2 (I)
1746 Words
Part 1
The night was cold, but Meera was drenched in sweat.
She clutched the little girl’s hand so tightly that she could feel her pulse beneath her fingertips. Too fast. Too scared. Just like hers.
The streets of Dhanpur were quieter at this hour, but the silence wasn’t comforting it was suffocating.
She knew they were coming.
She could feel it.
Every shadow in the alley felt like a lurking figure. Every rustling of the leaves sounded like footsteps behind her.
She quickened her pace.
The little girl, struggling to keep up, whimpered, “Maa… where are we going?”
Meera swallowed the lump in her throat. Away. Far away from the palace, from the cruelty, from the fate they had decided for her unborn child.
But before she could respond
A voice sliced through the night.
“There she is!”
Her blood turned to ice.
She spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs. In the dim glow of a streetlight, she saw them.
Raghav’s men.
Dressed in black, towering, merciless. Like wolves hunting their prey.
Meera’s breath hitched.
She pulled the girl closer. “Run.”
And they ran.
Her feet pounded against the dirt path, dust rising beneath her hurried steps. The girl’s small sobs filled the air, but Meera didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
She turned a corner, nearly slipping as her sandals skidded on the uneven road. A sharp whistle rang out behind her.
They were closing in.
Think, Meera! THINK!
She darted towards an old marketplace, dark and empty at this hour. Hiding places. She needed hiding places.
Spotting a half-closed wooden stall, she ducked behind it, yanking the little girl along with her.
"Shhh," she whispered, pressing her hand over the child’s mouth.
Footsteps approached. Heavy. Steady. Deadly.
Meera squeezed her eyes shut. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.
A voice sneered, “She couldn’t have gone far.”
Another man spat, “Thakur Sahab wants her alive, but the child ” He let out a cruel laugh. “Dead.”
Meera felt bile rise in her throat.
They weren’t just after her.
They wanted her baby.
She clenched her fists. Not today. Not ever.
The men moved past her hiding spot, their voices growing fainter. She waited, breathless. Then silence.
She risked a peek. Gone.
Meera exhaled shakily and pulled the girl up. "We need to keep moving.”
The bus station was just ahead. The yellowed signboard flickered under dim tube lights. A chance. A way out.
Meera gripped the girl’s hand and ran toward the counter. A disinterested old man sat there, flipping through a newspaper.
She fumbled for the little money she had stuffed into her blouse earlier.
"Two tickets," she rasped, breathless. "Mumbai."
The old man barely looked up. "Next bus leaves in five minutes."
Relief flooded her. Five minutes. That was all she needed.
She ushered the girl toward a rusting bench. "Sit tight," she whispered. "Don’t move."
The girl nodded, her small body still trembling from fear.
Meera's eyes flickered around nervously. The goons would come here eventually.
She tugged the end of her dupatta lower, hiding as much of her face as she could. Just five more minutes.
The loud honk of an approaching bus rattled through the air.
Meera shot up. It was time.
Grabbing the girl’s hand, she rushed toward the bus door, her heart in her throat. She climbed up, gasping, pressing herself into a seat by the window.
The bus jolted, the engine roaring to life.
And then, just as the doors hissed shut
A black Jeep screeched to a halt outside the station.
Meera’s stomach dropped.
The goons jumped out, their heads snapping toward the bus.
They had seen her.
One of them lunged toward the door, shouting, “STOP THAT BUS!”
Meera’s grip on the child tightened. No, no, no!
The driver, oblivious to the danger, simply grumbled, “Too late,” and shifted gears.
The bus rolled forward.
The men ran.
Meera’s breath hitched as one of them reached out his fingers barely grazing the door
And then, the bus sped away.
She slumped back into her seat, her entire body shaking.
The girl turned to her, whispering in a trembling voice, “Did we escape?”
Meera exhaled, looking back at the city disappearing behind her.
"For now," she murmured.
She placed a protective hand over her belly, her mind racing.
Mumbai.
A city of dreams. A city of new beginnings.
And maybe, just maybe
A city where she could finally be free.
Back in Dhanpur, the palace was eerily quiet.
Raghav Rathore sat in his chair, twirling a whiskey glass between his fingers. His face was unreadable, his eyes locked onto the fire crackling in the hearth.
Devika stood beside him, arms crossed. Furious.
"They let her go," she spat.
Raghav took a slow sip of his drink. "She won’t get far."
Devika scoffed. "She got far enough."
Silence stretched between them.
Then, Devika stepped closer, lowering her voice.
“Do you know what Vishnudev said to me after you left?”
Raghav finally looked up. “What?”
