Begusarai - The saga continue

052

The fire crackled and flickered as Ganga sat hunched beside it, rocking back and forth, his muttering growing louder with each sway of his body.

His face, gaunt and shadowed by the orange glow of the flames, twisted in a trance-like state. "The spitting image of him... he’s the spitting image of him. I saw them... I saw them," Ganga chanted, his voice a mixture of anger and eerie reverence. "And his little girl... his little girl. She grew up too. She grew up too."

Pandit, sitting nearby with a plate of chicken and rice, barely lifted his head from his meal.

He nodded absentmindedly, chewing loudly. "Hm, of course, Ganga. So many years have passed," he replied with indifference, shoving more food into his mouth. "They all grew up."

Ganga's eyes glazed over as his mind replayed the image of the woman who had handed him the packed foil of food. Her face, soft and kind, hovered in his thoughts for a brief moment before he blinked it away.

But the memories of his past, of the fire that took everything from him, came rushing back. The flames that had engulfed his world, destroying everything he held dear.

His voice, thick with unresolved rage, cut through the crackling of the fire. "Would we kill them all?" he asked, his eyes reflecting the flames.

Pandit finished gnawing the chicken off the bone and tossed it into the fire, watching it hiss as it burned.

His eyes, cold and calculating, flicked toward Ganga. "Do you want that?" he asked, not in surprise but with a calm curiosity, as if Ganga’s dark desires were a predictable part of their twisted bond.

Ganga’s eyes darkened as he watched the fire, the fury in his heart simmering like the embers. "Yeah... I want that. I want to burn them all. Like my family. If they’re not here, then the Chaudhary will not be here."

Pandit, unfazed by the declaration, hummed thoughtfully, wiping his hands on his kurta. "As you say then..." he said with a smirk, reaching for the packed foil Niyati had given Ganga. "Open the packet. I want to taste the food prepared by his daughter-in-law," he added, his voice dripping with malice. "So when I slice her neck with my knife, I can at least thank her properly."

Ganga’s hands trembled as he opened the packet, revealing the simple yet warm meal Niyati had prepared with care and compassion.

But for Pandit and Ganga, that compassion was nothing more than another ember in the fire of their vengeance, a prelude to the destruction they sought.

As they ate in silence, the fire between them seemed to grow, the darkness of their intentions feeding the flames.

_

The next morning, the Mishra house was a whirlwind of activity, as if chaos had descended in full force. Every corner of the house was alive with movement, laughter, and chatter as family members arrived from far and wide. Roopa, ever the gracious host, welcomed her sister Deepa, her husband Radheshyam, and their three children—Pihu, Riya, and Sanjay. With a smile, she showed them to their room, offering them a moment to freshen up before the traditional Matikor and Chuvan Rasam ceremonies began. The scent of marigolds and turmeric lingered in the air, a sign that the festivities were just beginning.

Moments later, her brother Parmeshwar arrived with his wife, Katyayani, and their sons, Himanshu and Gaurav. Their journey from Tamil Nadu had been long, but no sooner had Katyayani stepped through the threshold than she made her way to Shivangi’s room. With a motherly tenderness, she tied a sacred red thread from the Tirupathi temple around Shivangi’s arm, her eyes shimmering with love and blessings for the soon-to-be bride.

The clock had barely struck eight when Radha’s mother and her brother’s family entered the house. Maithili, ever attentive, ushered them to their rooms, ensuring her grandmother could rest before the ceremonies commenced. The family had planned to come a month earlier when news of Niyati’s troubles reached them, but Radha, ever the calm force, had insisted they wait and come for Shivangi’s wedding instead.