Currently we sat inside the Ananthapur courthouse, the air was thick with anticipation. The wooden benches creaked slightly as people shifted in their seats, and the low murmur of voices filled the room. The tension was palpable, a stark contrast to the usual quiet of the early morning. The moment we had been waiting for finally arrived as the heavy door at the back of the courtroom swung open. The judge entered the room. Instinctively, everyone rose to their feet, the room falling into a respectful silence. His presence commanded attention, his stern gaze sweeping across the courtroom before he made his way to the bench.
As the judge took his seat, the rest of us followed suit, the collective rustling of fabric and the soft thuds of people sitting down filling the room. My eyes darted to our lawyer, a seasoned professional and a friend of Uncle Paani. He was calm, composed. I glanced at Vikram Sarkar's lawyer across the room; he looked tense, his face betraying the anxiety he was trying to conceal.
The judge adjusted his glasses, his eyes briefly scanning the faces before him. Then, in a deep, authoritative voice, he said, "Proceed with the case."
Our lawyer stood up, his movements deliberate and measured. "Honourable Court," he began, his voice resonating in the quiet room, "I would like to present the original documents of Jagruthi Foundation." The sound of paper shuffling was the only thing breaking the silence as he carefully handed them to the court officer, who then passed them to the judge.
As the judge took the documents, he began to read through them with a discerning eye. My lawyer remained composed, his voice steady as he continued, "Honourable Court, as my client Mr. Krishna has placed serious allegations against Mr. Vikram Sarkar, it is imperative that we substantiate these claims with concrete evidence." The room was silent, all eyes on him as he carefully retrieved a small USB drive from his briefcase, along with a stack of neatly arranged documents.
"To that end," he said, holding up the items for the court to see, "I would like to present these pieces of evidence. The documents here outline a series of criminal activities linked to Mr. Sarkar, detailing his involvement in various illegal enterprises. Furthermore, this USB drive contains crucial video footage from the residence of the late Mr. Raja Rao."
He passed the USB drive and documents to the court officer, who then handed them to the judge. The anticipation in the room grew as the judge examined the documents and prepared to review the footage. I could feel the tension in the air, everyone on edge as they awaited the judge's reaction.
"Honourable Court," my lawyer continued, "the video footage clearly shows Mr. Vikram Sarkar visiting Mr. Raja Rao in the UK, where he issued a direct threat: 'Make the deal or die.' This threat was made just days before Mr. Raja Rao and his wife were tragically killed. The evidence strongly suggests that Mr. Sarkar is directly responsible for their deaths."
My gaze flicked to the opposing side, where Sarkar's lawyer was visibly tense, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
The judge inserted the USB drive into the laptop, and the courtroom lights dimmed slightly as the video began to play on the large screen at the front of the room. The footage was clear, showing the interior of Mr. Raja Rao's home. The timestamp indicated it was mere days before his death.
As the video continued to play, showing the subsequent tense exchange between Sarkar and Raja Rao. As the video concluded, the judge remained silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he carefully made notes on the proceedings. The gravity of the evidence was clear, and the atmosphere in the courtroom was thick with anticipation. Finally, the judge leaned forward, his gaze stern as he addressed the court.
"Bailiff," he called out, "summon Mr. Vikram Sarkar to appear before this court immediately."
The bailiff nodded and stepped forward, calling out Vikram Sarkar's name in a loud, clear voice that echoed through the chamber. The sound reverberated off the walls, but there was no response. The courtroom grew tense, with everyone exchanging confused glances as the seconds ticked by in silence.
Again, the bailiff called, "Mr. Vikram Sarkar, please present yourself before the court."
But still, no one came. I remained calm, though inwardly, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Brahma had executed the plan flawlessly, just as I had instructed. Vikram Sarkar was exactly where we needed him to be.
The judge, growing impatient, shifted his gaze to the other side of the room, where Vikram Sarkar's lawyer stood nervously. The judge's eyes were sharp, his voice carrying the weight of authority as he asked, "Where is your client, Mr. Sarkar? The court demands his presence."
The lawyer, who had been trying to maintain a facade of composure, began to visibly falter. He fumbled with his papers, beads of sweat forming on his brow. When he finally spoke, his voice was shaky, betraying the fear that had gripped him. "Honourable Court, I—I'm afraid I don't know where Mr. Vikram Sarkar is. I've tried contacting him, but his phone appears to be switched off."
