Two days earlier, Purav sat in his room, the television playing loudly as he watched the breaking news about Shimla's mall road disaster. His fingers tightened around the remote as the report continued.
"How… how did that demon fail?" he muttered, his voice laced with anger. "I offered him my brother's life. It was supposed to end there!"
Fury surged through him, and in a flash, he grabbed the pen stand on his desk and hurled it across the room. The metallic clang echoed in the silence that followed. Breathing heavily, Purav sat back in his chair, his mind racing.
"I don't know what went wrong," he growled. "But if that demon couldn't finish the job, I'll have to take matters into my own hands."
Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of the house phone. Purav glanced around; his father wasn't home. Reluctantly, he picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Is this Mr. Madhav's residence?" a voice asked.
"Yes, who's this?" Purav replied, masking his irritation.
"This is City Hospital, Bhopal. I'm calling to inform you that Madhav has been admitted here. He's unconscious but stable."
Purav's grip on the phone tightened as the words sank in. "Unconscious… in a hospital?" he muttered to himself. "Interesting."
A dark smile crept across his face. "Perfect."
Present day, Madhav and Raj walked down the hospital corridor, heading toward Aman's room. Raj glanced at Madhav, his expression contemplative.
"You know," Raj said, breaking the silence, "I saw something in you back at Shimla. That aura… that power during the fight. It wasn't normal."
Madhav frowned, shaking his head. "I don't remember anything from that day. Whatever happened—it wasn't me."
Raj nodded slowly, though skepticism lingered in his eyes. "Alright, if you say so."
As they approached Aman's door, a voice called out behind them.
"Madhav!"
Both of them turned, startled, to see a girl running toward them. It was Meera.
Madhav stepped forward, his confusion apparent. "Meera? What are you doing here?"
She stopped in front of him, slightly out of breath. Meera held a small box wrapped neatly in paper.
"Your big brother asked me to give you this," she said, handing it to him. "It's motichur laddoo—prasad from a temple. He said it's for your speedy recovery."
Madhav stared at the box in her hands, hesitant. "My brother… Purav sent this?"
Meera nodded curtly, her tone brisk. "Yes. I've delivered it, so my work here is done. Bye." She turned and began walking away quickly.
"Wait, Meera!" Madhav called out, stepping after her. "Did he come here himself? When? Answer me!"
But Meera didn't stop. Ignoring his questions, she waved dismissively and disappeared around the corner.
Raj placed a hand on Madhav's shoulder. "Looks like she's not giving you any answers."
Raj's eyes lit up as he examined the sweet box in Madhav's hands. "This box looks premium," he said, admiring the intricate golden designs embossed on the packaging.
Madhav nodded, tracing the edge of the box. "You're right. My brother definitely didn't skimp on this one."
He carefully untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. The rich, heady aroma of desi ghee wafted out, instantly filling the room. Raj inhaled deeply, his expression turning wistful. "Wow, laddus made with pure ghee. Give me one!"
"Sure, sure. Here," Madhav said, chuckling as he handed Raj a laddu.
As Raj took a bite, savoring the taste, Madhav turned thoughtful. "You know what? Go find Meera and give her a few laddus."
Raj paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. "Why? She just dropped it off and left."
"Exactly," Madhav said. "She went out of her way to bring it here. It's only polite to share some with her."
Raj rolled his eyes but grinned. "Fine, fine. You've got a point."
Madhav took two laddus for himself, biting into one with relish. The rich sweetness melted on his tongue, the ghee giving it a heavenly flavor. "Perfect," he muttered. He then set another laddu aside.
"This one's for Aman," he said aloud.
Raj wiped his hands and nodded. "Alright, I'm off. I'll find Meera and hand her some of these. Don't cause any trouble while I'm gone."
Madhav smirked. "You're the one who needs that advice."
Raj left the room, sweet box in hand. Madhav straightened his hospital gown, grabbed the laddu he'd set aside, and headed toward Aman's room.
The air in Aman's room felt heavier, quieter, as Madhav stepped inside. Aman lay in bed, a fresh set of bandages wrapped around his arm . His eyes flicked up when Madhav entered, and his face hardened.
"What do you want?" Aman asked, his voice edged with bitterness.
Madhav held up the laddu . "I brought this for you. Prasad."
Aman scoffed, looking away. "I don't need your charity." Madhav sighed, placing the laddu on the table beside Aman's bed. "It's not charity. It's just a gesture. "
Madhav shrugged as he popped the last bite of his laddu into his mouth. "It's up to you," he said, his voice casual. "Take it or don't."
Aman watched him chew, his expression.
Madhav dusted his hands off, preparing to leave. "Alright then, I'm going." He turned towards the door, his steps slow and deliberate. But just before stepping out, he stopped.