She leaned in, her gold bangles clinking.
“He said the child would destroy you.” Her lips curled into a venomous smile. “But he never said how.”
Raghav’s fingers tightened around his glass.
Devika tilted her head. “What if… it’s not the child that ruins you?” Her voice dropped into a whisper, filled with dark amusement.
“What if it’s Meera?”
Raghav’s jaw clenched.
Devika smirked. “She may have escaped today, brother.” She picked up a knife from the fruit tray, tracing the blade with her finger.
“But mark my words she will not escape forever.”
Meera ran.
She ran like the wind, like the storm, like a desperate soul escaping the jaws of death.
Her feet ached, her breath came in ragged gasps, and her full-grown belly throbbed with pain. But she did not stop. She could not stop.
The little girl clung to her hand, struggling to keep up. “Maa, where are we going?” she sobbed.
Meera couldn’t answer. She didn’t know.
Away. Anywhere but here.
The roads of Mumbai stretched endlessly before her. Rickshaws whizzed past, men on cycles yelled at her, but she didn’t care. She had to keep moving.
The goons had found them once in Dhanpur. They would find them again.
Her breath hitched as she stumbled onto a new road wide, clean, almost surreal in its beauty. The chaos of Mumbai faded behind her, replaced by something different. Something royal.
And then
She saw it.
A palace.
Not like the dark, cruel one she had left behind. This one glowed.
Its white marble domes gleamed in the evening sun. The golden gates stood open, and inside, a massive courtyard was filled with people.
And at the center of it all
A queen.
Meera stopped, gasping.
The woman stood atop a platform, dressed in a deep red lehenga embroidered with gold. Heavy jewels adorned her neck, her fingers, her forehead. Her long, black hair was woven into an elaborate braid. She looked like a goddess descended from the heavens.
But what shocked Meera wasn’t the queen’s beauty.
It was what she was doing.
She was handing out gold coins.
To everyone.
Peasants, servants, women with torn sarees and barefoot children each walked up, bowed low, and received a handful of gold from the queen’s own hands.
Meera’s heart pounded.
What was this place?
Why was a queen giving away gold like it was nothing?
She hesitated at the palace gates. The little girl tugged at her dupatta, eyes wide with confusion. “Maa… who is she?”
Meera shook her head. She didn’t know.
But before she could turn away, a servant spotted her.
“Come forward,” the man said kindly. “The Maharani is giving alms today. You must take it.”
Meera’s body stiffened. Alms?
Her hands curled protectively over her belly.
The queen’s sharp eyes landed on her, curiosity flashing in them. “Come,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “Take what is being given.”
Meera stepped forward hesitantly, her feet barely moving.
As she reached the platform, the queen extended her hand, a glittering coin resting in her palm.
Meera stared at it. Gold. A fortune. Enough to start a new life.
She could buy safety. She could buy a home.
But something inside her rebelled.
She lifted her gaze to meet the queen’s piercing eyes.
“I don’t want it.”
A hush fell over the crowd.
The queen’s expression flickered surprise, then something unreadable.
“No one refuses gold,” the queen said softly.
Meera stood her ground, her heart hammering. “I don’t need gold,” she whispered. “I need… shelter.”
A long silence.
The queen studied her, her gaze flickering to Meera’s swollen belly, then to the little girl clutching her side.
Finally, the queen spoke.
“Then shelter, you shall have.”
The palace was grand, almost surreal. Meera barely had time to take it all in when she felt it the shift in the air.
A sudden, eerie silence.
She turned her head and froze.
At the far end of the long marble hallway, four men stood in the shadows.
Dark kurtas, rugged faces, eyes sharp like knives. Goons.
Meera’s breath hitched. Her fingers tightened around the little girl’s hand.
The queen, who had just been walking ahead of them, stopped. She turned gracefully, her heavy lehenga brushing the floor. Her expression did not change.
One of the men stepped forward, his voice low and threatening.
“Respected Queen ,” he sneered. “What do you think you could be saved ?”
The queen’s gaze did not waver. “Im not afraid of anyone ”
Another man chuckled darkly. “ Oh really ? Then handle this !!! ”
Boom.
A deafening gunshot.
Meera screamed.
Blood. The queen’s red lehenga turned darker as the bullet hit her straight in the chest.
She staggered back. Her eyes widened for a moment shock, pain before her body crumpled to the floor.
Meera couldn’t breathe.
The little girl let out a terrified wail, hiding her face in Meera’s dupatta.
No. No. No.
Her heart pounded, her legs shook. She clenched her eyes shut, waiting for the next gunshot, for death to reach her too
- Writer
