It was around seven thirty when we reached the temple guest house where I was staying. The drive was silent, as I observed the road we had taken. Inspector Veer certainly had the idea that I was mapping the route but he didn't say anything. I had wanted to ask him the reason of Mr. Rathore's presence there but I knew better. Something was definitely wrong if a person, not related to the government, directly, had access to the elite authority of the Police.
"I know you'll not tell anyone about this but still, remember. If your steps came there ever again, you won't be able to predict your consequences. This is a threat, Miss Hanitra. Make sure you abide by it."
"I don't need reminders, I need your apology the very moment I step out of this car. People are here, they saw me as a threat when I was walked away in those handcuffs."
I stepped out and so did he.
"Miss Hanitra, we apologize for the confusion from earlier. You are no longer a suspect in the case. Feel free to reside here and if any problem occurs, don't hesitate to contact us."
People were listening and some gossips were reaching our ears. But, my name was made clear in the way I had wished. There was an estimated period of my stay here and in that interval, I had to make sure people saw me as nothing but another commoner, here to admire that glorious state. Having the police on my side, atleast in their eyes, was a clear advantage.
"It's all fine, sir. I understand the gravity of the situation. You did what an honest and dedicated Police officer should do."
He nodded his head, turned around, not without wearing his black shades, and left in his police car. On the other hand, I walked inside the temple but before I could reach my room, some people- more like some aunties, surrounded me.
"Tumhara naam kya hai beti?" One of them, who was wearing a mustard yellow saree with a deep green blouse asked me. Honestly, I don't like talking with strangers but if I want to reach my goal, I need to have the purest profile among the people.
(What's your name child?)
"Ji, Hanitra." My reply was short, edged with respect yet awkwardness.
"Ghano Chokho naam se tharo." A woman in blue ghagra said, or maybe compl
(You have a really beautiful name.)
"Ji?" I was confused. This was the first time I had heard such language or dialect- whatever it was.
"Ye kehe rahi hain ki tumhara naam bohot achcha hai." The first lady replied again.
(She is saying that you have a beautiful name.)
Oo. So Chokho is nice or beautiful and Ghano means very. Nice words.
"Ji, Shukriya." I was shy, both from the compliment and the curious stares these ladies had for me.
(Thank you.)
"Tumhari maa ne rakha hai?" I was still for a moment. It was rare to me to be asked about my parents too soon in a conversation
(Did your mother name you?)
"Ji, pata nahi. Orphanage se hi mujhe iss naam se bulate hai."
(Oh, I don't know. I have been called Hanitra since my orphanage days.)
Tara, this is wrong. You can't talk about your personal details with the people you hardly know.
No, it might help. If I have the public on my side, they may become witness for me someday.
Aur vaise bhi, itni badi baat bhi nahi hai. Many people have their roots in orphanages. It's not a crime. And moreover, humans connect easily with emotions. If I seem vulnerable or sympathetic to them, they might trust me.
(Oh come on, it's not even a big issue.)
However, these ladies hardly had the emotions of sympathy or pity visible on their faces, though they had been frozen just for a moment. A lady, probably the eldest among them- as seen from her wrinkles, broke the short silence.
"Hamare Inspector sahab yu achche insaan hai. Bas thode se sakht hai par apna kaam bade achche se karte hai. Imaandar hai. Unki kisi baat ka bura mat man-na."
(Our inspector is a nice guy. Though he is a bit strict but fulfills his duties greatly. He's honest. Don't feel bad or offended by his words.)
Imaandar, my foot. Agar hote, to kisi mantri ke bete ki ji-huzoori thodi karte.
(Had he been honest, he wouldn't have been a pet of any minister's son.)
But instead of saying this, i just shook my head. "Nahi aunty ji, vo bas apna farz nibha rahe the. Ek police wale ki duty hamesha achchi nahi hoti. Kabhi- kabhi sahi cheez logo ko gussa lagti hai."
(No aunty, he was just doing his duty. A police officer's duty isn't always pleasant. Sometimes, fairness looks like fury.)
They changed some impressed glances and then the one who had asked about my mother questioned me again. "Bhook laagi hai thane?"