The judge's expression darkened, his patience clearly wearing thin. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the wooden surface of the bench. "Are you telling this court," the judge said slowly, his tone laced with controlled anger, "that you, as his legal representative, have no idea where your client is? Do you think this court is some sort of joke that you can waste our time with such excuses?"
The lawyer's face drained of color as he realized the full weight of the judge's words. His voice barely above a whisper, he stammered, "I—I deeply apologize, Your Honour. This is highly unusual, and I assure you, I had no intention of wasting the court's time."
The judge's gaze bore into the lawyer, unrelenting. "Your client's absence at such a critical juncture is not just unusual, it is unacceptable. This court will not tolerate any attempts to evade justice. I will not allow this case to be dragged out any longer."
As the judge's words hung in the air, the tension in the courtroom reached its peak. Vikram Sarkar's absence was more than just a minor inconvenience—it was a bold move that bordered on contempt. The court was not amused, and the consequences would be severe.
I glanced at Balu, who was seated beside me, and gave him a subtle nod. Balu's eyes flickered with understanding. He knew, just as I did, that this was the turning point we had been waiting for.
The judge sighed deeply, a somber expression settling on his face as he shook his head. The weight of the evidence presented before the court was undeniable, and the gravity of the situation could not be ignored.
He looked around the room, his gaze sweeping over the tense faces before finally settling on me and my lawyer. His eyes were sharp, filled with the authority and responsibility that came with his position. He cleared his throat, the sound reverberating through the hushed courtroom.
"After careful consideration of all the evidence presented," the judge began, his voice steady but grave, "it is clear that the evidence overwhelmingly points to the guilt of Mr. Vikram Sarkar in the murder of Mr. Raja Rao and his wife, as well as his involvement in numerous illegal activities."
The judge continued, his voice now filled with a resolute determination. "Given the severity of these crimes, this court has no choice but to find Mr. Vikram Sarkar guilty on all counts. Therefore, I hereby order that Mr. Vikram Sarkar be taken into custody by the police as soon as possible. He is to be sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole."
A collective gasp swept through the courtroom as the judge delivered his verdict.
But the judge wasn't finished yet. He glanced down at the documents before him, his expression softening slightly as he spoke the next words. "Furthermore, this court declares that the property of Jagruthi Foundation rightfully belongs to the foundation. All assets, titles, and rights associated with the Jagruthi Foundation are to be returned to their proper place, where they will continue to serve the purpose for which they were intended."
The judge picked up his gavel, his expression now one of finality. "This court is adjourned," he declared, the gavel coming down with a resounding thud that echoed through the chamber.
As soon as the gavel hit the bench, the courtroom erupted into a flurry of activity. Reporters scrambled to make sense of the verdict, people whispered excitedly, and there was a tangible sense of justice in the air.
As we stepped out of the courthouse, the air was thick with the murmurs of anticipation and excitement. The reporters, eager to get their next big scoop, swarmed around us like bees to honey, their cameras flashing, and microphones thrust forward, all vying for a statement. But the police formed a protective barrier, guiding us safely toward Balu's taxi.
Narayana Rao walked beside me, his steps heavy yet purposeful. As we reached the taxi, he turned to Balu and me, his face lined with gratitude and concern.
"Thank you, Mr. Krishna, and Balu," Narayana Rao began, his voice earnest and filled with emotion. "Without your help, it would have been impossible to reclaim the Jagruthi Foundation from Vikram Sarkar. I can't express how much this means to us, to the community. You both have done something truly noble today."
I offered him a reassuring smile, trying to convey that this was more than just a legal victory—it was a moral one. "It's nothing," I replied, my tone gentle. "We just did what was right. This fight was never just about the land or the foundation; it was about justice, about doing what needed to be done for those who couldn't fight back on their own."
Balu, standing quietly by my side, nodded in agreement. "Yeah," he added, his voice low but firm. "It's for Rajan." His words hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the young boy who had lost so much and was now faced with an uncertain future.
Narayana Rao's gaze shifted to Rajan, who stood close by, clutching a small, Iron man toy that held all he had left of his parents. The boy's eyes were downcast, his small frame dwarfed by the enormity of the day events. There was a deep sadness in his eyes, a grief that no child should have to bear.
Narayana Rao looked back at us, his expression troubled. "But what about Rajan now?" he asked, the concern in his voice cutting through the momentary relief of our victory. "He's just a child. He's lost his parents, his home. What future does he have now?"
As the weight of Narayana Rao's question hung in the air, I glanced at Balu. His eyes met mine, and we shared a silent understanding. I gave Balu a nod, signaling that I was ready to take this step, and then turned to Narayana Rao with a calm but determined expression.
