Daaman’s gaze lingered on Srikant, Ratnesh, and Rajni, but the intensity of his stare betrayed his true focus. While it seemed he was observing the brothers, his attention was unmistakably fixated on Rajni. She was unlike any woman he had ever encountered—her beauty was almost otherworldly, her figure divine, and her face ethereal. She pouted adorably at something Srikant said, her eyes then shifting to Ratnesh with a silent plea. Whatever Ratnesh replied to his brother made her break into a radiant smile, her eyes sparkling and her lips curving into a breathtaking expression of joy.
The sight made Daaman’s pulse quicken. He watched, captivated, as Rajni tilted her head to Srikant, still smiling. An intense, dark desire consumed him—a longing to see her smile at him, to claim her in the ways he was imagining at that very moment.
“Aise mat ghoor ki khaa hi jaayega usko,” (Don’t stare so much; it looks like you’re about to devour her,) Sarita remarked, her sharp voice breaking his reverie. Her own gaze was on the trio, her eyes scrutinizing their dynamic.
“Yeh thoda ajeeb nahi lagta?” (Doesn’t this seem a little strange?) she added, noting the warmth and camaraderie between the brothers and Rajni. “Dono, jinhse seedhe muh kisi se baat nahi hoti, wo aise hass k kisi ke saath kaise baith sakte hain?” (These two, who barely speak to anyone, are sitting here laughing like this?)
“Ishme ajeeb kya hai?” (What’s strange about it?) Daaman replied, shifting his eyes reluctantly to his wife. “Wo biwi hai Srikant ki aur Ratnesh ki bhabhi. Aur wo teeno rehte bhi saath mein hai, toh baatein toh karenge hi.” (She’s Srikant’s wife and Ratnesh’s sister-in-law. They live together, so of course they’ll talk.) His tone implied that it was common sense, dismissing her suspicions.
Still, his eyes drifted back to Rajni, only to find her standing now, gesturing animatedly toward the jungle. Though he couldn’t hear what she was saying, her enthusiasm was evident. Srikant and Ratnesh rose to their feet, rifles in hand, ready to follow her lead. Seeing this, Daaman quickly stood as well, grabbing his own rifle, Sarita close behind him.
A smirk crept across his lips as his mind wandered to the plan he’d conceived before orchestrating this hunting trip. Convincing Dadi to persuade the brothers to join had been a masterstroke. The hunt had nothing to do with killing animals—it was about eliminating someone. Someone who had always been a thorn in his side.
That "someone" was walking now, his rifle slung over his shoulder, oblivious to the danger lurking behind him. Rajni and Ratnesh walked closely, their figures disappearing into the dense foliage.
Once they were out of sight, Daaman began scouting for the perfect vantage point—a spot that would allow him to strike cleanly and without suspicion. His luck seemed divine when he noticed a wild boar rustling in the underbrush. It was an easy target, so simple he could have hit it blindfolded. But the boar wasn’t his objective—it was a mere distraction. His real intention was to eliminate the stronger, more formidable of the two brothers: Srikant.
Raising his rifle, Daaman fired his first shot into the bushes, deliberately missing. The loud crack startled the boar, sending it scampering deeper into the jungle. It also had the desired effect of unsettling the group. Rajni jumped in fright, instinctively stepping back.
Seizing the moment, Daaman fired again—this time with precision, aiming directly for Srikant’s heart. But his calculations were flawed. The bullet veered lower than intended, striking a different target.
The scream that pierced the air wasn’t the one Daaman had anticipated. He opened his eyes, expecting triumph, only to find chaos.
“Rajni!” The brothers’ voices rang out, panicked and furious. His shot had hit Rajni, not Srikant. She staggered, her hand clutching her shoulder where the bullet had struck, her eyes wide with pain and shock. Blood seeped through her clothes as her knees buckled.
Ratnesh was at her side in an instant, catching her before she could hit the ground. His face, usually composed, was a storm of rage and fear. Srikant’s sharp eyes scanned the jungle, his grip tightening on his rifle, every muscle in his body ready for retaliation.
Srikant’s piercing gaze locked onto Daaman’s, now brimming with unbridled rage. Daaman, sensing the intensity of the moment, hastily raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Kya usse goli lagi hai?” (Did she get hit?) he asked, feigning innocence, his voice laced with mock concern. “Maine toh uss jungli suar pe nishana saadha tha.” (I was aiming at the wild boar.) He quickly pointed toward the direction the animal had fled, as if to strengthen his lie.