(Are you hungry?)
I couldn't understand the whole sentence but I knew Bhook and lagi. She was asking if I was hungry.
"Ji, bhook to laagi hai mahne."
(Yes, I am hungry.)
They smiled at my try to speak their language. It was easy though. Like tumhe is thaane and mujhe is mahne. Rhyming words.
Good listening, Tara.
"Chaalo fir. Mahre choolhe ni roti khuawan thaane."
(Then let's go. Let us serve you the roties of our Choolah.)
Nope. Wrong Tara. This language is not easy. I take my words back.
As a lost puppy in a foreign land, I just nodded my head and let them lead me to an unfamiliar part of the area. It was in the southwest from the guest rooms. A quite large kitchen, with not so many utensils, save for around ten plates, a dozen glasses and those necessary cooking ones. However, there was a stock of disposables at the left corner. No gas stove but something made of cement or clay, which had a wide opening in the front and then another, horizontal one on the top. It was made like a mini house with no roof, having just a door and then the first floor. It was the first time I was seeing something like this. The woman, who was sitting near its front, held a mini, thick black rod that had no closing. She then blew air from that rod and the fire at the front began being violent, or whatever increasing its pace was called. She then placed a round utensil with a wooden holding on the top of the fire area, the first floor, in my language.
I know that utensil well, it's a tawa- a pan used to make rotis.
As if sensing my curiosity towards this new thing, the mustard saree woman came to me. "Isse choolah kehete hain. Ham issi par roti banate hai."
(It's called a Choolah. We make roti on this.)
I nodded my head. Choolah, not a mini house.
She then pointed towards the black rod with open ends. "Aur ye hai phookni."
(And this is a phookni.)
"Phookni?" I repeated.
She then nodded and continued," Iss se aag jalayi jaati hai, lekin dhyan se, agar jyada hawa gyi to aag hume bhi jala sakti hai."
(It is used to start the fire, but carefully. If the fire turns violent, it may even burn us.)
Again, I just nodded my head, trying to process this new information. In Agra, we had a stove. And the question of me entering it was the last, Baba had clear orders for me to never cook, unless he was out for some work. So yeah, I know only a few dishes to cook.
A stool was passed to me and I was asked to sit. I shifted towards the Choolah a bit, trying to see how it works.
The mustard saree lady replaced the woman from earlier. She was now making the first roti. After making a perfect circle, she placed it on the tawa and with bare hands- really, bare hands, flipped it after some time. Then, she placed the roti in the area where the fire was lit. I was astonished.
"Aunty, par aise to roti jal jayegi?"
(Aunty, but the roti will get burnt this way.)
Laughter echoed in the area. I was slightly blushing from all that attention and the embarrassment I just met.
"Nahi bete, roti hamesha end mein hi rakhi jaati hai. Jahan kam aag hoti hai."
(No child, you keep the roti always at the end, where fire is low.)
The first roti was saved for the cow and I was served the next, with lots of ghee, a bowl of curd, a vegetable, that I was still to taste and obviously, my love- Buttermilk or Lassi.
I tasted the food, all eyes now wide and curious, staring at me as I gulped down the first bite.
"Kaisi hai?"
(How is it?)
"Tasty."
They all smiled and a few girls even clapped from excitement.
Twenty minutes and I was back in my room, door slammed shut and locked. The taste of ghee still lingered on my lips, but it couldn't mask the bitterness that crept in as I returned to my mission. I opened my laptop, deleting the search history from the VPN network. I navigated to the browser history — scrubbing it clean. Every tracker, every shadow web access.
Wiped.
I was about to click delete for the search titled- 'Abhiraj Rathore political career' when my mind replayed the incidents from the earlier encounter with Shivaay Rathore.
"Moreover, you were arrested for using an illegal website."
"They can still arrest you."
Still.
Still.
My breath caught.
He hadn't said you were arrested.
He said they can still arrest you.
Which means, the arrest for restricted use was just an excuse for the people to see, they had taken me and the other person whose name was similar to me for another reason. If I am not wrong, the police had played with him, manipulating the people's eyes.
