𝗔 𝗠 𝗘 𝗥 𝗜 𝗖 𝗔

It was night in America. Katha was sitting alone in the garden of her villa. A soft, cold breeze was blowing through the air. A bonfire flickered gently in front of her, its warmth cutting through the chill of the early winter. She had wrapped herself in a soft pashmina shawl and was busy working on her iPad, completely focused. A few guards stood at a distance, scattered around the property, their presence silent but strong.

Just then, Meera’s video call flashed on the screen. Without a second thought, Katha accepted it. She placed the iPad against a water bottle on the table, leaned back slightly, and said in a calm, casual tone, “I’m going through some files.” Her voice carried no sharpness, no anger—just quiet focus.

“I knew you wouldn’t be asleep. That’s why I called,” Meera replied with a small smile.

Katha glanced at the screen briefly, then continued scrolling through the documents. “These photos you sent… he was an MLA. But the records I’ve found are all clean. And yet—” she tapped the screen lightly, “—his post-mortem report says something completely different. And the investigation reports tell another story altogether.”

Meera stood up from her chair, picked up her phone, and paced slowly, her brows furrowed. “I thought all the politicians were involved in this case… but I was wrong. Someone else is behind this too. Someone powerful.”

The moment those words reached her ears, Katha’s expression shifted. Her calm face hardened, eyes narrowing slightly—not in surprise, but in a cold, controlled reaction. Meera continued, “Abeer Uncle called yesterday. He was asking if I had spoken to you or convince you .”

Katha answered quietly, her tone steady, “I’m coming to India. In two days.”

For a moment, Meera froze. Her mouth fell slightly open, as if she couldn’t believe what she had just heard. “Katha… you’re joking, right?” she asked, almost breathless.

Katha slowly shook her head. “Maa ka shradh hai thode din baad… uske liye bulaya hai, wo bhi meri hi maa ki kasam dekar. Jab unke deh ko agni deni thi tab to mujhe waha jaane tak nahi diya… aur ab achanak sabko Katha ki yaad aa gayi hai.” Her voice didn’t rise. She wasn’t shouting. But every word she spoke carried the weight of her anger and frustration. Her calm face could not hide the storm brewing beneath.

( Mom's death tithi in a few days. They called me for that—using my own mother’s name as a promise to bring me back. When her body was to be given to the flames, they didn’t even let me come. And now suddenly, everyone remembers Katha. )

“Katha…” Meera’s voice softened. She tried again, more gently this time. “Katha, look at me.” But Katha kept her eyes on the iPad, refusing to meet her gaze.

“Katha, look at me,” Meera repeated, more firmly.

Finally, Katha lifted her eyes to the screen. Her face was calm, too calm. She didn’t say a word. She just sat there in silence—strong, controlled, and unreadable. The fire crackled softly in the background, as if mirroring the quiet burn in her chest.

Meera spoke softly, her voice gentle, yet firm. “I know you don’t want to come. And I know what you go through every year on the day of Aunty’s death. That day… it’s like a punishment for you. But now, at least, they are calling you back. Using the tithi as an excuse. Maybe… maybe even they are regretting their mistakes, Katha.”

Katha remained quiet for a moment, her eyes fixed on the iPad. “I don’t know what they want from me,” she finally said, pausing again. She pushed the iPad to the side and took a long, measured breath before adding, “Baba said Mewar needs me.”

Meera’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait… does that mean they are really handing Mewar over to you? Even though Abeer Uncle’s son is supposed to be the next king? And yet…?” Her voice trailed off, her mind racing. Then, almost in disbelief, she added, “After Aunty’s shraddh, Diwali is coming. What if they plan some royal ceremony to crown you as Mewar’s queen not as a prince then…?”

Katha picked up the phone, the iPad in her other hand, and walked inside. Her steps were steady, almost deliberate. “I’m going only for my mother,” she said quietly. “If Baba hadn’t bound me by his promise, I wouldn’t even go. Just one day… then I’ll return to America by evening.” Her voice carried a commanding authority, every word radiating control. Her eyes, however, betrayed nothing—just emptiness.

Meera nodded silently. She didn’t respond, though it felt like she wanted to say something. Katha hadn’t even reached her room when she ended the call.

𝗟 𝗢 𝗡 𝗗 𝗢 𝗡

Prem was coming downstairs, freshened up, ready for dinner. Nihal sat on the sofa in the living hall, scrolling through his phone. Just as Prem stepped in, a man entered from outside. Seeing Prem, he bowed slightly. “Khammaghani, Hukum,” he greeted.

