32. The Betrayal

Ashok Sahani returned home, his face drawn and shoulders slumped, a stark contrast to the confident man he once was. The weight of disappointment clung to him like a heavy shroud. Ragini, waiting anxiously in the living room, immediately rushed to him, her eyes scanning his face for any hint of good news.

"Did you get the money?" she asked, her voice trembling with hope and fear.

Ashok avoided her gaze, his throat tightening. "No," he admitted quietly. "Indra said he doesn’t have the funds right now. He’s invested in Shweta’s NGO and other commitments."

Ragini's face fell, her hands instinctively clutching the edge of her sari. "What are we going to do, Ashok?" she whispered, panic beginning to creep into her voice.

Ashok didn’t respond. Instead, he walked past her, his steps heavy as he made his way to their bedroom. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, his head bowed.

The setting sun cast a warm, golden hue through the window, but to Ashok, it felt cold and distant. He moved to the edge of the window, sitting down and staring out at the bustling city. The laughter of children playing in the distance only deepened the ache in his chest.

His phone buzzed on the bedside table, and the number on the screen made his heart sink—it was the bank. Taking a deep breath, he answered, his voice steady despite the storm raging within.

"Mr. Sahani," the bank officer began, his tone businesslike and unyielding, "this is a final reminder that your debts must be cleared by tomorrow. Failure to comply will result in the liquidation of your company."

Ashok swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "Please," he pleaded, his voice barely audible, "give me a little more time. I just need a few days to arrange the funds."

The officer’s response was devoid of empathy. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sahani, but the deadline has already been extended once. We cannot grant any further leniency."

Before Ashok could muster another plea, the line went dead, leaving him staring at the phone in his hand. His heart pounded in his chest as the reality of his situation sank in—his company, his legacy, was hanging by a thread, and that thread was about to snap.

Desperation clawed at him as he scrolled through his contacts and dialed Indra’s number. The phone rang once, twice, three times, before it finally connected.

"Indra," Ashok began, his voice shaky but urgent. "I need to talk—"

The call was abruptly cut off.

Frowning, Ashok tried again. This time, the call was rejected outright. A wave of disbelief washed over him. He stared at the phone in his trembling hand, his mind racing. Was Indra avoiding him?

He dialed a third time, his hands shaking. The call didn’t go through. The realization hit him like a blow to the chest—Indra wasn’t going to help him.

Ashok felt the walls of the room closing in on him, the once familiar space now suffocating. He buried his face in his hands, a bitter mix of betrayal and despair choking him.

The man he had considered more than a friend, a brother, was turning his back on him in his darkest hour.

Ashok Sahani sat at his desk, his head bowed and hands trembling as despair consumed him. His mind replayed the events of the last few days, each memory cutting deeper than the last. The betrayal of his best friend, Indra, weighed heavily on his heart. He had trusted Indra as one trusts family, but now, in his time of need, he was met with silence.

"He didn’t help me. My best friend didn’t help me," Ashok thought bitterly, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

The day before, he had exhausted every possible avenue to arrange the money—pleading with old acquaintances, reaching out to investors, even attempting to sell some of his assets. But every door had slammed shut in his face. Each failure left him more hollow, and now, he felt like a man drowning with no shore in sight.

As he sat lost in his thoughts, his eight-year-old daughter, Natasha, entered the room, clutching her favorite doll. She approached him with the innocence only a child could possess.

“Papa?” she said softly, tugging at his sleeve.

Ashok turned to her, his eyes softening despite the turmoil within. He pulled her into a tight hug, holding her close as if trying to draw strength from her warmth. Natasha giggled, unaware of the storm raging inside her father, and after a moment, she wriggled out of his embrace and skipped out of the room to play.

Watching her leave, Ashok felt a pang in his chest. His daughter was his pride and joy, the light of his life. And yet, he couldn’t escape the suffocating thought that he was about to fail her in the worst way possible.

That night, Ashok lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Ragini, beside him, tossed and turned, occasionally asking if he was alright, but he had only murmured noncommittal answers. His mind was too preoccupied, racing with thoughts of his company's downfall, his tarnished image, and his inability to protect his family.

The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight streamed through the window, Ashok made a decision. He got up and walked to the kitchen, where Ragini was preparing breakfast.

“Ragini,” he said, his voice hoarse, “I’ve arranged the money.”

Her eyes widened in surprise and relief. “You have? How? When?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Just take this suitcase,” he said, placing it on the table, “and go to the bank immediately. Submit it to clear the debt. Take Natasha with you.”

“But why don’t you come with us?” Ragini asked, concerned.

“I’m not feeling well,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “You go. It’s important.”

Ragini hesitated but eventually nodded. Taking Natasha by the hand, she left with the suitcase, leaving Ashok alone in the house.

Ashok returned to his study, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. He sat at his desk, staring at the blank sheet of paper before him. Slowly, he picked up a pen and began to write.