Suddenly my stomach turned.
If the arrest had a secondary motive... if the CM's son was involved in my detainment... and if Veer — a police inspector — followed those orders without blinking...
Then this wasn't just surveillance.
This was containment.
But then again, I was not questioned, save for just my name. This indicates that the person is the one they had wanted from the start and my activities just matched with their motive. If I can get something about that person, I may even get a lead.
But, what was his name? They hadn't mentioned it when I was present.
Then how?
Wait.
The temple register.
Yes, he must have himself registered.
Wow Tara, another reason you love yourself for.
I wasted no second and sprinted straight towards the little reception-cum-tea stall where I had registered myself.
"Bhaiya, can you give me register for once?"
He eyed me, something stuffed in his mouth so he used his hand to gesture 'why'
"Vo jo aapne mere name ki spelling galat likhi thi, vo check karni hai. Pata hai kitni badi confusion ho gyi thi police ko."
(I need to check my name's spelling mistake. The police had a big confusion from that.)
He nodded and passed me the register. I stepped aside and started checking the entries backwards. His name was eight names before me. Hanit Rana. Checked in six- now seven days before. I then quickly corrected my spelling mistake and then passed the register back.
Curiosity still gnawed at me. Back in the room, I did what I was fake arrested just two hours ago. But this time, I had used Moscow as my address, bypassed layers of basic encryption, and slipped into the kind of site that didn't exist on the surface web. It's your fault Hanitra. Baba had asked you to attend coding classes but you were there, learning Persian instead of coding. Now suffer.
I typed in the name- Hanit Rana.
The screen loaded slowly. Every second felt like a claw scratching at her patience.
The results came and there were atleast forty men identifying with the same name. I searched each one of them, but none matched the last location category. However, my research didn't stop, I tried a few other options. Never in my life have I regretted rejecting coding more than now. Had I attended even a few months, I would be able to hack the temple's camera and have a face of the Hanit Rana I was deliberately searching for.
My fingers were about to click log out and delete when my eyes stumbled upon a recording, unnamed. A notification about my next action being recorded popped on the screen, asking or consent. My hand lingered there, for an amount of atleast ten seconds when I finally clicked play. If I was about to be arrested, this time seriously, I should make it atleast a bit worth it.
"You have to burn a forest to make space for orchards." The voice, it sounds familiar- too familiar.
I tried to look for the uploader's name but it just showed- Buriedlies23. The video seems uploaded two years ago. I thought to search this name further. But before I could dive into the search results, a sharp notification lit up my phone. Unknown number.
I picked it up cautiously.
"Hello?"
"Miss Hanitra," came the deep, composed voice from the other end. "This is Inspector Veer. There's a fair being organised in the main square this evening. Since you're new here, the locals—and a few of my officers, honestly—insisted we invite you. This could be a chance for you to connect with our people. I'll be there to pick you up at five."
Before I could respond, the line disconnected.
My blue-hazels stared at the screen, blinking.
He has my number?
How? I never shared it.
Idiot, the register. Surely he would have noted.
I set the phone down, slowly.
"Itna bada inspector... aakhir mujhe personally kyu inform karega? Aisa kya hai us mele mein? I should go, might get a new information."
(Why would an Inspector himself inform me personally. What special things lie in that fair.)
A strange knot tightened in my chest, and certainly it had nothing to do with feelings. This was the second time today his name—and his presence—had disrupted me. There was something off about him. Calm, too calm. Courteous, but controlled.
The kind of man who doesn't say everything he knows.
Or worse—the kind who watches more than he speaks.
The women. The warmth. The arrest. The name confusion. And Shivaay and Veer.
All of it was a chessboard.
And I? I wasn't just a player.
I was about to flip the board.
Elsewhere, in the dim corridors of Sapphire's hidden facility.
I leaned back in the leather chair, staring at the ceiling for a second too long.
Her voice wouldn't leave my damn head.
"Mr. Rathore, let's not meet ever again."
She had looked straight into my gray eyes when she said it. Fire in her tone, storm in her gaze. I hadn't expected that level of cold detachment after such a fierce confrontation, or maybe, I hadn't expected anything.