Prem nodded once. The man continued, voice tinged with anxiety, “Hukum… we can’t find anything about her. Who she is, where she is, what she does… nothing. We’ve tried the internet, every possible method. Even tracking her movements is nearly impossible.”

Nihal froze mid-scroll, listening intently. Prem, who had appeared calm and cheerful until now, suddenly snapped. Anger flared in his eyes, his voice rising. “Nine! Nine years… You couldn’t find a girl in Nine years?” He slammed his phone down hard. “One year is enough to find a person, but Nine years… and you know nothing about her? Nothing at all?!”

His shout echoed through the villa. Servants and everyone present froze, fear gripping them. Everyone knew Prem was not a man to lose his temper, and if he did… someone would get hurt. Still, Prem took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay grounded, unwilling to escalate further.

The man, trembling, lowered his head. “Hukum… forgive us. But we searched for three years in India… every possible place. Every corner of the world. After all these years, if a person hasn’t been found… perhaps… perhaps she’s dead.”

Prem’s roar shook the room. “‘ Zinda hai wo mari nahi haiiiiii!” He advanced toward the man, rage burning in his eyes, but Nihal quickly stepped in. “Prem… calm down. Beth ke bat karte hai.”

Prem took a deep breath, pushing his hair back, his eyes still blazing with determination. “Search every corner of the world if you must. Find her. She is alive. Mera dil nahi manta ki wo mar chuki hai .” His words were low, almost a whisper, but the intensity behind them was unmistakable. Only Nihal heard it clearly.

The man hurriedly left. Prem sat down at the dining table beside Nihal, still tense. Nihal handed him a glass of water. “Why… why do you so hyper whenever she comes up, Prem?” he asked softly.

Prem placed his plate of food in front of him without answering. “I don’t know,” he muttered, barely audible.

Nihal put Prem’s cracked phone beside him. “So many years have passed, Prem. Maybe she doesn’t even remember… or maybe she has moved on with her life. She could have started fresh, with her own dreams, her own family. Nine years… maybe she’s forgotten you.”

Prem’s voice softened, almost breaking. “Shayad wo muje bhul gayi ho lekin muje to wo yad hai na…!” He glanced at Nihal, then rose and walked away, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Perhaps he didn’t want to show them, or maybe he was trying to convince himself.

Nihal called after him, “Prem… eat something…” But Prem didn’t stop. He disappeared upstairs.

Nihal sat there, silent, muttering to himself. “Who was she… that drives Prem this crazy? He never loses control… but when it’s about her, no name, no trace, no photos… just that rough stretch from Nine years ago… he completely loses it.”

He shook his head, watching Prem’s plate. It was clear—this girl was the only thing Prem couldn’t let go of.

𝗠 𝗘 𝗪 𝗔 𝗥

The Mewar Mahal stood like a royal palace, large and grand. Its white stone walls and tall arches gave it a powerful and elegant look. The entrance had wide steps leading to big golden doors, with lights shining on both sides. Every corner of the palace was built with perfect symmetry, showing its royal heritage. There was a big green lawn in front, with a fountain in the center. Around it, small lamps and lights were placed, making the whole palace glow at night. The windows had traditional arches, and the upper floors had domes that gave the palace a strong royal identity.
Inside, the palace was even more impressive. High ceilings, wide halls, and traditional Rajasthani designs on the walls gave it a proud and historic look. The chandeliers and polished marble floors added to its luxury.
This was not just a house for mewar family — it was their legacy. The palace reflected their power, their past, and their name. Anyone who entered the palace could feel the strength and respect this place carried. 

Abeer sat quietly on the sofa, lost in thought. Just then, Dhanshri—his wife, approached him cautiously. Her voice was low, almost hesitant. “Did you talk to Bhai..? Did he agree to call Dhriti?” Abeer noticed the slight tremor in her tone, as if she were anxious, and opened his mouth to respond—but before he could speak, a sharp, cutting voice rang from behind.

“She’s dead… for this family and for Mewar!”

Both Abeer and Dhanshri turned sharply. At the doorway stood Padmini, Abeer’s sister, around the same age as him. Her eyes were blazing with anger, and her voice carried a mix of fury and accusation.

Abeer rose slowly. “Padmini…” he began, but she stepped forward, her gaze fixed on Dhanshri, and said, voice trembling with controlled rage, “No one in this palace should even speak her name. Because of what she did, she destroyed our honor and our reputation. She ran away to marry that Man. For us… she was already dead the moment she crossed the threshold of this Palace.”

“What’s happening here? Why are you shouting so much, Padmini?!” Dhanvijay, their father, exclaimed, walking toward her, clearly alarmed.