Dear Ragini,

I was on top of the world the day I married you. You brought happiness into my life, and together, we built a family that I cherished more than anything. Natasha is the light of my life, a treasure I never deserved but always thanked God for.

But I love my company too. It is my dream, my legacy, and the reason I could give you and Natasha a comfortable life. Losing it feels like losing a part of my soul. I cannot bear the humiliation of my failure, of my image crumbling to dust.

I am sorry, Ragini. Because of me, you and Natasha will have to bear this pain. I have failed as a husband and a father. My best friend, Indra, whom I trusted with my life, has betrayed me when I needed him the most.

Natasha, my little angel, I am sorry I couldn’t do more for you. I hope you grow up strong and brave, and that you never remember me with bitterness.

I love you both more than words can express. Please forgive me.

Ashok folded the letter carefully and placed it on the desk. Beside it, he set a framed photograph of their family—a picture from happier times, when the future seemed bright and endless.

His hands trembled as he reached for the bottle of sleeping pills. The cap came off with a twist, and one by one, he swallowed the pills until the bottle was empty.

As he leaned back in his chair, the memories came flooding in—a kaleidoscope of moments from his life. He remembered the first time he saw Ragini, the shy smile she gave him on their wedding day, their first kiss, and the excitement of their first night together. He remembered the joy of finding out she was pregnant, the thrill of watching his company reach new heights, and the pure, unfiltered happiness he felt when Natasha was born.

A tear slipped down his cheek as he closed his eyes, clutching the photograph to his chest. The world around him began to blur, his breaths growing shallow. In his final moments, he focused on the faces of the two people he loved the most, and a bittersweet smile played on his lips.

The house grew silent, the weight of his absence already beginning to settle into the air.

At the bank, Ragini placed the suitcase on the counter, her heart pounding with anticipation. She opened it with trembling hands, ready to clear Ashok’s debts and save their company. But her breath caught in her throat when she saw what lay inside—nothing but sheets of paper, carefully stacked to mimic the weight of cash.

“What is this?” Ragini gasped, her voice shaking.

The banker gave her a look of pity before speaking. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but without the money, the company cannot be saved. It is no longer yours.”

The words hit her like a thunderbolt. For a moment, everything felt unreal. She stumbled back, clutching Natasha’s hand tightly as the little girl looked up at her mother with confusion.

“Something’s wrong,” Ragini whispered to herself, panic rising in her chest. Without wasting another moment, she grabbed Natasha, rushed out of the bank, and got into the car. Her mind raced with dreadful thoughts as she drove back home, her fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white.

When she arrived, she ran into the house, calling out for Ashok. “Ashok! Ashok, where are you?”

She found him in his study, sitting at the table. His head was leaning forward, resting on his folded arms. Relief surged through her for a brief moment.

“Ashok!” she called again, stepping closer. But there was no response.

She touched his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Ashok, wake up. We need to talk—”

Her words froze in her throat when his body slumped sideways, lifeless. His face was pale, his lips slightly parted. The truth hit her like a sledgehammer.

“No!” Ragini screamed, falling to her knees beside him. “Ashok! Get up! Please, wake up!”

Her cries echoed through the room as Natasha clung to her mother, frightened and confused. Ragini’s gaze fell on the desk, where she saw a folded piece of paper. With trembling hands, she picked it up and began to read.

As the contents of Ashok’s letter sank in, her sorrow turned to rage. The mention of Indra’s betrayal ignited a fire within her. How could her husband’s best friend—the one they trusted above all others—turn his back on them in their darkest hour?

Her hands clenched the paper tightly, and her sobs grew louder. In just a matter of minutes, her entire world had shattered.

The days that followed were a blur of grief and rituals. Ashok’s last rites were performed, but the pain of his absence was unbearable. Ragini refused to invite Indra or anyone from the Ranawat family. She didn’t want their fake sympathy or hollow apologies.

When Indra and Shweta showed up uninvited, carrying a briefcase full of money, Ragini’s fury reached its peak.

“You dare to come here now?” she shouted, her voice shaking with rage. “Where were you when he needed you the most? Where were you when he begged for help?”

“Ragini, listen to me,” Indra began, but she cut him off.

“Get out!” she screamed, her eyes blazing with hatred. “You’re dead to us. Leave before I lose whatever control I have left.”

Shweta tried to speak, but Ragini’s glare silenced her. Defeated, they turned and left, their heads hanging low.

After their departure, the house felt suffocating. The memories of Ashok haunted every corner, every shadow. Ragini couldn’t bear to stay there any longer. With a heavy heart, she sold the house and moved to a new city with Natasha, hoping to leave the pain behind and start afresh.

But even in the new city, the scars of the past lingered. Ragini’s grief hardened into determination, her heart burning with the desire for revenge against the man who had betrayed them. Indra Ranawat had taken everything from her, and she vowed that one day, he would pay.