Then, without warning, he turned back to face Aman. "I want a serious talk."
The casual air around Madhav vanished, replaced by something sharper, heavier. He took a step closer, his gaze locked onto Aman's.
Aman straightened, his hands gripping the sheets. "About what?" he asked, his voice quieter than before.
Madhav moved closer, standing right in front of Aman, their eyes meeting in a silent battle of wills. "You know what," Madhav said, his voice steady.
Aman sat on the hospital bed, grinning like a madman. His eyes gleamed with an eerie excitement as he tilted his head.
"So, you mean my conversation with Priya this morning?" he asked, his voice dripping with mockery.
Madhav stood firm, his gaze cold. "Yes. But there's something else too."
Aman smirked. "Oh? And what would that be?"
Madhav took a step closer, his voice turning sharp. "You're not the real Aman."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, Aman's smirk widened into a twisted grin. His eyes darkened, and his expression turned almost… inhuman.
"Yes," he whispered, his voice filled with amusement. "I am not Aman. So what?"
Madhav's fists clenched. "Where is the real Aman? What happened to him?"
Aman leaned back against the pillow, completely unfazed. "Oh, he's not alive anymore," he said casually. "I've just been… borrowing his body."
A heavy silence settled in the room. Madhav's breath hitched, his heart pounding. His body tensed, a mix of sorrow and dread washing over him.
Aman chuckled. "You're the only one who figured it out. Even Priya didn't suspect a thing. No matter what I told her, she believed me."
Madhav's jaw tightened. "What did you say to her?"
Aman's smirk grew sinister. "I told her that Raj will die because of you."
Madhav's eyes widened. "What?" His anger flared in an instant. He grabbed Aman by the collar, pulling him forward.
Aman laughed, his lips curling into a grin filled with malice. "Oh, don't be so angry," he taunted. "After all, Mohit isn't here, is he? He's off trying to destroy the golden coin."
Madhav's body stiffened. A chill ran down his spine. "How do you know that?"
Aman's grin turned into a wicked sneer. Slowly, he bit down on his own tongue, drawing a thin trickle of blood. His eyes burned with madness.
"Let me go," he whispered, his voice laced with something dark. "Or he'll be dead in minutes."
Madhav froze. His grip on Aman's shirt loosened. His hands trembled.
At the time when Meera ignored Madhav's call, she went outside the hospital.
Meera hardly noticed. She walked towards her bike, her expression unreadable. Stopping near the garbage bin, she pulled out a real Motichoor Laddu box—the one Purav had actually sent. Without a second thought, she tossed it into the bin. The box landed with a soft thud.
Meera thinking before in morning time. When Priya wants to come to the hospital. Meera and Priya have arrived at the hospital together.
As they reached the entrance, Priya said, "You go ahead. I have to make a quick call."
Meera shrugged. "Okay." She stepped inside the hospital, but there was a problem—she didn't know Madhav's and other room number.
Walking up to the reception desk, she leaned forward. "Excuse me, can you tell me the room number of my friends?
Madhav and Raj?"
Before the receptionist could respond, a man stepped up beside her. He placed a small package on the counter and said, "I need to deliver this to Madhav. His elder brother sent it."
In present time, meera walked towards the hospital garden. The fresh air barely helped to calm her thoughts. She found a bench and sat down. However, she wasn't alone.
On the other side of the bench, a man was already sitting there, silent and still. His face was turned away, staring into the distance.
The evening breeze gently rustled the trees in the hospital garden. Meera sat on the bench, Just then, the man sitting beside her turned his face towards her.
He shifted slightly closer and asked, "Is a family member of yours hospitalized here?"
Meera's eyes flickered toward him, scanning his face. He looked to be around thirty-five, with sharp yet tired eyes, as if he had seen too much of life. His voice was calm, almost too calm.
"No," Meera replied, choosing her words carefully. "A college friend of mine got injured. That's why I'm here."
The man nodded as if he already knew her answer. "Oh, I see. By the way, my name is Harsha."
Meera gave a polite, indifferent nod. "Nice name."
A brief silence followed.
Harsha studied her for a moment before speaking again. "I can tell something's bothering you."
Meera stiffened slightly. "What do you mean?"
"There's a tension in your voice, in your face. A problem weighing on your mind," Harsha said, his voice strangely soothing.
Meera looked away. "You're mistaken. I don't have any problem."
Harsha gave a small smile. "Alright, if you say so. But what about me? Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?"
Meera turned back to him. "Are you here for your relatives or friends?"
Harsha shook his head. "No. There's no one in this hospital for me."
Meera frowned. "Then why are you sitting in a hospital garden?"
Harsha leaned back, gazing at the sky. His voice was distant, almost nostalgic.