"Who is she? And why the hell am I even bothered with whatever she said?" I whispered to no one.
"Still thinking about her, boss?" Lakshay's voice broke through the silence, leaning against the doorway with a knowing smirk.
My jaw tightened. Instead of answering, I turned back toward the man slumped in the center of the room—Hanit Rana, bound to the chair, bloodied, broken.
The same man who had install specialized sensors in cargo containers—containers that my team had stolen, only to later discover they were being tracked.
A betrayal. One that was surely about to causd a public humiliation in the upcoming mafia roundtable meet.
Unforgivable.
I leaned down, gripping Hanit Rana's hair. "Who sent you? Who do you work for? And dare you lie to me."
But the man was barely breathing now. He had already a number- no, infinite torture marks whiplashes and other injuries on his body. Two gunshots in his left arm and right leg. A large ice piece on which were his legs tied. But the man was trained well. It took almost an hour to confess him his real identity, the one we always knew.
He managed to utter one final word: "Subha..." , before he finally had his last breath. Hell, I tortured him and wasted my time for what? A damn word.
My back straightened, Mind confused. "Subha? Morning? What the hell does that mean?"
Lakshay shrugged. "Maybe a code?"
Before we could process further, Lakshay's phone buzzed. He checked the encrypted alert and glanced sharply at me.
"Another VPN breach. Illegal site activity. Search titled Abhiraj Rathore political career."
My eyes narrowed, why would someone search about this on a restricted platform. "Name?"
Lakshay looked up slowly. "Hanitra."
Silence stretched for a moment. A beat of quiet tension, followed by a sharp inhale.
My turned to the window, eyes scanning nothing in particular.
"Kya dhoondh rahi hai ye ladki? This is the second time she accessed that site."
(What is that girl finding?)
My right hand reached for the phone in my pocket and dialed.
The line connected instantly.
"Veer."
"Hmm." A low voice, indicating he was engaged in some files.
"Ask her to come to the fair this evening. Personally."
A pause. Then Veer's voice, respectful but curious: "Is everything alright? "
"No," I replied flatly. " I doubt she's not here for just vacations."
"Alright. I'll tell her, but Shivaay, if she doubts, I am dropping this idea."
Click.
The sun had dipped behind the dusty hills, and the temple gates shimmered gold under the fairy lights of the fair nearby. The dusk light melted like saffron over the hills of Rajasthan as Hanitra stepped out of the guesthouse. I wore a soft cotton shirt, crisp and tucked into a long indigo skirt that swayed with each step. A camera hung at my left side, but my movements were not of a tourist's. Calm. Collected. The steps were easy, but not casual. Deliberate. Every blink, every pause, every angle — composed.
I approached the temple gates — glowing under strings of fairy lights and flanked by a crowd spilling into the fairground.
And there he stood, leaning against his black SUV.
Veer.
Inspector Veer — not in uniform, but in a black shimmering kurta that caught the lights with a quiet arrogance. He didn't have those shades from earlier, just his almond, brown eyes. His hair was neatly pushed back, his expression unreadable. His sleeves were artfully rolled up. One hand rested in his pocket, the other on the car door like it belonged to him — which it probably did. He looked more underworld than officer, like someone who knew he could kill softly with charm before ever needing a bullet.
My gaze sharpened and brows rose.
"Aap uniform mein nahi ho, officer?" My voice was edged in ice. Accusation disguised as curiosity.
(You aren't in uniform, officer?)
Veer tilted his head slightly, amused at the bluntness . "Fairs don't really require bulletproof vests, Miss Hanitra."
I gave him nothing in return. No smile. No recognition. Just the next jab.
As I stepped into the SUV, I settled myself, eyes forward. Inside, the engine purred to life, and the silence between us grew thick before I asked him sharply, in the mid-way.
"Officer, you—a police officer, that too of the rank of Inspector—came to specially pick up a girl who hardly knows your state. Public kya sochegi?"
(What would the public think?)
Veer didn't look at me, his focus on the road ahead, narrow lanes strung with marigolds, over which the fair rose — a patchwork of color, light, and chaotic sound..
