02: Aya Bara Nawabzada!

The haveli was lit.

Lanterns lined the long corridors, their warm glow catching on carved arches and mirrored alcoves, reflecting wealth that had not been earned politely or honestly. 

Outside, peacocks cried somewhere in the gardens, their calls sharp and mournful, like warnings no one listened to anymore.

The whole family was already gathered.

They sat in a wide semi-circle in the main baithak, a room grand enough to swallow sound and secrets whole. Low divans upholstered in covers, a marble floor polished to a dull gleam, antique weapons mounted on the walls like an open warning.

At the center of it all sat Shivani Dev Sherawat.

She wore a chiffon saree of the color of moonlight, draped with effortless grace... the fabric soft against a body that had not yet surrendered to age. 

A single string of real pearls rested at her throat, each one catching the chandelier's light with quiet authority. Her hair was neatly tied back, a few strands deliberately loose, framing a face that was elegant rather than gentle.

People often mistook that.

This was Shivendra Sherawat's mother.

And tonight, she did not look at him with her usual softness.

Shiv leaned against one of the pillars, arms crossed loosely over his chest, posture relaxed to the point of disrespect. 

The same expensive carelessness clung to him... the kind that came from growing up knowing the world bent before you, sooner or later. 

A faint bruise colored his jaw, still fresh from the evening's chaos. He hadn't bothered to hide it.

Why should he? What is he scared of anyway?

To his right sat his grandfather, rigid in a wheelchair, spine straight despite the years. 

His hands rested calmly on the armrests, but his gaze was sharp enough to cut glass. Time had stolen his body but not his authority. Behind him, dominating the far wall, hung a massive portrait of Shiv's grandmother.

She watched them all.

Painted in deep reds and golds, eyes fierce, chin lifted... another woman who had once ruled this house without apology... gone too soon. 

She was spoken of in reverence and fear. Her absence lingered like a wound that never healed properly.

Yuvraj Sherawat, the middle brother sat closer to their mother, like the perfect son he was. 

Beside him, his wife, Yamini, remained half-hidden beneath her veil... eyes lowered and her hands folded tightly in her lap. 

There was a softness to her presence... too soft for this house.

More than once, that softness had been blamed.

"Yamini indulges him," 

Gunjan mami said now, her voice dripping with concern that did not quite reach her eyes. 

She leaned forward slightly, bangles chiming. 

"Always has. Boys like Shivay need firmness early on or..."

His mama hummed thoughtfully, adjusting his glasses. 

He had the look of a man who lived between paperwork and bloodshed, his domain laws and loopholes rather than guns. 

"This isn't just about behavior," he added mildly. "It's about visibility. The police are noticing patterns."

Only Shiv smiled.

A lazy, crooked thing.

"Patterns?" he echoed softly. "I just got arrested, not sentenced."

His mother's gaze flicked to him instantly.

The room fell silent.

"You were dragged out of a public place... A movie theatre in the middle of a screening" she said, her voice calm, infinitely more dangerous than shouting. 

"Handcuffed and photographed... You embarrassed this family, our empire."

Shiv straightened slightly, irritation flaring. 

"I embarrassed you? Maa, I didn't—"

He couldn't finish.

"You did," 

She cut in, finally standing.

The movement was graceful. 

Her saree whispered as she stepped forward, pearls catching the light as she approached him. For a brief, traitorous second, something warm flickered in her eyes.

"You are my youngest," 

She said softly, lifting a hand to his cheek, thumb brushing the edge of his bruise. The gesture was almost affectionate. 

"My favorite mistake."

His jaw clenched.

"And that," she continued, withdrawing her hand, "is precisely why you will be punished."

The word landed heavy.

Shiv laughed, disbelieving. 

"Punished? For what? For being arrested? For reminding a local inspector who he was dealing with?"

"For reminding him who we are, what we could be doing" she corrected. "Carelessly."

She turned away from him then, addressing the room instead. 

"Power survives only when it knows how to hide. What you did tonight was not strength... It was pure indulgence, arrogance without strategy"

His smile vanished.

"I won't have my name dragged through police reports because my son enjoys theatrics," she said, voice steady, eyes hardening. "You need to touch some grass. You need distance"

"And where exactly do you plan to send me?" 

Shiv asked, incredulous now. 

"Another state? Another country?"

She looked at him.

"No."

She paused deliberately, letting the tension stretch, letting the betrayal settle in.

"You're going to college. You'll complete the BA you left half way last year, from scratch."

The word hit him like a slap.

For a moment, Shiv said nothing... Then he laughed, offended. 

"You're joking."

Only if.

"In another district," she continued calmly. "Far from here. You'll assist Rudraveer there."

Rudraveer Sherawat, the eldest who lived in quiet dealing with the deadliest dealings like it was no big deal while maintaining the public eye. A true Sherawat.

"A college?" he repeated, fury creeping into his voice. "With who? Juniors? Middle-class nobodies who think their exams matter?"

The grandfather's gaze sharpened.

"That is enough, Shivay" 

The old man said.

Shiv rounded on him, then stopped.

His mother stepped closer again, lowering her voice so only he could hear. 

"You will go. You will stay. You will behave and learn from your brother."

Her eyes softened just a fraction. 