"Because I thought I might meet my little sister again."
A strange chill ran through Meera. There was something haunting about the way he said it, as if he was searching for someone who might never return.
She hesitated, then said, "I hope you find her."
Harsha turned to her with a knowing smile.
He continued, "If something is troubling you, you can talk to me. Sharing a problem makes the burden lighter."
Meera hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "You're right," she admitted. "Sharing a problem does make the burden lighter."
Harsha leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "So, how do you plan to share it?"
Meera thought for a second before answering. "I'll tell you a story."
Harsha raised an eyebrow, amused. "A story? So, you're sharing your problem indirectly through a tale?"
Meera nodded. "Yes. It's easier that way."
Harsha smiled. "Alright, let's hear it."
She began, her voice steady but filled with emotion.
**"Once, in a vast and beautiful forest, a group of rabbits lived peacefully. Among them was a young rabbit, full of life and curiosity. But what made him special was his friendship with the most beautiful bird in the forest. They were inseparable, the best of friends.
But one day, a snake slithered into their lives. It was powerful and cruel, capturing most of the rabbit group. The snake made a chilling demand: it would release the rabbits only if they offered the most beautiful bird in the forest as a meal.
The young rabbit's mother, desperate to save her people, gave an order to her son. 'Go to your friend, bring the bird here. Only then will the snake let us go.'
Torn between loyalty and duty, the young rabbit set off toward his friend. As he walked, his heart felt heavier with each step. 'What should I do?' he thought. 'If I bring my friend, he will die. But if I don't, my entire family will perish.'
When he reached the tree where his friend lived, he stopped, unable to move forward.
'Come up here!' the bird called from the branches. But the rabbit didn't move. He couldn't.
Concerned, the bird flew down and landed beside him. 'What's wrong, my friend?'
The young rabbit hesitated, then whispered, 'I need to tell you something.'
'Go on,' the bird encouraged.
The rabbit's voice trembled. 'My mother… she told me to invite you for lunch.'
The bird smiled. 'That's wonderful! Let's go.'
But the rabbit suddenly shook his head. 'No… you can't come with me.'
The bird frowned. 'Why not?'
Tears welled in the rabbit's eyes. 'Because… because a snake has captured my family. And it says it will only free them if we give you to him as food.'
The bird stared at him, silent for a moment. Then, instead of anger or fear, it smiled. 'Thank you for telling me the truth, my friend. Don't worry. Go home. I'll be there in time for lunch.'
The rabbit was confused. 'But—'
'Go now,' the bird insisted, before flying away.
But it wasn't heading toward the rabbit's home. It soared through the forest, searching, until it found a hunter. The bird deliberately flew in front of him, catching his attention.
The hunter's eyes gleamed. 'What a rare and beautiful bird,' he murmured, lifting his net and following after it.
Meanwhile, the rabbit returned home, trembling. 'My friend will come soon,' he told the snake.
The snake hissed. 'If that bird doesn't come, every rabbit here will be my meal!'
And then, just as promised, the bird appeared in the sky, flying toward them.
But it wasn't alone. The hunter followed close behind.
The rabbits panicked at the sight of a human approaching, scattering in fear. Even the snake grew uneasy.
The bird, however, calmly descended, circling the snake. And just before it landed, it vanished into the trees.
The hunter, now face-to-face with the enormous snake, hesitated. His eyes widened in fear. Without wasting a moment, he threw his net—not at the bird, but at the snake.
The hunter captured the snake and carried it away, leaving the rabbits free at last."**
As Meera finished, she let out a slow breath.
Harsha, who had been listening intently, smiled knowingly. "That's a famous story, you know."
Meera blinked. "Famous?"
Harsha nodded. "Yes. But do you know the full version?"
Meera frowned. "Full version?"
Harsha leaned back against the bench. "Let me tell you the rest."
Meera watched him as he continued.
**"When the young rabbit was given the order to bring his friend to the snake, he felt torn between guilt and duty. He wanted to protect his friend, but he also couldn't abandon his family.
As he walked through the forest, he wrestled with his emotions. He knew that whichever choice he made, someone would suffer.
But when he reached his friend, something happened.
The bird, despite knowing the danger, did not hesitate. Instead, it formed a plan. It did not run away, nor did it blame the rabbit. Instead, it turned the situation around and saved everyone—including the rabbit who had nearly betrayed it.
That's why this story isn't just about sacrifice. It's about trust. True friends do not abandon each other, even in the worst situations."**
Harsha looked at Meera meaningfully. "Does that remind you of something?"
Meera swallowed hard. She had told the story as a way to express her own dilemma. But now, hearing the full version, she felt an uneasy truth settle in her heart.
"Yes," she whispered.
Harsha's smile deepened, as if he had expected that answer.