"I'm going to adopt Rajan," I said, the words coming out with a mix of resolve and emotion. The decision felt like the most natural thing in the world, yet it was also monumental.
Rajan, who had been sitting quietly, looked up at me with wide, surprised eyes. The shock was clear on his face, and for a moment, he seemed unable to process what I had just said. I knelt down in front of him, coming face to face with the boy who had been through so much in such a short time. I smiled, trying to convey the warmth and sincerity behind my words.
"So, Rajan," I began, my voice soft and gentle, "would you like to be my little brother?"
For a moment, Rajan just stared at me, his eyes filling with tears that he had been trying so hard to hold back. But then, all at once, the emotions he had been suppressing broke free, and he began to cry. His small body shook with sobs as the reality of everything that had happened—losing his parents, the uncertainty of his future—finally overwhelmed him.
Seeing his tears, my heart ached, and I immediately reached out, wrapping my arms around him in a comforting embrace. I held him close, gently patting his head as he buried his face in my shoulder, his cries muffled against my shirt. "Hey, Rajan," I murmured soothingly, "don't cry now, okay? Everything's going to be okay. The worst is over, and we're going to get through this together. Even though your parents aren't here with you anymore, you have me, Balu, and everyone else who cares about you. You're not alone."
Rajan's sobs gradually subsided, and he nodded against my shoulder, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm not crying," he mumbled, trying to regain some of his composure, though his voice still wavered with lingering emotion.
I chuckled softly, pulling back slightly to look at him, my smile filled with affection. "Brave boy," I said, ruffling his hair. "But you still didn't answer my question. Would you like to be my little brother?"
Rajan looked up at me, his eyes still red from crying but now filled with a new emotion—hope. He didn't hesitate this time. With a small, trembling smile, he wrapped his arms around me again, holding on tightly. "I would love to be your brother," he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with conviction.
A warmth spread through me, a deep sense of fulfillment and joy that came from knowing that we had made the right decision. I hugged Rajan back, holding him close, and whispered, "Then it's settled. You're my little brother now."
Just as we were sharing this heartfelt moment, Balu, who had been watching quietly, couldn't help but interject with a teasing grin. "Hey, don't forget about me!" he called out, his voice playful but laced with genuine affection.
Rajan and I both looked up, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Rajan laughed—a real, honest laugh that came from deep within him. The sound was infectious, and soon I found myself laughing too. Balu stepped closer, and before we knew it, the three of us were in a group hug, holding each other tightly, as if we were already the family that Rajan needed.
As we finally pulled back from our hug, I looked at Rajan, who was now smiling through his tears, and then at Balu, who gave me a firm nod of approval.
As we settled into Balu's taxi, I pulled out my phone and showed him the address Brahma had sent me.
"Balu, drive to this address," I instructed, holding up the phone so he could see.
Balu glanced at the address, a furrow of confusion forming on his brow. "Why? What's there?"
I offered him a reassuring smile. "I have some important work there. It should only take ten minutes. Once it's done, we can head to Hyderabad."
Understanding the necessity, Balu nodded. "Okay, got it."
He started the taxi, and we began our journey towards the address. The cityscape blurred past the windows, the quiet hum of the engine providing a steady background to our thoughts.
As the taxi moved through the streets, my attention shifted to Rajan. He was slumped against the seat, his small body curled up in sleep. The events of the yesterday had taken a toll on him, and the exhaustion was evident. Last night had been a restless one, and the day's proceedings had only added to his fatigue.
Balu drove with a steady hand, and I watched the street signs and buildings pass by, my mind occupied with the task at hand. The comfort of the taxi, the rhythmic motion, and the sound of Rajan's steady breathing provided a semblance of peace amidst the whirlwind of activity.
As we drove through the city, I found myself lost in thought. The weight of the day's events pressed heavily on my mind, and amidst the chaos, a plan began to take shape. I knew that once we returned to Hyderabad, there was one more important task to complete: I needed to ask Uncle Paani to prepare the adoption papers for Rajan.
I glanced over at Balu, who was focused on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel. After a moment, I spoke up, breaking the silence. "Balu, after we get back to Hyderabad, I want you to stop driving your taxi."
Balu looked at me, puzzled. "What do you mean? If I'm not driving the taxi, what will I do?"
With a smile, I answered, "Come to the company tomorrow. I'm offering you a position as one of the board directors."
His eyes widened in shock. "Krishna, this is too much. I can't accept this."
