Devgarh
"At least let my daughter go. I swear I will tell no one. Trust me—I will leave this city, this country, and disappear forever. Seth, please, make them understand. She's just a child. You've seen her for so many days… please, have mercy. Let her go. I... I..."
A sharp slap echoed through the dimly lit, abandoned factory nestled deep within the jungle.
A middle-aged woman, battered and desperate, pleaded for her daughter's freedom, her voice raw with anguish. But the men before her were devoid of compassion. Instead, her cries were met with violence.
A man seized her by the hair, yanking her head back cruelly. "Enough!" he hissed. "Utter another word, and I'll make sure you, your so-called spy of a daughter, your husband, and your son—all meet the same fate."
Her face, streaked with grime and soot, bore the swelling imprint of brutality. Blood trickled from the corner of her lips, merging with the tears cascading down her cheeks—silent witnesses to her helplessness.
Summoning the last shreds of her strength, she crawled toward the well-dressed man standing before her and clasped his feet.
"Seth… Seth… Please, just this once. Consider it my first and last mistake. Spare us..."
But Seth merely shook her off with disdain, stepping back as if she were filth beneath his shoes.
Thrown aside, she lost her balance. Her head struck a rusted iron pillar with a sickening crack, and a crimson stream seeped from the wound—its placement cruelly fatal.
As her vision blurred, she caught one last glimpse of her daughter—no more than twelve or thirteen—kicking and thrashing in vain as four or five men dragged her away.
"D... D..."
She tried to call out, but the words never came. Her body gave out before her voice could, and her trembling fingers, which had barely lifted toward her child, fell lifelessly to the cold, unforgiving ground.
A man stepped forward, pressing two fingers to her pulse. A beat later, he straightened. "Boss, she's gone."
Seth clicked his tongue in irritation. "Tch. How pathetic. She died too quickly. I didn't even get to have my fun."
His companion chuckled, nudging his shoulder with a knowing smirk. "Oh, but you still can. The body is lifeless, not the flesh. If you have no interest, I certainly wouldn't mind taking my turn. After all, those bastards won't leave that little girl in any condition to satisfy me. Might as well make do with this one."
Seth's gaze darkened. "Absolutely not. She's mine. I'll have the first taste."
His friend didn't argue, merely stepping back with a twisted grin, watching with sick amusement.
As Seth unbuttoned his pants and moved toward the lifeless body, the land of Mahadev—Devgarh—bore witness to a crime so heinous, so vile, that even the heavens must have trembled in revulsion.
NEXT DAY
As night fell, the city of Frankfurt, Germany's financial hub, shimmered with dazzling lights. The air buzzed with excitement as the Museum Riverbank Festival was celebrated with grandeur.
Yet, amid the city's revelry, the Oberoi family remained untouched by the festivities.
Nestled deep within the Frankfurt City Forest, the Oberoi Palace stood illuminated, a breathtaking sight from the outside. However, within its grand halls, a solemn silence prevailed—a stark contrast to its exterior brilliance.
The palace, usually a symbol of power and prestige, had taken on the somber air of a hospital. Doctors in crisp white coats moved through the corridors, their hurried steps and whispered discussions filling the heavy silence.
A physician's voice broke the tension. "Mr. Oberoi, we are doing everything we can, but your granddaughter's condition is extremely critical. She has suffered a profound psychological shock. In the past six hours alone, Miss Devika has experienced over twenty manic episodes. She is battling psychosis. Recovery will not come easily—it may take a year, perhaps longer. Given the severity of her mental trauma, it is nothing short of a miracle that she is still alive. For a child of her age to endure such suffering is unimaginable."
The weight of the doctor's words struck Raghunath Singhania like a physical blow. His vision blurred, his legs buckled, and he collapsed onto the couch. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as his hands trembled.
A loyal caretaker rushed to steady him, but no comfort could quiet the storm raging in his heart.
The doctor's voice softened yet remained firm. "Mr. Oberoi, now is not the time to lose courage. Your granddaughter needs you—your strength, your presence. Try to keep her surroundings as positive as possible. If at all feasible, call her mother. A mother's presence can be a powerful balm for a wounded soul."
At the mere mention of Devika's mother, a dark shadow crossed Raghunath's face.
Though Anupoorna was his own daughter, in his eyes, she had failed in both duty and love.
A decade ago, when Devika was merely three, her parents had declared their marriage a failure and chosen divorce.
Neither her mother nor her father had wished to keep her. Abandoned by both, the innocent child had found refuge with her grandfather and maternal uncle, Hitesh Oberoi, who had raised her as their own.
In the ten years that followed, her parents had barely spared her a thought. Visits were rare, inquiries even rarer.
Despite his misgivings, Raghunath knew that Devika's condition left him with no choice. Gathering his resolve, he dialed his daughter's number.
After a few rings, the call connected.