"And you will remember that everything you have... your name, your freedom... this arrogance of yours exists because I allow it."

Something broke in him then.

To Shivendra Sherawat, exile had always been something that happened to other people. To disobedient men, failed sons. 

Never the favorite... never him.

He nodded slowly, lips pressed into a thin line.

"As you wish, maa" 

He said but inside, the fire twisted.

A college full of peasants.

***

Morning in the Mittal house always arrived before the sun.

It came with shouting.

Metal clanged against metal somewhere in the back courtyard... crates being dragged, bottles knocking together, the sound sharp and familiar enough to make Nisha's shoulders tense even before her eyes opened. 

A gun clicked, not fired... Just checked. 

The sound slid under the skin and stayed there.

"Uth ja!" 

Her brother barked from outside the room. 

"Kab tak saregi bed pe?"

Nisha sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from her eyes. 

The room smelled faintly of sweat and damp walls, the fan above her rattling like it might give up any day now. Across the thin mattress, Nayan turned over with a groan, pulling the sheet over her head.

"Final hai aaj," 

Nisha murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Outside, her father's voice boomed... loud and permanently irritated. 

He was arguing with someone again. He always was. About money, about territory, about someone being shorted or cheated or stupid enough to talk back.

Their kind of crime wasn't elegant.

It was messy. 

The kind that seeped into walls and stained women's silence.

Nisha changed quickly, fingers moving with practiced urgency. 

She wore a simple kurti, dupatta wrapped tight and books clutched like armor. She avoided the mirror, she didn't need to see the tension already etched into her face.

In the kitchen, her mother moved quietly, eyes downcast. A bruise bloomed faintly along her wrist, half-hidden by her sleeve. She didn't look up when Nisha entered.

"Eat before you go," 

She said softly.

Nisha shook her head. 

"I'm already late"

Her bua sat near the doorway,  watching everything. Judgment always lived very comfortably on her face. 

Her husband hovered nearby, pretending not to hear the raised voices from the back.

"You study too much," 

Her bua muttered. 

"Ladkiyon ke liye itna bhi zaroori nahi hota."

Nisha didn't reply... She never did because they never listened.

Her brother stormed in then, reeking of smoke and anger, shoving something into his pocket as he brushed past her too closely. 

"College ke baad seedha ghar," he warned with treatening eyes. 

"Idhar-udhar mat bhatakna."

She nodded once and left before the house could swallow her whole.

The road outside was already awake.

Dust hung in the air, kicked up by passing bikes and barefoot children running errands. The sun climbed mercilessly, heat settling onto her skin within minutes. Nisha stood by the roadside, clutching her bag, eyes flicking anxiously to her watch.

The bus was late again today.

Her throat tightened.

Please, she whispered under her breath, palms pressed together for just a second. Aaj last exam hai. Bas aaj.

She closed her eyes.

"Bhagwan... ek farishta bhej do."

The sound that answered her prayer was not divine.

It was violent.

An engine roared in the distance, aggressively, misplaced for a road like this. 

The ground seemed to vibrate as a black SUV tore into view, cutting through the village like it didn't belong here, like it didn't care that it didn't belong.

Dust exploded behind it, swallowing everything in its wake.

Nisha's heart skipped.

The car slowed just enough for instinct to take over her.

She stepped forward, lifting her hand desperately.

The SUV screeched to a stop a few feet away, dust curling around its tires like smoke.

For a moment, there was only silence.

The driver leaned out slightly, eyes flicking over her nervously. 

"No beta" he said apologetically. "Gaadi private hai—"

"Please," Nisha blurted out, stepping closer. "Drop me till the crossing ahead. Aaj last paper hai. Bus—"

She couldn't finish.

"This is not a charity"

The low voice came from the back... almost irritated and effortlessly dismissive.

Her breath caught.

She couldn't see him since the headrest blocked her view entirely. 

All she caught was the angle of his arm resting casually against the window frame, the glint of an expensive watch, fingers tapping impatiently.

"Gaadi ka petrol tumhare exam ke liye nahi jalta," he continued coolly. "Samjhi?"

Heat rushed to her face, just not from the sun this time.

"I wasn't asking for your petrol," she snapped, insult slicing through her fear. "I was asking for a humble help... just saying no couldn't have been harder"

She could feel his attention shift to her then. 

The window slid down further... Still, his face stayed hidden.

"What you're asking for," he said lazily, "is a favor. And favors cost money in this economy."

Her jaw clenched.

"Typical," 

She muttered, turning away sharply. 

"Paise wale logon ke paas akal kam aur ghamand zyada hota hai."

Behind her, a cruel laugh hummed.

"Oye, keep your tongue inside your mouth. People lose theirs in this world for less" 

He called out.

She stopped, irritation flaring. The meaning of his tone reached her a second too late.

She turned... just as the SUV surged forward.

Dust slammed into her like a wall, coating her hair, her clothes, and her lungs. 

She coughed, stumbling back, eyes stinging as the black beast disappeared down the road without a second glance.

Nisha stood there, furious now.

She wiped dust from her face and shouted after it,

"Aya bada nawabzada!"

The word hung in the air but far ahead, the SUV did not slow.

And fate smiled, because the devil she had been dreaming of for a year had finally answered her prayer.

...Just not the way she wanted.