Before he could finish, I cut in, my tone encouraging. "It's not too much. This is for your future. If you continue driving a taxi, you'll be stuck in the same place. And if you want to marry Sridevi, you need to think about your future too. This offer is an opportunity to change that."
Balu fell silent, clearly weighing my words. I could see the conflict in his eyes as he considered the offer. I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and added, "Don't think too much about it. Just accept it."
After a thoughtful pause, Balu let out a deep sigh. "Okay, Krishna. Thank you. This is really too much for me, but I appreciate it."
I smiled, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction at being able to help a friend. "Don't worry, Balu. You're my brother, and I want what's best for you."
Balu's face broke into a grateful smile. "Thanks, Krishna. I mean it."
As the taxi rolled to a stop outside the factory, I glanced out the window to take in the scene. The building was imposing, its steel and concrete facade a stark reminder of the industrial world that it represented. Balu's voice broke through my thoughts. "Factory?"
I nodded, meeting his gaze through the rearview mirror. "Yes, just some company-related work. Nothing much."
Balu gave a brief nod of understanding, his expression reflecting his curiosity. As he maneuvered the taxi toward the entrance, I prepared myself for the brief task ahead.
The factory grounds were busy, with workers moving purposefully around the area. The smell of machinery and oil was in the air, mingling with the distant sounds of clanging metal. As the taxi came to a halt, I saw Reddy and a few other men waiting near the entrance.
Reddy's eyes met mine as I approached. His expression was a mix of recognition and anticipation. "Bhai, this way," he called out, gesturing toward a side entrance of the factory.
I nodded in acknowledgment and made my way toward him. Reddy led me through a set of large, heavy doors, and we entered the factory's interior.
As I followed Reddy through the factory's labyrinthine corridors, the sounds of clanking metal and muffled machinery filled the air, creating an atmosphere thick with industrial noise. The factory's vast interior seemed almost eerily silent as we approached the area where Brahma's men were assembled.
The sight that greeted me was stark and unsettling. A group of Brahma's men, armed and standing at attention, created a perimeter around a grim scene. At the center, several dead bodies lay sprawled on the cold concrete floor, their presence a stark reminder of the violence that had transpired.
In front of the bodies, secured to a chair and bound tightly, was Vikram Sarkar. His condition was dire; he was unconscious and battered, blood smeared across his face and staining his shirt. The bloodied mess of his clothes and the pallor of his face painted a vivid picture of the brutal treatment he had endured.
Reddy stepped forward with a chair for me. I took a seat, my gaze fixed on Vikram Sarkar. The factory's harsh fluorescent lights cast a stark glare, adding to the grim atmosphere.
"Wake him up," I said, my voice steady despite the weight of the situation.
Reddy picked up the bucket and, with a swift motion, threw the icy water over Vikram Sarkar. The shock of the cold liquid seemed to rouse him from his unconscious state. He jolted upright, gasping as the water splashed over him, his eyes blinking rapidly to clear the haze.
As his vision cleared, he saw me standing before him. I gave him a casual wave, a smile playing on my lips. "Hello," I said, my tone deliberately cheerful despite the grim circumstances.
Vikram's response was immediate and bitter. "You fucker—" he began, his voice a mix of anger and disbelief.
But before he could finish, Reddy's fist connected sharply with Vikram's face. The force of the punch sent him sprawling to the ground, his chair clattering beside him. Vikram groaned in pain, struggling to regain his composure as Reddy roughly hauled him back up to the chair.
As Vikram was seated again, I noticed the defiant glint in his eyes, though it was marred by pain and exhaustion. I leaned in slightly, my smile unwavering. "If you keep talking, Reddy here"—I gestured towards Reddy with a casual nod—"is going to beat you senseless. So, it's probably in your best interest to keep quiet and listen."
I pulled out the documents that Uncle Paani had prepared. The papers were meticulously drafted, detailing the transfer of all of Vikram's assets and properties to me. I held them up, letting Vikram get a good look at the legal implications.
"Here's the deal," I continued, my voice steady and calm. "These documents state that all of your property and assets are now mine. It's quite straightforward. If you don't want to face a painful death—" I let the words hang in the air, the gravity of them clear in my tone—"I suggest you sign these documents."
Vikram's eyes darted between the documents and me, his face contorted in a mixture of fear, anger, and disbelief. "Fuck you," he spat out defiantly, his voice raw with anger. "I'm not going to do that. Even if I transfer all my properties to your name, do you think no one will know?"