"Public ko agar sachhi chinta hoti... toh wo ghoorti nahi, help karti. Aur vaise bhi, ye janta apne inspector par bharosa karti hai, they know I don't do anything that goes against the law and order."
(If the public really was worried, it would help, not stare. And moreover, this public knows and trust its inspector.)
Then, with a clipped breath.
"And if you have a thought about it," he said, starting the engine, "take it as an apology for the earlier arrest. I don't like to keep people in the delusion that they have an upper hand on me."
I blinked. Once.
But said nothing.
He didn't elaborate.
He just clicked the seatbelt off with a smooth snap.
Following his movements, I too stepped out of the car.
The fair was alive with laughter, music, glowing lanterns, and the aroma of street snacks. Children ran with spinning toys, women swayed with shopping bags, and lights danced on every colorful tent. The scent of ghee-fried jalebis curled in the air, tangling with the smoke of dhoop and roasted peanuts.
As I walked beside Veer, my cold walls cracked just slightly. I smiled — genuinely — as I clicked pictures of children, rangoli decorations, and a puppet show happening in a corner.
An old Rajasthani woman, draped in a bright leheriya saree, passing by, paused to look at us and said something while holding Veer's left arm, with a fond smile.
"Thari jodi chokhi lage thanedaar!"
(You both look beautiful together.)
I paused but didn't understand. So, I just tilted my head slightly, looked at Veer, waiting for translation.
But he smiled, then bent a little in respect to the old lady.
"Galat na samjho, kaki. Yo mhari dhani na hai. Yo to nai shehar mein aayi se, isne mhain madad karan khatar lyayo, melo ghumane.. Mhari ghar aali to apne maayke gayi se."
(Don't think wrong, aunt. She is not my wife. She is new to the city so I brought her as helping her to tour the fair. My wife has gone to her parent's house.)
The woman cackled and patted Veer's shoulder before waddling away into the crowd.
I tilted my head again, confused as ever. "What did she say?"
Veer didn't give the answer I was curious for. "Guess."
So, i just gave him a deadpan look. "I don't guess, Mr. Inspector, I ask."
At this, he had a slight smirk. "She said we look good together."
My eyes widened. "What?"
But he grinned. "Don't worry. I took care of your reputation, told her that I already have a wife."
I blinked, slowly and then narrowed my eyes. "Aapse shaadi ke liye koi maan bhi gaya, ye soch ke hi hasi aa rahi hai."
(I feel like laughing at the mere thought of someone agreeing to be married to you.)
His jaw dropped and the face darkened a bit. Offended silence and then, " For your kind information, I lied to save you from embarrassment. And now you're mocking me?"
I scoffed. "Vahi toh soch rahi hoon — kisne haan kar di."
(That's what I was thinking, who did agree.)
I looked him up and down with exaggerated judgment. "Height theek hai, par chehra... personality?"
(Height is fine, but your face... personality?)
He was left open-mouthed as I casually strolled into a silver jewellery stall.
There, I picked up a pair of oxidised jhumkas, my favourite jewellery. Tried them on, they were looking good. Admired them — subtly. But I didn't buy. Just left them hanging on the display.
He followed me slowly, watching me move ahead, clicking pictures. He was surely not over from that mockery. But he didn't push it further, not until we reached an area that was less crowded, with just a line of people waiting for their turn on the ferris wheel.
"What did you really mean when you said that, Miss Hanitra? My face and personality, huh. I have already rejected atleast a dozen proposals, aur aap kehe rahi hai ki mere chehre mein kami hai? Chasma kyu nahi pehen leti aap?"
(And you are saying I don't have a handsome face? Why don't you wear spectacles instead.)
"Your face would have done the rejection, before you even would have spoke."
"Oh really? The city has already started raising you with claws?"
I had walked away toward a jalebi-pyaz kachori stall, muttering something under my breath. But he still followed me behind.
"Kya kaha tumne? Don't think I didn't hear something."
(What did you just say?)
Without looking, I answered him. "Maybe I was praying that your next lie is more believable."
And he responded back, instantly, in a mutter. "Maybe I should pray you stop being so smug."