His voice was low, weary. "Anupoorna, Devika is unwell—critically so. Could you come today? She needs—"
Before he could finish, her voice cut in, light and indifferent. "Dad, I'm really sorry. Sara has a PTM (Parent-Teacher Meeting) tomorrow. I can't make it today. I know it's Devika's birthday, but I absolutely have to attend this meeting. You know how small children are—Sara will throw a tantrum if I don't go. I'll send Devika a gift. Please wish her for me."
Silence followed.
For a long moment, Raghunath couldn't tell if his daughter had failed to grasp the gravity of the situation or if she had simply chosen, as always, to ignore it.
A sharp cry shattered his daze.
A servant, breathless and panicked, burst into the room. "Sir! Miss Devika is not in her room!"
A chill ran through Raghunath.
At some point, the call had been disconnected. He barely registered it as his hand tightened around his phone before flinging it onto the couch in frustration.
His voice, thick with fear, boomed through the palace. "What nonsense are you talking about? If Devika isn't in her room, then where is she? I just left her there with Dr. Ram minutes ago! Search the palace—she must be somewhere inside!"
Dr. Ram, equally alarmed, turned to the staff. "Find Miss Devika immediately! In her condition, being alone is dangerous. If she has another manic episode, her hallucinations could push her into self-harm!"
The words sent a fresh wave of terror through Raghunath. The staff scoured every inch of the palace, but Devika was nowhere to be found.
Then, the CCTV footage revealed the unthinkable—Devika had run into the forest.
The guards were dispatched at once.
Raghunath's heart pounded against his ribs, a relentless drum of dread. Without wasting another second, he called his son, Hitesh Oberoi, and relayed everything.
Despite being thousands of miles away in the United States on an important business trip, Hitesh Oberoi did not hesitate. He abandoned his negotiations, booked the next available flight, and left everything behind.
Unlike Devika's parents, he understood something they never had—Devika was worth everything.
Deep within the Frankfurt City Forest, a young girl raced barefoot through the wilderness, heedless of the thorns and jagged stones slicing into her delicate feet. She ran as though the entire world was chasing her with swords drawn.
She was just a child.
Yet, her speed mirrored that of a nimble little fox.
The hush of the night and the stillness of the forest were broken only by the sound of her ragged breaths. Strands of tangled hair fell over her face, but they failed to obscure her ethereal beauty. Her skin, soft as rose petals and luminous as moonlight, bore the marks of her harrowing escape.
From behind the veil of her silken midnight locks, her white-admiral green eyes fluttered like a butterfly's fragile wings—not with innocence, but with sheer terror and unshed tears.
At last, she reached a secluded cottage, heavily guarded by men wielding rifles.
With a trembling hand, she wiped away her tears and stepped forward.
The guards glanced at her disheveled form but made no move to stop her.
Her steps faltered as she advanced, her body marred with wounds—some still bound by hastily stitched bandages. But the relentless flight had undone many, leaving fresh crimson streaks against her pale skin. Only now did the pain seep through, slow and agonizing.
A few more steps, and her strength gave way. She stumbled, crashing onto the cold floor. A cry of agony rose in her throat, but before it could escape, she clamped a hand over her mouth—as if the mere sound of her pain would cost her life.
A passing maid caught sight of her and rushed forward. "Devika, my dear! How did you fall? And these injuries—you're bleeding! Come, let me tend to your wounds. If the master sees you like this, he'll be furious."
Supported by the maid, Devika struggled to stand, but she refused to be led away.
"Aunt Clara, please… I need to see my father. There's something I must tell him. Take me to him. I can't walk on my own."
Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but her breath hitched as she spoke.
Clara hesitated, wanting to treat the girl's wounds first, but one look at her trembling form convinced her otherwise.
The once-lively Devika now seemed utterly fragile—haunted, even.
Holding her gently, Clara guided her toward the living area, where her father sat, deep in conversation with his friend, Benjin, a glass of liquor in hand.
Just as Devika neared the doorway, she heard Benjin's voice—
"Jack, did you hear what happened to Devika?"
"Yes, I did."
"And? That's all you have to say? She's your daughter! Aren't you going to see her? After everything she's been through, you're just sitting here drinking? What kind of father are you?"
"Just shut up. That filth is not my blood. Devika is not my daughter. Why should I go to her? I hold no claim over her."
"Jack, do you even realize what you're saying?"
"I know exactly what I'm saying. Devika is not my daughter. Why should I accept someone else's tainted blood? I've done more than enough for her. I'm tired of this charade, this false bond... I want no part in it anymore."
The moment Devika heard her father's words, an unbearable chill seeped into her bones.
Her tiny heart, so full of love and longing, shattered into a million irreparable shards.
The man she had idolized, her protector, her superhero—had just called her filthy blood.
For as long as she could remember, she had wondered—why did her parents never love her the way others did their children? What had she done so wrong to be met with such indifference?
But now, it all made sense.
She was never their daughter.
In their eyes, she was nothing more than tainted blood.
_____________________________
Who was the mysterious woman from Devika's past?
What horrors had she endured?
Who was her true father?
What fate awaited her?
To know…
To be continued…