Seeing him approach, Padmini’s anger softened slightly but did not vanish. “At the bhabhi's shraddh, either she will come, or I will,” she said, her words sharp and deliberate, and then she turned and walked away.

Dhanvijay looked toward Abeer, raising a questioning eyebrow. “What’s going on? What did she mean?”

Abeer, keeping his voice calm, explained, “Darasal, Dhanshri chahti hai ki Dhriti, bhabhi ke shradh par aaye… lekin Padmini ne kaha ki ya to wo ayegi, ya Dhriti. Mana ki usne hamare man‑sanman ke khilaf jaake hamare hi dushmano se rishte banaye… par papa, iska matlab ye to nahi na ki jite‑ji use ko mara hua keh de…!!” His words hung in the air, calm but firm, as the weight of family duty and lingering resentment settled over the room.

( Actually, Dhanu wants Dhriti to come for Bhabhi’s shradh… but Padmini said it has to be either her or Dhriti. I know she went against our honor and built ties with our own enemies… but Papa, that doesn’t mean she should be called dead while still alive…!! )

Abeer turned to Dhanvijay to explain more , but Rajendra entered at that moment and spoke up, calm but with a hard edge behind his words. “‘ Dhriti ki bhi badi sas ka shradh hai wo nahi ayegi,

 or use ane bhi nahi denge yaha wo log , It’s better to end this matter here.” His voice held no anger, but his eyes were full of silent contempt.

Dhanshri watched the exchange, and when she could no longer hold herself back she said softly, “Maybe for all of you my daughter is dead. Maybe for Mewar my daughter is dead. But to me—she is still alive. None of you can change that. Not even you, Padmini.” Tears filled her eyes; her voice thickened, but she would not let the tears fall. She adjusted the pallu of her saree with trembling hands and walked away.

“Katha is coming this time…?” Dhanvijay asked, looking at Rajendra. Rajendra only nodded. Dhanvijay sank back onto the sofa and added, “Now everything is in one person’s hands—our honor, our respect, the pride of Mewar.”

Hearing this, Abeer rose to leave, his voice sharp with anger and frustration. “One daughter was not allowed to live her life here, and the other—she’s been declared dead while still alive. Now everyone suddenly remembers the elder daughter? Why? Because one of them not kept Mewar honor, that’s why!” He left before he said more, bitterness trailing his words.

Dhanvijay’s face had shifted—lines of worry and conflict—but he said nothing. Rajendra rested a hand on his shoulder and urged him to stay calm. Sitting down beside him, he said quietly, “He’s attached to both daughters; that’s why he stormed off. He’ll calm down in a little while.” Dhanvijay simply nodded.

That night, while they sat down for dinner, Dhanvijay remarked, “Kunal still hasn’t returned from the haveli.”

“He went to inspect some hotels for renovation. Tourism has picked up this year. He said he’d be back by late night,” Dhanshri answered, settling into her chair.

They were eating when Padmini stirred the conversation again. “Guruji will also be here for Bhabhi’s tithi,” she said. “And with Diwali approaching, the Rajtilak Muhurat looks auspicious—Kunal should be given the gaddi. The state has been managed Raj bhai alone since Bhabhi passed; he needs rest, and Kunal is capable enough to rule Mewar.” She finished her sentence with a decisive bite of food, but her eyes kept drifting to Dhanvijay — listening for a response that never came.

Padmini’s words had frozen everyone’s hands in place—everyone except Dhanvijay—but no one spoke. After a moment of tense silence, Dhanvijay finally spoke, his voice sharp yet calm.  “ye Rajgharane mai kabhi kisi ko di hui zuban palti nahi hai padmi, behtar hoga tum ye bat samj lo.”

( In this royal house, no promise once made is ever broken. Padmini, it would be better if you understand this. )

Hearing this, Padmini’s face flushed, both in anger and surprise. Her expression hardened, the fury in her eyes was unmistakable. Rajendra, still eating, spoke up in a measured tone. “Katha is refusing. And everyone knows who is responsible for this. It will be better to wait until she arrives and see what she wants.”

Fuming, Padmini snapped, “When have you seen the heir of a royal house’s daughter handle the kingdom and the business?!”

Her words hung heavy in the air. Abeer, Dhanshri, and the others felt their own frustration rising. Fists clenched in silent anger, but no one spoke. Rajendra, calm and steady, addressed her again. “Papa is still alive. It will be better if you respect his words, Padmini.” His voice carried authority; though he too was annoyed by Padmini’s defiance, he controlled his temper and spoke firmly.

