Raghunath was expelled from the Ashram that night, his once-promising future as a temple priest destroyed. But the Swami's wrath did not end with his exile. Raghunath knew the Swami would not stop until he was dead—and so, he prepared for what he knew was coming.
—
The night hung low and thick over Bhawanipur, like the calm before a storm. Raghunath walked through the gates of the local police station, a heavy file in his hand. Inside it were names, dates, and damning details—rituals performed in secrecy, the manipulation of faith, and how Swami Vairagyanand of Shree Kshetrapal Dham Ashram was preying on innocent women under the guise of divine rituals.
But above all else, Raghunath had come because he feared what was coming next: his own wife, Radha, was being slowly lured into the Swami's clutches. She had not yet been touched—he had stopped it before it began, but only just.
Radha was still his, still pure, still untainted by the Swami's filth. And Raghunath was determined to protect her—or die trying.
Inside the station, four officers were sipping tea and laughing. Sub-Inspector Dinesh Rathi, a corrupt soul who had long sold himself to the Ashram's shadow. Sat at the corner table, puffing on a beedi, while three other officers loitered nearby, sipping tea and laughing over obscene jokes. He looked up with a half-smile when Raghunath entered.
"Sir," Raghunath said, voice controlled but urgent, "I want to file a complaint against Swami Vairagyanand of Shree Kshetrapal Dham Ashram. He is exploiting women in the name of God. He has targeted my wife. She's in danger."
Rathi looked up, exhaling smoke slowly. "Swami Vairagyanand?" he said with mocking reverence. "You mean Bhagwan Swami, the divine soul? You have any idea who you're talking about?"
Another cop snorted. "Arre bhai, this one has guts. Coming here to write a complaint against God himself."
They didn't even look at the papers. One of them took it and tore it in half casually, letting the pieces fall on the ground like it was garbage.
Raghunath's fists clenched.
Then the real insult came.
Sub-Inspector Rathi stood up, walked close, and whispered just loud enough for all to hear:
"Sun bhai... instead of whining here, why don't you offer your wife to Swami-ji properly? Let him bless her completely, hmm? I hear he likes the village women—your Radha must be delicious."
The others burst into laughter. One slapped Raghunath's back mockingly.
"Who knows, maybe your kid will even turn out holy!"
It was that moment—the snap.
Everything inside Raghunath broke.
He wasn't a man anymore. He was wrath incarnate. His vision blurred with red, his breath turned to fire. He didn't speak. He didn't shout. He moved.
With one devastating blow, he shattered the nose of the nearest officer. Blood splashed like a broken pipe. The second one came at him with a baton, but Raghunath grabbed it mid-air and drove it through the man's throat, crushing his windpipe.
Panic erupted in the room.
"Call backup! He's mad!" someone yelled.
The third tried to draw his gun. Too slow. Raghunath grabbed him by the belt and slammed his head into the iron bars of the holding cell—once, twice, until the skull gave way.
The fourth ran. The fifth was halfway to the door when Raghunath tackled him to the floor and ripped his throat open with the jagged end of a broken table leg.
When it was over, five policemen lay dead—their blood painting the floor and walls.
The rest had fled in fear.
Raghunath stood in the middle of the chaos, shirt torn, breathing like a beast, chest rising and falling. The silence that followed was almost holy. Like the calm after a storm.
He didn't run. He didn't hide.
He walked out of the station, slow and calm, like a man who had just declared war.
---
The sun rose over Bhawanipur with a strange hush in the air. Word of what happened at the police station had spread like wildfire. Five officers dead. No arrests. No manhunt. Just silence.
The silence of fear.
But Raghunath wasn't hiding. He cleaned his bloodied hands, changed into a crisp white kurta, and walked through the village roads with the calm of a man who had already crossed a line—and had no plans of coming back.
He headed straight to the biggest snake of them all.
MLA Brijbhushan Yadav.
A local kingpin in politician's clothing. Corrupt to the core, his support kept Swami Vairagyanand untouchable.
His office sat in the heart of the block, guarded by half-literate thugs with country-made pistols, all chewing gutkha and cracking dirty jokes.
Raghunath walked in alone.
Brijbhushan lounged in his cushioned chair, gold chain swinging across his belly, paan-stained lips curling into a smirk.
"Wow, see, who has come here," he chuckled. "Hero of the Police station. You must be very angry, right."
Raghunath stayed silent, his eyes locked. "I came to file a complaint. Officially. Swami Vairagyanand is forcing women—he tried with my wife."
Brijbhushan chuckled, then leaned forward.
"You fucker hear… What are you doing? Swami is bhagwan, Understood? Who will believe in you like two rupee person?"
Raghunath's jaw tightened.
And then Brijbhushan crossed the line.
"Do something—If you are worried about your wife, then bring her to me… first I fucked her both hole, then send her to Swami-ji. You need to serve people like us."
The laughter in the room froze.
Raghunath stood.
The chair scraped behind him.
Before anyone could blink, he crossed the desk, grabbed Brijbhushan by the collar, and slammed his face against the wooden table.
THUD!
A scream. Blood.
THUD!
Teeth scattered. Brijbhushan flailed, but Raghunath didn't let go.
THUD! THUD!
"Bhadwe… How dare you take the name of my wife?" he snarled.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Bone cracked. Face crushed. By the time the guards moved, it was over.
Brijbhushan was dead. His skull shattered beyond recognition. His power, his threats, his smirk—all smashed into the grain of the desk.
