The Price of Freedom

Chapter 8: The Beginning of the End

The flames crackled, consuming Susmita's body as the fire raged before her helpless family. The once comforting warmth of her presence was now replaced by the unbearable heat of the fire, her life extinguished in a cruel blaze. Arnab watched in horror, his heart breaking as his beloved wife burned alive, unable to do anything but witness the nightmare unfolding before him.

Barkha's cries pierced the air, her small frame trembling uncontrollably as she clung to Sourav. But Sourav, the young boy who had seen too much, was frozen. His eyes, once filled with fear and tears, were now dry, reflecting the dying flames of his mother's body. The trauma had taken over, leaving him numb to the world around him.

Abdul, watching the scene with cold detachment, turned to Shakil and Yusuf. "Who should we kill next?" he asked, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Arnab, desperate to save his children, cried out, "Kill me, but please, let my children live!"

Yusuf sneered, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "You don't have that luxury, my friend," he spat, his voice dripping with malice. The idea of mercy was foreign to these men; their hearts were as cold and dark as the night outside.

Abdul, growing impatient, nodded to Shakil. "Be quick. Kill Arnab first. Douse him in petrol," he ordered, his eyes flicking to the canister that had sealed Susmita's fate.

Shakil moved to carry out the order, pouring the petrol over Arnab's trembling body, the liquid soaking into his clothes, seeping into his skin. Arnab felt the cold liquid on his body, knowing what was to come, but his thoughts were only of his children. He looked at them one last time, wanting to shield them from the horror they were about to witness.

As Shakil prepared to strike the match, Abdul noticed something strange. He saw Sourav, bound and still, but something was off. Sourav wasn't crying or pleading. He wasn't even trying to fight back. His eyes were locked on Abdul's, empty yet somehow full of a chilling resolve.

Intrigued and slightly unnerved, Abdul asked, "Are you afraid of dying, boy?"

Sourav, his voice eerily calm, replied, "I'm not going to die today. No matter what you do to me, I'm going to survive. And when I do, I'm going to come after you. I'll find you, and I'll kill your whole family. Brutally."

His words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the despair surrounding them. Shakil and Yusuf, momentarily caught off guard, burst into laughter. The idea of this young boy making such a bold claim seemed ridiculous to them, a final act of defiance from a child who had lost everything.

But Abdul didn't laugh. He saw something in Sourav's eyes that chilled him to the bone. It wasn't fear or anger; it was a promise. A promise of vengeance that he couldn't shake.

"Burn him," Abdul commanded, trying to rid himself of the unease creeping into his mind.

Shakil, still grinning, struck the match and tossed it onto Arnab. The flames caught instantly, roaring to life as they engulfed him. Arnab screamed, the pain unbearable, but his thoughts were with his children, hoping they would somehow survive this hell.

Sourav's gaze never wavered. He watched his father burn, his own tears long dried up. His eyes, now empty and devoid of emotion, reflected the fire that consumed his family. But within that emptiness, something else began to grow—a cold, unyielding resolve.

As the flames rose, the rain that had once poured relentlessly came to an abrupt stop. The clouds seemed to dry up, just like Sourav's tears, leaving behind a night that was eerily still. The only sound left was the crackling of the fire and the haunting silence of the boy who had just lost everything.

But in that silence, something dark and powerful was born. Sourav's promise lingered in the air, a whisper of vengeance that would haunt the men who had torn his world apart. And as the last of the flames died down, Sourav knew that one day, he would make them pay.