting voice cut through the murmurs of the ghat, crisp and indignant:
"Wese Pandit ji... dusron ko takleef deke puja karna kya sahi hai? Agar bhakti karni hai toh khud karein, dusre kyun pareshan karna hai?"
The words were pointed, and the tone insolent-yet strangely melodic. Rudraksh's brows furrowed, his gaze instinctively narrowing. Who was this audacious girl daring to speak like that, in a temple, in front of him? His pulse, calm yet alert, quickened imperceptibly.
Turning, he saw another girl hastily pulling the speaker away, as though she knew the consequences of her companion's fiery tongue might spiral out of control.
Rudraksh's lips curved into a half-smirk, a flicker of amusement breaking his otherwise stoic expression.
"Pata nahi kahan kahan se aa jaate hain aise badtameez log," he murmured under his breath, the words low, almost a private acknowledgment of their audacity.
Then the wind rose sharply, carrying with it a sudden, delicate brush against his head.
Something light-a dupatta, pure white, fluttered and rested momentarily near him.
The fragrance it carried was unlike anything he had ever known-subtle, calming, yet intoxicating.
His guards tensed immediately, their instincts screaming to intercept, but before they could react, the girl in white moved, attempting to retrieve it, only to be pulled back forcefully by her companion.
The delicate fabric was snatched from the current of his attention, yet its presence lingered, leaving a trace that seemed to etch itself into his senses.
For Rudraksh, accustomed to control and command, the moment was disarming.
A tiny figure, yet she carried an attitude and a presence that made her feel immense.
Her face remained hidden, her eyes unseen, but the aura-the scent, the defiance, the motion-lingered, a silent challenge that unsettled him in ways he had not anticipated.
And there, amidst the flickering diyas and flowing river, destiny began its quiet weaving-threads of two lives brushing against each other for the first time, subtle yet irreversible, heralding the storm and the fire to come.
The sight was oddly... amusing. Such a tiny figure, yet carrying mountains of attitude.
I still couldn't see her face, but that dupatta...
it lingered in my hand like a whisper from another world.
Its fragrance was unlike anything I had ever known-pure, serene, almost unsettling in the way it stilled the storm within me.
For a man who had lived in shadows, it felt almost forbidden to breathe something so divine.
As the two girls disappeared into the crowd, my eyes followed them until they were gone.
A faint smile played on Maha Pandit ji's lips as he stood gazing at the river.
Curious, I followed his line of sight-and there, I saw it.
Two diyas drifting side by side, their flames steady, aligned, moving together as though bound by an unseen force of destiny.
I frowned, unable to grasp what was so special about this sight that made the old man smile as though he knew something the world didn't.
To me, it was nothing but coincidence. Shaking my head, I folded the dupatta carefully in my hand, pressed my palms together in one last pranam to Mahadev, and turned away.
With the guards surrounding me, I walked towards the waiting cars.
My driver pulled the car door open and bowed his head with the same respect he always showed. I stepped inside without a word, settling into the leather seat. My eyes fixed on the road ahead, sharp, expressionless, but heavy with the weight of thoughts I had no interest in sharing.
"Where is Vyom?" I asked flatly.
Vyom-my right hand, my shadow. The one man I could trust with my life, my confidant, my secretary, and above all... my only childhood friend.
Before the driver could even respond, I heard Vyom's voice from behind.
"Step out for a while. I need to speak with Sir alone."
The driver bowed again and obediently shut the door from outside, leaving us in silence. Vyom slid into the seat beside me, shutting the door with a soft click. His face was grave, his tone restrained.
I didn't move. My jaw remained tight, my expression blank, as always. My eyes never wavered from the windshield.
"Well?" I asked coldly. "Any information?"
Vyom's voice carried a certain weight that told me I wouldn't like what I was about to hear.
"They've summoned you to Vardhanpur, Sir. To speak about... your marriage."
For the first time, my composure cracked. My jaw tightened. My knuckles curled into fists, pale with the force of my grip. My eyes darkened like a storm that had been waiting far too long to break.
My silence lasted a few seconds, but the fury within me was volcanic, threatening to erupt. Finally, through clenched teeth, I spat,
"What does that man want from me? Wasn't destroying my mother's life enough? Now he wants to ruin mine too? I swear-if Pratap Vardhan wasn't my father... no one would have ever found his body."
Every word was venom, every syllable edged with a hatred so deep it had roots in my very blood.
Vyom, wisely, said nothing. He knew my anger, and he knew silence was the only shield against it.
I exhaled sharply, trying to regain the calm that the world knew me for. "The arrangements for tomorrow? Are they ready?"
Vyom nodded. "Yes, Sir. Your private jet is fueled. We leave for Mumbai in the morning."
"Good," I muttered. My tone dropped lower, colder. "Any word from Italy?"
"Yes," Vyom replied. "We secured the deal, but..."
My eyes flickered toward him. "But what?"
"The dealer was ready to sign with us. But Luke-" he said the name like filth, "-Luke whispered poison in his ear. Convinced him that we'd betray him, that we'd tip off the authorities. That he alone could ensure the shipment reached Sri Lanka safely."
I drew a long, steady breath. Then I gave the order without hesitation.
"Kill him."