Rashmi [Handing over the paper in which Raghav's Number is written]: "If we can, then we can be rescued. Just phone this number, please."
They reluctantly agree and take the paper. Rashmi then goes away, but those two seductive, cunning bahus threw the number away.
The number flew away and landed at the hand of a townsfolk of Behrahempur, a middle-aged man named Hariya. Hariya was a simple man, a weaver by trade, known for his quiet demeanor and his habit of observing everything around him. He was returning from the marketplace, a small bundle of cotton slung over his shoulder, when the blood-stained paper fluttered down and caught his eye.
He picked it up, his brow furrowed. The sight of the blood made him uneasy. He squinted at the numbers, his lips moving as he silently read them. He recognized the red stain, a stark contrast to the faded paper. He had seen enough of the Thakur's brutality to know that blood meant trouble.
"Raghav," he muttered, reading the name scribbled beside the numbers. He didn't know who this Raghav was, but the desperation in the blood-written message was clear. He knew he was taking a risk, but something in his gut told him he couldn't ignore it.
Hariya tucked the paper into the folds of his turban, a flicker of resolve in his eyes. He knew that the Thakur's eyes and ears were everywhere in Behrahempur, but he also knew that silence in the face of injustice was a form of complicity. He decided he would find a way to make this call, to reach this Raghav, even if it was the last thing he did.
He walked through the narrow lanes of the town, his mind racing. He knew he couldn't use any of the public phones; they were all likely monitored. He needed to find a place, a moment, where he could be alone, unseen.
He reached his small, humble dwelling, a single room at the end of a winding alley. He went inside and closed the door, the dim light filtering through the small window. He pulled out a worn-out cloth, revealing a small, hidden compartment.
Inside, he kept a simple, old mobile phone, a relic from a time when such devices were less common in Behrahempur. It was a phone he rarely used, a secret he kept to himself.
He carefully dialed the number, his hand trembling slightly. The phone rang, and he held his breath, listening intently.
The phone rang, a tinny, unfamiliar sound in Raghav's tense, anxious state. He snatched it up, his voice tight. "Hello?"
"Hello," a hesitant, slightly trembling voice replied. "Is this...Raghav?"
"Yes, this is Raghav. Who is this?" Raghav's heart pounded. He recognized the slight accent, a rural drawl he associated with the Rajasthan border.
"My name is Hariya. I live in Behrahempur."
"Behrahempur?" Raghav's grip tightened on the phone. "What do you want?"
"I...I have a message for you. A message written in blood." Hariya's voice was low, cautious. "A woman...she wrote your number. She said your name was Raghav. She is in danger."
Raghav's breath hitched. "Rashmi? Is it Rashmi?"
"I don't know her name. She is to be married to Veer, Thakur Bhishma Pratap's son. She begged for me to call you. She wrote your number on a paper with her blood."
Raghav's world narrowed. "Veer? Bhishma Pratap? They have Rashmi?" A cold fury washed over him, a burning rage that made his hands shake.
"Yes. She is being held at the Thakur's mansion. They are going to marry her tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Raghav's voice was a low growl. "Where exactly is the mansion? Give me directions."
Hariya hesitated. "It is...difficult to explain. The Thakur's men are everywhere. I cannot be seen speaking with you."
"Just tell me how to get there," Raghav insisted, his voice hard. "Tell me anything that will help me find her."
Hariya gave him what directions he could, a fragmented description of landmarks and turns, his voice laced with fear. "You must be careful. They are ruthless. They will not hesitate to kill."
"I understand," Raghav said, his voice grim. "Thank you, Hariya. You've done a brave thing."
"Please," Hariya whispered, "save her."
The line went dead. Raghav stared at the phone, his mind racing. He had a name, a location, and a deadline. He had to move, and he had to move fast. He would tear Behrahempur apart if he had to, but he would bring Rashmi back.
Raghav stared at the phone, the dial tone a harsh, empty sound in the sudden silence. "Those rascals," he growled, the words thick with fury. "They abducted my fiancée." The realization hit him like a physical blow, a cold, hard knot of rage settling in his stomach.
He slammed the phone down, the plastic cracking slightly under his grip. He paced the room, his mind a whirlwind of fragmented images: Rashmi's smiling face, the wedding card they'd designed together, the fear in Hariya's voice. He couldn't afford to waste a single second.
"I'll tear that place apart," he muttered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I'll make them pay."
He grabbed his phone again, his fingers flying across the keypad. He dialed the SP's number, his voice sharp and urgent. "SP saab, I have a location. Behrahempur. They've taken Rashmi to Thakur Bhishma Pratap's mansion. We need to move, now."
"Behrahempur?" The SP's voice was laced with concern. "That's Thakur Bhishma Pratap's territory. It's a lawless place, Raghav. We'll need a coordinated effort."
"I know," Raghav said, his voice hard. "I'm already coordinating with the STS. I need every officer you can spare. We're going in, and we're bringing Rashmi back."
He hung up, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. He began making calls, his voice clipped and efficient, issuing orders, coordinating movements, pulling every string he could. He contacted his STS team, outlining the situation, his voice leaving no room for argument. He contacted the local police in the surrounding districts, requesting backup, laying out a plan of attack.
"We move at dawn," he told his team, his voice low and intense. "We hit them hard, and we hit them fast. They won't know what hit them."
The room buzzed with activity, officers scrambling, maps spread out, weapons checked. Raghav stood at the center of it all, a man possessed, his focus laser-sharp. He would not fail. He would not let them win. He would bring Rashmi back, even if he had to burn Behrahempur to the ground.
Sorry for updating so late. THANK YOU.