The guards backed off. No one dared stop him.
Raghunath walked out—calm, bloodied, and unstoppable.
---
That Evening
The small house was silent. Radha paced the floor, eyes wet, her hands trembling.
When the door creaked open, she ran toward it.
"Where did you go? You…everyone is taking your name. What did you do?"
Raghunath stepped in, eyes tired but firm. He held her gently.
"I am fine. You will also be fine. As long as I am here, not even a single hair of yours will move."
Radha saw the blood on his sleeves.
She didn't ask. She only hugged him, tighter than ever.
Because something told her—this was just the beginning.
---
News of Brijbhushan's death spread faster than a wildfire. The entire village whispered of Raghunath's rage. But it wasn't just the villagers who took notice. Swami Vairagyanand, the supposed holy man, heard the news from his trusted informants.
At first, he couldn't believe it.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Swami's voice thundered through his inner sanctum as his devotees trembled at his feet. The day he had feared had come—the man who had dared challenge his authority, Raghunath, was not a fool. He was a warrior, and now he had bloodied the hands of the most powerful in the land.
But Swami wasn't a man to be crossed. He would crush Raghunath, and he would make an example of him. He would teach this foolish mortal a lesson he would never forget.
"Send my ten best men." Swami ordered his chief henchman, Raghav, his voice ice-cold. "I want Raghunath's head, and I want it delivered to me. No excuses."
---
The sun had begun to set, and the quiet of the evening hung in the air like the calm before a storm. Inside his modest home, Raghunath sat with Radha, his face impassive, knowing something was coming. His instincts told him. The tension had thickened in the village, and he could feel the cold eyes of the Ashram bearing down on him.
Suddenly, a loud knock shattered the silence at the door.
Before anyone could speak, the door was forced open, and ten men burst in like wolves. They were heavily armed, faces masked, their eyes filled with malicious intent. They were here to finish Raghunath, and each had their weapon ready.
One of them spoke, his voice muffled behind the mask, "Raghunath, come out. You've crossed the line, and now you will pay for it."
Raghunath didn't respond. He didn't need to.
He stepped outside calmly, barefoot, his hands clenched into fists.
The men circled him, a vicious grin spreading across their faces. They weren't afraid of one man. After all, they were sent by the Swami himself.
The first one lunged at him, brandishing a kris blade. He swung it in a wide arc, aiming for Raghunath's neck. But Raghunath was faster. He sidestepped and grabbed the man's arm mid-swing, twisting it with a sickening crack. Before the man could scream, Raghunath snapped his neck in a brutal motion, sending him crashing to the ground.
The others hesitated.
A burly figure swung a heavy wooden club. Raghunath ducked under it, his muscles coiling like a spring. In an instant, he grabbed the man's leg, flipped him onto the ground, and stomped on his ribs with such force that they shattered. The man let out a blood-curdling scream as he gasped for air, unable to move, and Raghunath finished him off with a single punch to the skull, collapsing his head like a crushed melon.
The third man was quick, wielding two sharp daggers in each hand. He came at Raghunath from both sides. But Raghunath wasn't surprised—he caught one of the blades by its hilt, twisted it out of the man's hand, and with one quick motion, drove it deep into the man's throat. Blood sprayed as he dropped to his knees, gurgling, before he finally collapsed face-first into the dirt.
The fourth man, a large and well-built figure, pulled out a sword and charged. Raghunath met him head-on. Their swords clashed with a thunderous sound, sparks flying. But Raghunath's strength was unmatched. He deflected the blow and punched the man in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. As the man staggered back, gasping, Raghunath grabbed his sword arm and broke his elbow with a sickening snap. The sword fell to the ground, and Raghunath quickly took the man's own blade, using it to slice his throat open.
One man tried to sneak up from behind with a rope, intending to choke him. But Raghunath's senses were sharp. He turned just in time to grab the rope and strangled the man with it, pulling it tight until the man's face turned blue. He broke his neck with one swift motion before throwing the body aside.
The remaining five men closed in from all sides, each holding weapons, ready to strike. But Raghunath was in a state of pure rage now. He moved like a storm, killing each man in seconds.
One tried to stab him with a dagger—Raghunath caught his arm and twisted it until the bone snapped. He then drove the dagger into the man's eye.
Another man swung a sword, but Raghunath caught it mid-swing, wrenched it from his hand, and drove it into the man's chest with brutal precision.
Two more attempted to take him from either side. Raghunath swung his elbow into the first man's face, breaking his nose, and in one fluid motion, used the sword to decapitate the second.
The last man, terrified, tried to flee. But Raghunath wasn't finished. He ran him down, grabbed him by the neck, and in an almost serene moment of rage, slammed his head into the ground, cracking his skull open like an overripe fruit.
---
Dev, hidden inside, watched in horror and awe. He had never seen anything like it—his father was a force of nature. Each kill was swift, brutal, and unforgiving. There was no mercy, no hesitation.
Raghunath stood among the bodies, breathing heavily, his hands and face covered in blood. But the battle was over.
The ten men had come to kill him. Instead, they had paid the price with their lives.
Radha came out, her eyes wide with disbelief. She slowly approached her husband, her voice trembling, "Raghunath, What you have done…?"
He looked at her, wiping the blood from his hands. "I did what I had to do, Radha. We are no longer safe. And no one dares touch us again."
As he turned to go inside, Dev looked on from the shadows. He understood now. This was the world his father had created—a world of fear and blood. And in this world, Raghunath would stop at nothing to protect those he loved.