The banter quieted as the stallkeeper handed me a plate. I took a small bite, chewing thoughtfully.
Veer watched me, leaning beside the cart.
"You're different here." This time he had a soft voice.
"You don't know me anywhere else." I replied, without turning.
"I'm trying."
My eyes flicked up at that, what was he trying? Flirt? No Tara, he is an officer.
But I didn't answer.
The music swelled somewhere near the puppet show, and children clapped in delight. I turned myself to the left, simply to capture something unusual and I did succeed. Two men, at the farthest end, half-hidden behind a stall, were having a conversation and I had looked at the moment one of them passed a slip to the another. Followed by it, was a passing of a gun. GUN. He gave him a weapon and a note. Before I could even observe further, the one who had passed the gun suddenly looked up, sensing that he was being watched. Luckily, I turned back, in time as I was standing to his left and it might take him atleast a second to look here.
"The city is quite unique." Veer's voice greeted me after a sudden rush of adrenaline. His voice calm, layered with the authority of someone who belonged to the place. "Its architecture tells stories... centuries old. Even from here, you can see forts, palaces, and temples layered into the city's heartbeat."
He gestured toward the distant hills. "That fortress you were just looking at—it's older than you think. That's Amer Fort. See how it rises, almost floating above the city? The whole of Jaipur was designed with such vision."
Only now did I truly notice the fort sitting atop the hill, clearly visible from the crowded fairground where we stood. I hadn't realized it before. But I chose not to mention what my eyes had seen earlier to Veer. Instead, I simply nodded, as if agreeing to everything he was saying, feigning casual interest.
Still, something tugged at my curiosity. I decided to steal another glance back at the place where the two men had been. This time, the man noticed me again. Hell. He was already looking this way. Our eyes locked, but I held my calm. Without giving away any sign of unease, I smoothly turned just my head back towards Veer, the expression neutral, and pointed towards the fort.
Raising my right hand, I pointed toward the eastern rampart of the fort -specifically, the weathered bastion that jutted out over the cliffside.. "That turret over there... the one that looks like it's barely hanging on the edge. Was that built for archers or sentries?" I asked, her voice curious, controlled.
Veer followed my finger, his expression relaxing into a smile. "Good eye. That's the Watch Bastion. From there, they used to keep an eye on the trade routes. Not for archers exactly, but they did stand there sometimes. Abandoned now. No public access."
Then, suddenly, as I lowered my hand and also my gaze, I saw the man approaching me, or the direction I was standing in. I choked on the kachori, horrified.
But the inspector was fast enough to sprint towards me, massaging my back, as the vendor filled up a plastic glass of water and passed it to me. I didn't dare to lift my gaze this time as the man crossed me, moving towards the exit.
"Aap theek ho beti?" asked the vendor.
(Are you fine, child?)
"Ji kaka, bas hari mirch muh mein chali gyi thi."
(Yes uncle, it's just the green chili was chewed up by me.)
Within the next seconds, we left. I cited the reason of the aarti's time to convince the officer who refused to leave my side. In some corner of my heart, I knew I was being observed, and why would they not? I had a site breach. They would atleast take a few cautions.
In our way, I saw the same two men, driving ahead of us, on a black bike. Had I not remembered his shirt colour and the printed line of some foreign characters- maybe Japanese, I would have mistaken the man for another commoner. After a drive of five minutes, the bike turned towards left, west direction. There were not any buildings- save for one that read Dharma Foundation. However, if the men had gone there, was not even a question, our car left the building far behind. Luckily, this time, I had an excuse. The sunset was beautiful and the fortress' wall made it more beautiful.
"This city's architecture is mesmerizing. It always looked good in the history books, seeing it with real eyes gives another feeling."
"I agree. This city has been my home and I am still speechless of how it has been built."
"We have different architecture style in my city, Indo-Islamic."
"You don't belong to this state?"
I shook my head. "Nope, Uttar Pradesh is my home."
"Well atleast, both the states share a history of royal lineages." His words were followed by a loe chuckle. This time even I returned a small laugh.