Srikant’s jaw tightened, his fingers itching to pull the trigger and put an end to the man’s wretched pretense. The temptation to shoot Daaman—and perhaps even his equally vile wife—was overwhelming. But Srikant wasn’t a fool. He knew he couldn’t act impulsively, not here, not when Daaman held a seat on the village council. The political ramifications would be immense, and even his status wouldn’t shield him from the fallout.
But Srikant also knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
For now, however, there was something far more important: Rajni.
Turning away from Daaman, Srikant moved to Ratnesh. Without exchanging a word, the brothers shared a silent understanding—a look that spoke of both vengeance and trust. Ratnesh nodded subtly, stepping aside as Srikant gently gathered Rajni into his arms. Her body felt frail, trembling against his chest as her blood seeped through his fingers.
But Ratnesh couldn’t hold back. The sight of Rajni injured, her soft cries of pain, and Daaman’s smug facade snapped something inside him. His entire body trembled with rage, his vision narrowing until the only thing he could see was Daaman.
Before he could second-guess himself, Ratnesh grabbed his rifle, the metallic weight grounding him for the briefest of moments. His hand moved with precision, and the deafening crack of a shot echoed through the jungle.
Daaman screamed in agony, collapsing as the bullet pierced his knee. The sound of his pain reverberated through the trees, raw and guttural. Sarita’s shrill cries followed, frantic and incoherent as she rushed to her husband.
“Mar, maadarchod!” (Die, you bastard!) Ratnesh spat, his voice shaking with a mix of rage and adrenaline. His finger twitched on the rifle’s trigger, and for a moment, it seemed he might fire again.
Srikant’s sharp voice cut through the tension. “Bas, Ratnesh.” (Enough, Ratnesh.)
Ratnesh turned to look at his brother, Rajni cradled in his arms, her face pale and eyes fluttering. Srikant’s gaze was steady, commanding. “Abhi nahi.” (Not now.)
Reluctantly, Ratnesh lowered his weapon, though his grip remained tight. His chest heaved with each labored breath as he glared at Daaman, who lay writhing on the ground, clutching his shattered knee.
“This isn’t over,” Srikant muttered under his breath, his words meant for Daaman but audible only to Ratnesh. Then, without another glance, he began walking toward the direction of the village, carrying Rajni as carefully as if she were made of glass.
Ratnesh followed closely, his rifle still in hand, his steps heavy with unresolved fury. Behind them, Daaman’s screams and Sarita’s wails grew faint as the jungle swallowed their sounds. But the memory of this moment—and the brothers’ promise for retribution—remained as sharp as the bullet Ratnesh had fired.
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The brothers were no fools. They knew the bullet wasn’t intended for the wild boar—or even for Rajni. It had been aimed at one of them. But for now, there was little they could do beyond what Ratnesh had already done.
Now, they sat in the courtyard, waiting in tense silence. Inside the room, the vaidh was tending to Rajni’s wound with Dadi by her side. From another room, Daaman’s agonized cries pierced the stillness as he, too, was being examined by a separate vaidh. The sound of his sobs, raw and desperate, served as a perverse comfort to the brothers. It was a soothing balm to their smoldering fury, a reminder that the man had paid, albeit slightly, for his treachery.
Still, it took every ounce of restraint for them not to storm into the room and silence their bastard of a stepbrother for good.
“Ho gaya ho yahan ka, toh wapas chale?” (If we’re done here, should we go back?) Ratnesh’s voice broke the silence, his gaze now fixed on Srikant. His eyes burned with anger, but there was something else there—something Srikant couldn’t quite decipher and didn’t care to in this moment.
“Ratnesh, ek maamuli cheez se nahin bhaag sakta tu.” (Ratnesh, you can’t run from something so trivial.) Srikant’s voice was measured, cold, but the bitterness in his words betrayed him. After a pause, he added, “Yeh koi badi baat nahin hai. Tujhe bhi kuch nahin hua, mujhe bhi kuch nahin hua.” (This isn’t a big deal. Nothing happened to you, and nothing happened to me.) His tone softened slightly. “Aur Rajni bhi badhiya hai, halki si chot hai. Humare saath rahegi toh yeh sab roz ka hai.” (And Rajni is fine. It’s just a minor wound. If she stays with us, this will be routine.)