Padmini, unable to contain her anger, set her plate down and rose abruptly. “ Mewar ko sambhal ne wala varis hai to fir ladki kyu…!! Jo parayadhan hai use kyu sopna…!!” Her voice shook with rage as she stormed off, though at the end, she muttered under her breath, “Man maryada bech khayi hai sabne ma ke jane ke bad shayd…”

( If the heir is meant to manage Mewar, then why a girl…?! Why hand the responsibility to someone who is meant to be married off…?!” She stormed off, but as she left, she muttered under her breath, “After Mother’s passing, everyone has sold their honor and dignity…”)

Everyone had heard it. Dhanvijay looked around, silently signaling that the meal should continue, his calm demeanor anchoring the tense atmosphere.

𝗟 𝗢 𝗡 𝗗 𝗢 𝗡

It was afternoon, and Prem was in his office, leaning back in his chair. Whether he was deep in thought or just sitting with his eyes closed, it was hard to tell—his face was drenched in sweat, furrows had formed on his forehead, and his hands were clenched loosely on the armrest.

In his mind, images kept flashing—scenes that disturbed him: a girl, clearly in distress, trying desperately to survive. She seemed trapped in a small room, terrified, yet summoning courage to save herself. “Please… open… open, please… or they’ll kill him… I… I have to save him… myself too… please Mahadev...Kanha help me…” she whispered. Her trembling hands tried to force a door open, and finally, murmuring the name of god, the door gave way. She ran, weaving through a crowd of people, the sounds of temple bells and hawan blending with the clamor of the crowd.

Prem’s eyes were shut, but it felt as though he were dreaming, yet the visions tormented him as if real. Sweat streaked down his face, his forehead lined with tension. His expressions shifted continuously, mirroring the fear and anxiety of someone trapped in a nightmare.

The girl managed to slip away from the men chasing her, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was following—but suddenly, someone struck her on the head.

Nihal, who had just entered the office and was on a call, saw Prem and immediately cut it short. “I’ll call later,” he muttered, dropping the phone. 

He rushed toward Prem, trying to rouse him. “Prem… open your eyes… Prem, breathe…!” He patted Prem’s cheek urgently. “ kisi ki ahat aesi padi hai iski zindgi mai ki iski sase tak ruk jaye ” He grabbed a glass of water and splashed it onto Prem’s face. “ Prem… open your eyes… calm down… everything’s fine…”

(Someone’s danger has come so close that it could stop his breathing! ) 

Finally, Prem’s eyelids fluttered open. His eyes were red and bloodshot, as though he had been crying for hours. His breaths were rapid, but he struggled to regain control. “Everything’s fine… okay…!!” Nihal rubbed his hands over Prem’s to steady him.

Prem pushed back his hair, stood, and steadied himself by the window. He opened it to draw a deep, calming breath. Nihal came closer, his concern plain. “Prem, how long are you going to keep this up…? Whatever it is, it’s affecting you so badly that it feels like you can’t breathe. This has been going on for nine years. Please… see a good counselor.”

Prem loosened a button on his shirt, still jittery from the lingering fear. Just then, his phone rang—it was lying on the desk. He picked it up. “Jay Bholenath, Bhai,” came the voice on the line.

“Jay Bholenath Dev,” Prem said, placing the phone on speaker. Sitting back in his chair, he added, “How are you? And everyone else…?” He tried to sound calm, though he was still far from steady.

“Bhai, you’ll be coming to India, right? For Badi Maa’s shraddh…?” Dev asked. Prem nodded quietly. Dev continued, “Bhai, there’s something important we need to discuss… if possible, please come soon.”

Prem noticed a change in Devarsh’s voice and asked, “What’s the matter, Devarsh…? Everything okay…?”

“Yeah, Bhai, everything’s fine. Just… if you come a few days earlier, we can spend some time together. And… maybe there’s a little surprise for you,” Devarsh replied. His voice sounded slightly off, but the word surprise caught Nihal and prem's attention. Sitting across from Prem, Nihal looked at him; Prem noticed but said nothing. They spoke a little more, and then Devarsh ended the call.

After the call ended, a faint sadness crossed Prem’s face—a shadow that had appeared ever since his mother had been mentioned. Nihal noticed, though he didn’t comment, knowing it wasn’t the right moment. But his mind kept analyzing Prem. "Aunty's death and that girl's arrival, even though he saved the girl, but all this is not normal."

Prem’s voice pulled him back to reality. “Nihal, we’re leaving for India tonight. I don’t feel right. Something about Devarsh’s words… there might be some trouble.”

Hearing this, Nihal replied calmly, “Alright. I’ll tell Rama to get the jet ready. We have to need close some work first, and then we leave from here.” Prem simply nodded.

────୨ৎ────
𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 🧿

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