I maintained my calm, unfazed by his outburst. My smile remained steady, a mix of patience and cold determination. "You don't need to worry about that," I replied smoothly. "So, are you going to sign or not?"
His defiance was clear. "Never," he said firmly, his gaze meeting mine with a mix of hatred and resignation.
I nodded to Reddy, who was waiting for my cue. "Reddy, cut his finger."
Reddy's expression hardened as he approached Vikram, who began to struggle violently against his restraints. "No, no!" Vikram screamed, his voice cracking with terror as he realized what was about to happen.
Without hesitation, Reddy grabbed a knife from a nearby table, its steel gleaming menacingly under the factory's harsh lights. He moved with methodical precision, his demeanor calm despite the gravity of the situation. The blade descended, and Vikram's screams intensified, echoing off the factory walls.
Blood spurted from the severed finger, and the stench of fear and iron filled the air. Vikram's cries were guttural and desperate, his body writhing in agony as he slumped forward, his face contorted in pain.
I remained stoic, watching as the scene unfolded with a detached demeanor. The urgency in Vikram's screams did little to sway me. I leaned closer, my voice barely a whisper over the tumult. "So, are you going to sign now or not?"
The pain had a profound effect on Vikram, breaking through his earlier resistance. His defiant glare softened into one of despair and agony, the reality of his situation sinking in. Tears mixed with sweat and blood on his face, making it a harrowing sight.
Reddy, having finished the task, stepped back, wiping the knife clean. The room was filled with Vikram's labored breathing and the occasional shuddering cry, punctuating the tense silence that followed.
"Will you sign the documents now?" I asked again, my tone unwavering.
Vikram's hand trembled, his resolve visibly crumbling. The once-proud man now sat broken, his will worn down by the agony and the relentless pressure of his circumstances.
Vikram Sarkar's eyes were filled with terror. His earlier defiance had crumbled under the weight of his fear and pain. He hurriedly signed the document, his hand shaking uncontrollably. He handed it back to Reddy, who took it with a nod of confirmation.
I looked at Reddy, a silent command in my gaze. "You know what to do," I said firmly.
Reddy nodded in understanding. "Yes, Bhai," he replied, his voice steady despite the grim task ahead.
With a steady hand, I extended my own arm. Reddy placed the gun into my palm, its cold weight a stark reminder of the finality of the moment. I held it firmly, the metal cool against my skin. The factory's harsh lights cast long shadows, adding to the bleak atmosphere.
Vikram's eyes widened in horror as he saw the gun. He began to plead, his voice breaking into frantic desperation. "No, no! Don't kill me! Please, don't kill me!" His words were a frantic cacophony, a stark contrast to the quiet resolve I felt.
I ignored his pleas, my focus unwavering. With a steady breath, I raised the gun, my eyes locking onto Vikram's. His face was a mask of sheer terror, his pleas growing more frantic as he realized the inevitable.
Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the factory, a sharp, definitive sound that cut through the air. Vikram's body jerked violently, and his cries were abruptly silenced. The impact of the bullet was instant, his head snapping back with a sudden, brutal finality.
His eyes, once filled with fear, now stared blankly into the void. The life drained from his face, leaving behind the cold, unfeeling stillness of death. The factory fell silent, the only sound now the muted aftermath of the gunshot and the steady hum of machinery in the background.
As I turned away from Vikram Sarkar's dead body, I handed the gun back to Reddy, his face as unreadable as ever.
"I'm leaving," I said, my voice steady despite the cold finality of the moment.
Reddy nodded in acknowledgment, his expression a mix of respect and acceptance. "Safe travels, Bhai," he replied, his tone calm.
I made my way back to the taxi, my steps measured and deliberate. The factory, with its grim scene and oppressive atmosphere, receded behind me as I approached the vehicle. Balu, who had been waiting patiently, looked up as I climbed into the back seat.
"Done with work?" Balu asked, his voice betraying a hint of curiosity.
I nodded, the simple gesture a quiet acknowledgment of the end of a difficult chapter. "Yes," I replied, with a smile. "Let's go back home."
Balu returned the smile with a nod and turned his attention back to the road.
As the taxi began its journey back to Hyderabad, the familiar sights of Ananthapur started to fade into the distance. The rhythmic hum of the engine was a soothing backdrop, a contrast to the intensity of the factory. The city lights of Hyderabad awaited us, promising a return to routine and a chance to process the day's events.
(A/N:If you want to support me, please use this UPI:-omgadekar29@oksbi "Om Gadekar")
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