“Maamuli si cheez, Srikant?” (Trivial, Srikant?) Ratnesh stood abruptly, his fury radiating off him. His fists clenched tightly, and his voice trembled with suppressed rage. “Tu kya intezaar kar raha hai ki jaise Maa ko zehar dekar maar diya tha in logo ne, waise Rajni ko, mujhe, ya tujhe maar de?” (Are you waiting for them to kill Rajni, me, or you the way they poisoned our mother?)
“Haan, maamuli si cheez,” (Yes, trivial,) Srikant replied, his voice rising to match Ratnesh’s. His usual coldness returned, his gaze unwavering as he locked eyes with his brother. The challenge was clear. “Aur mere rehte na tu marega, na woh.” (And as long as I’m here, neither you nor she will die.) His tone grew icier. “Rahi baat yahan ki, toh main apna haq aur samaan chhod ke kahin nahin jaaunga. Kahin bhi nahin.” (And as for leaving, I’m not abandoning my rights or my honor. Not for anyone, not anywhere.)
There was a finality in his words, a resolute defiance that left no room for argument.
Ratnesh let out a frustrated sigh, stepping back as if physically distancing himself from the suffocating weight of Srikant’s obstinacy. Shaking his head, he cast a disappointed look at his elder brother.
“Teri yeh shaan, teri yeh zidd ek din hum dono mein se kisi ek ko hi zinda chhodega.” (Your pride, your stubbornness will leave only one of us alive one day.)
Without waiting for Srikant’s response, Ratnesh turned on his heel and walked out of the courtyard. The suffocating walls of the haveli seemed to close in around him, and he needed to escape before the storm inside him consumed him completely.
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Hours later, the haveli lay in an eerie silence, as though it were abandoned. Ratnesh stumbled through its halls, a bottle of alcohol in hand. Each step was heavy, unsteady, as he took another swig, the bitter liquid doing little to dull the storm within. With great difficulty, he found his way to Srikant’s room.
The door creaked softly as he pushed it open. His gaze landed on Rajni, her still form lying peacefully on the bed, her shoulder neatly bandaged. Her breathing was even, her face serene despite the pain she had endured. As he stepped inside, the sound of the door shutting behind him reached his ears, but he didn’t need to look back to know who it was. Only one person could carry such a commanding presence—his elder brother.
Ignoring Srikant, Ratnesh shuffled to the bed and collapsed beside Rajni, his head sinking into the pillow. His arm, heavy and careless, hit her stomach, causing her to stir. Her eyes fluttered open, drowsy and clouded from the medicine. A faint smile tugged at her lips when she recognized him.
“Aa gaye aap?” (You’ve returned?) she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with pain. Her good hand reached up to touch his cheek gently. “Bade Thakur bol rahe the ki aap suar ko maarne jungle chale gaye hain.” (Bade Thakur said you went to the jungle to hunt the boar.)
Ratnesh said nothing, his eyes fixed on her as though searching for something—reassurance, perhaps. After a moment, he shifted closer to her, resting his head carefully on her uninjured shoulder. His arm slid around her waist protectively, and he closed his eyes, exhaustion evident in every movement.
“Chote Thak—”
“Soo jaa, Rajni. Chup chap soo jaa,” (Sleep, Rajni. Just sleep quietly,) he whispered against her shoulder, his voice raw and weary.
Even in her weakened state, Rajni could sense something was wrong. Despite her struggle to stay awake, she tried to talk to him, to draw him out. “Aap gussa hain,” (You’re angry,) she whispered, knowing full well he wasn’t. She just needed to make him look at her, to stop hiding his face.
Ratnesh shook his head silently, unwilling to speak.
“Par aapne pee hai... Aap se ba...bad...” (But you drank… you are sme... smell...) Her words trailed off as the medicine and exhaustion won. Her eyes closed, and she slipped into unconsciousness mid-sentence.
Ratnesh’s gaze softened as he looked at her peaceful face, concern flickering across his features.
“Dawa ki wajah se so gayi hai. Neend mein rahegi toh kam dard hoga aur jaldi theek hogi,” (She’s asleep because of the medicine. It’ll hurt less, and she’ll heal faster,) Srikant said from behind. The bed creaked slightly as he lay down beside his brother, his voice calm but edged with fatigue.
Ratnesh didn’t respond. Instead, he lowered his head back to Rajni’s shoulder, seeking comfort in her presence. As his eyes closed, the weight of the day finally caught up with him, his grip on her waist tightening just slightly, as if to anchor himself. Srikant’s gaze lingered on the two for a moment before he, too, closed his eyes, the room falling into silence once more.
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