"Umm.. Inspector Veer, can I ask a personal question, if you don't feel offended." No Hanitra, don't ask it now, it's too early. You don't even have anything significant to rely on.
"Sure."
"Have you always wanted to be a police officer?" Dumb girl, seriously? This is all what you could think?
He let out a small chuckle. "That's it? It was your personal question?"
"Well people often don't like to tell this part of their life, their reason or the moment where they realize what they want to be in their life."
"I am a Sehrawat. Hamari khandaan ka ek hi riwaz raha hai... loyalty. Raj gharane ke time me, mere ancestors unke sainapati, knights aur wazir hua karte the. Fir aayi naye zamane ki hawa, raj gharane gaye... aur hum log apne logon ke rakhwale ban gaye."
(Our family has only one tradition.... loyalty. Since royal families, my ancestors have a long history of serving the kings, as their royal knights, generals or other higher posts. But the tradition changed as the modern world came, royalty was removed and so we became the protector of our own people.)
I listened to him silently. Ab sawaal poocha hai to suno bhi.
(Now that you have questioned him, listen too.)
"Once, when I was about eleven, my father took me to a close friend of his. That man was a police officer. The uniform, the authority, the badge and the people's respect. Tabhi decide kar liya tha ki officer banna hai."
(That very moment, I had decided to be an officer.)
"This uniform has never been a piece of cloth to me. It's a new chapter in my family's legacy. And one more thing, since the first time I wore it, I have always wanted people to believe and trust that police wale sirf dikhane ke liye nahi, sach mein kuch karte hain... aur kabhi kabhi... seedhe dil se bhi sochte hain."
(that police officers really do something, not like just pretend or show to the public and sometimes, even they think from heart.)
I exited from his car, thanking him as we reached my residing place. The aarti was about to be started so I stood inside the temple's hall until it was over. Once back in the room, I opened the laptop, its screen gleaming, and typed the first information I currently had no idea about- Dharma Foundation. The men had surely entered it as there was no route further.
But what this little aspiring journalist didn't know was that her every move, every step, every look.... was recorded today. The third button of the Inspector's kurta was a camera, too miniature to see from naked eyes. She had clicked pictures- but not randomly. She captured entry points, exits, footfall flow, and road angles. To a stranger, she was just admiring the fair.
But to a trained eye... she was scanning it.
Veer wasted no time to return back to the facility, where we always met. The recording tape of today's events were played on the large projector screen. The girl looked like a normal visitor until I noticed something.
"Lakshay, pause it." I stood up from my chair and walked towards the screen. Lifting my hand, I pointed. "Look at her camera angles, tilted unnecessarily to capture the kids."
Both Veer and Lakshay too came forward, veer being the one who spoke first. "Which means she was not clicking the pictures of the fair, she was mapping it all, looking for all the entries, exits, hidden areas."
The screen played again and this we stopped it when Veer gave another description, her asking for the weather bastion. And he was right, the question was an excuse, instead she was looking at a man standing at a far end, her eyes were observing his movements and the cough, it was a planned one, to escape a confrontation. Again in the car, her attention was to the same man, until he drifted to left.
It was all serious atmosphere here until I heard a voice, a bit of sulk audible.
"Par iss sabke beech me, usne vo kyu kaha?"
(But amidst all this, why did she say that?)
Lakshay, who had a chewing gum in his mouth, probably to prohibit him from any sleep, looked at Veer. "Ab kya kehe diya, did she comment on you beard?"
(Now what did she say..)
Veer, who looked truly heartbroken, pointed at his chest. "She muttered, aap jaise logon ke saath waqt ek risk hai. Matlab? Main risk hoon? Main."
(Spending time with people like you is a risk. Am I a risk? I?)
I raised an eyebrow, amused. "Technically, you are police."
"And she even said that my face deserves rejection, saying who could agree to marry me. For her, I made up a lie of having a wife but she still had to insult me?"
Lakshay choked on air. "Bhai, kya parakh hai ladki ki. Direct hit. Personality aur uniform, dono ka postmartem ek saath."
(Unbelievable, what an eyesight the girl has. She murdered both your personality and uniform at once.)
"Veer, grow up. Also, have your eyes on her. I need to know what this girl is looking for."
The three of us left together, lakshay drove my car and veer in his own SUV, going back home. On our way back, I had asked my secretary to stop by the fair. It was eight thirty, no way the fair was closing soon. We reached there and at the silver jewellery shop, I picked up the same earrings Hanitra had admired.
While looking at the recording, I saw her trying them, smiling at the mirror. But she had kept them back, however, her eyes still found their ways to the same pair.
"Pack these." The stallowner nodded.
"Jhumko ka aap kya karoge, sir?" The curiously staring secretary of mine asked.
(What will you do of the earrings, sir?)
"Tujhe gift karunga, chahiye?"
(Gift them to you, want it?)
I picked up three more pairs and asked the man to pack them too.
When we settled back in the car and drove away, my dear right hand opened his mouth again.
"But sir, ghar par to sirf teen hi females hai- Madam CM, Second ma'am and Aarya ma'am. Fir vo fourth pair kisliye?"
(But sir there are only three females in the house, then why four pairs?)
"Teri bhabhi cum female boss ke liye, does this satisfy as an answer."
(For your sister in law cum female boss..)
When we reached my home, I gave him only one instruction. " Lakshay, find out whatever this Subha means, I want the answer before the Assembly."
He nodded and drifted away to the secret quarters of Sapphire.
Author's POV
Lakshay, the ever loyal man was driving towards his organisation's quarters, the words and actions of his boss still playing in his mind.
"Accidentally boss, Miss Hanitra ne bhi unhi earrings ko pasand kiya tha."
(Miss Hanitra had also liked the same pair.)
The man smiled silently to himself, confused over his boss. It took him no seconds to realize that his commanding authority was, unknowingly, getting attached to the very person he was also moving against.
Somewhere in the corner of the country
A few guards patrolled at a distance as the couple spent their evening together in their villa. The lady, in her mustard, floral saree, was humming and old tune, while her husband, her love, watched her with glittering eyes. However currently, her attention was not on him, but rather on a novel she was reading while listening to the old tunes of Kishore Kumar.
"Aapko pata hai, aapki awaaz aaj bhi hame hypnotize kar deti hai."
(You know your voice still has me hypnotized.)
"Do goliya kha kar aaye hai, par fir bhi aapko flirting soojh rahi hai, Rawal?"
(You have got two bullet shots and still you wanna flirt?)
"They went past my arm, not my brain, jaan. Ofcourse I still remember how to admire my own wife."
But she had no interest to listen to him this time. She was angry, he had gone there despite her disagreement. She had told him she was having intuitions that something wrong was going to happen but her husband had just caressed her cheek and replied that he would always come back, for her.
"Jaan, sorry, I know I refused your plea, but I wanted my wife to have that property. Aapne hi use dekhkar vo smile di thi jo aap sirf hame deti hai. Ab aap hi batayiye, agar hamari biwi ko koi cheez pasand aayi hai to hum mana kaise kare?"
(You were the only one who had smiled at that in the same way you smile at me. Now tell me, how can I refuse when I know my wife wants it?)
"I smiled because that property was really beautiful, with that view. But Rawal, I never wanted it, khaas kar apne pati ki iss halat ke badle me. Agar hame vo pasand hoti, hum aapko kehe dete, use khud hi khareed lete."
(Especially not at the cost of my husband's this condition. If I had wanted it, I would have told you or bought it myself.)
The man's face darkened a bit. "To aap kehena chaha rahi hai ki my wife smiled like that at something that wasn't her love? No you didn't. Your smile doesn't come for things naturally. And I know when it comes, I am bound to give it to you, the owner of my heart."
(So you are trying to say...)
She smiled. The lady had always known that her husband loved her, to immeasurable lengths. However, occasionally, he gave her the feeling of fear, the fear of losing him, the same man she had left everything behind.
"Love, do you sometimes have the feeling of leaving all this behind, leading a normal life?"
"Nahi, kabhi nahi. My jaan loves power, she thrives on it and I can never miss the chance of giving her pride whenever she sees me ruling."
(No, never.)
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