003

Things in the Mishra household were running smoothly. The lives of the three newcomers had found their rhythm in the new place. It did take them some time to overcome a few problems, but as they say, time teaches everything.

Radha continued her job as a teacher in a respected school, thanks to Raghuveer’s help. Maithili was adjusting well to her new school, and the fact that her brother Gola was there helped her a lot.

But the same could not be said for Niyati.

“Maa... I'm on my way to your school, so relax,” Niyati said, sitting in an auto-rickshaw. Her ever-so-upright mother had forgotten to bring an important file today and was going berserk about it.

Niyati tried to calm her down, but it was to no avail. "Yeah, yeah... it's raining outside, so please look out for yourself. Understood?"

“Yes, ma’am,” Radha replied.

Niyati had already been to Radha's school once or twice before. It was a government school, where the variety of students one would see could be astonishing. Stopping the auto in front of the gate, Niyati paid the fare and entered the school.

The rain was pouring hard. The school ground was flooded with water, so Niyati had to take extra care of where to place her feet next. Reaching the main building, Niyati closed her umbrella and hooked it outside.

“Uhmm... Hello. I’m here to meet Radha Mishra. Can you call her?” she asked a middle-aged lady who was sitting on an old-looking chair. The lady gave her a thorough inspection, as if her eyes were X-rays that could reveal universal truths.

Niyati was used to it by now. When she first came to town, she would get irritated when anyone gave her or her family one of those long stares. She wondered, what was so weird about them that made everyone turn their heads?

"It's because we're new here. You see, Niyati, the community we are living in is such a small, tight-knit group that everyone knows everyone. And we, being the newcomers, stick out like a sore thumb. It's because they're curious that they do this," her mother had told her.

But Niyati thought it was only because these people had too much free time on their hands and didn’t know how to use it wisely, so they indulged in the one thing they were pros at: poking their noses where they weren't needed.

“Who are you, madam?” the lady asked, and Niyati cringed. Why was everyone in this place addicted to tobacco?

“I’m her daughter. Now will you please call her? I'm in a hurry.”

The lady scanned Niyati from head to toe. Radha madam's daughter, huh! This was supposed to be known by everyone, that Radha madam's daughter looked like a TV serial heroine.

In a light blue suit, with her hair done in simple plaits, beautiful eyes, and a decent face, the Mishras were indeed blessed with good looks, the lady thought.

“Please wait near the staff room,” the lady finally said and left. Niyati walked in the direction the lady had indicated. Her phone rang, and she took it out of her purse to see who was calling.

“Hello... Shivu dii? Yes... uhmm... no, I haven't—yeah, I’ll start today, I’ll send you the material—okay... hm...”

Talking on her phone, Niyati didn’t realize she had walked farther than needed and was now standing in front of the principal’s office.

Putting her phone down, she rolled her eyes at her own foolishness. But just as she was about to turn back, her foot slipped, and she stumbled—if not for someone who held her forearm and steadied her.

“Careful,” a deep voice said. “The floor is slippery.” And then he left.

By the time Niyati regained her balance and could say thank you, the man was already gone. She looked at his backside as well as the two other men who were following him with rifles in their hands.

Her eyes followed him as far as they could without moving from her place. Through the windows, she saw one of the guards—at least, that's what they must be—holding an umbrella above the man's head as they walked toward a white Scorpio. Another guard opened the door, the man sat down, and the Scorpio disappeared into the rain.

Niyati simply stood there in awe, wondering what she had just witnessed. When she felt a tap on her shoulder, Radha was standing there, “I was looking for you near the staff room. What are you doing here?”

Niyati walked along with Radha, who took her to the staff room where she was supposed to go in the first place.

“Oh... I forgot,” Niyati quickly lied. “Here. I'll get going.”

Taking the file from her hands, Radha placed it on the table. She walked Niyati to the door, “Take the auto and go home. No roaming around.”

Rolling her eyes, Niyati walked away.

Two months passed after the incident, and the face of the man had faded from Niyati's memory. A thin layer of dust covered the memory of that strange encounter.

The college Niyati attended was celebrating ‘Peace Day’ today, a cultural event to commemorate the college’s silver jubilee.

“All students must be present in white traditional clothes. Those participating in cultural activities must be present in the auditorium before ten,” the teacher had announced.

And that is how Niyati found herself here, doing this.

How, as in wearing a white churidar with her long hair in a simple open hairstyle; here, as in the auditorium; and doing this, as in putting rangoli in front of the auditorium gate.

Craning her neck side to side, Niyati stood up from her position. She smiled politely at passersby who complimented her rangoli, then made her way to the front to tell Priya ma’am that her work was done.

The inside of the auditorium was filled with excited students. For a second, Niyati felt like she had entered heaven, as wherever she looked, there was pure white. She located Priya ma’am in the green room, where she was busy fixing some senior girl’s saree.

The chief guests were supposed to be some big-shot people, and to welcome them, final-year students would be summoned to the front gate. Shivangi dii was one of those students.

After informing Priya ma’am, Niyati went straight to Shivangi, who looked like a fairy in her white saree with red embroidery, bangles on both hands, beautifully parted hair left open from behind, and simple makeup.

She complimented Shivangi, and the girl blushed. Because of Shivangi’s milky white complexion, the soft red spots on her face only added to her charm.

“You’re not looking any less beautiful yourself, Amu,” Shivangi complimented back.

They chit-chatted for a while as Shivangi adjusted some leftover gajra in Niyati’s hair. “Girls, hurry up! The chief guest is here.” Shivangi left as Niyati mouthed “Good luck” to her.

Niyati's friends had to be the most excited people in the college. The way they had dragged her into the front row seats just to see the chief guest could only mean two things: they had gone mad, or they were already mad and had forgotten to take their medicine to tone it down.

“Told you it would be the Chaudharys,” Asha, the girl with braces, squealed.

“Everyone already knew it, Asha. The question is which Chaudhary?” Niyati blinked in confusion and whispered in Richa’s ear, “Chaudhary? As in Gayatri Chaudhary's family?” Richa nodded in confirmation.

“What’s grand about them? I mean, what’s the hype around the Chaudharys?” Asha gasped at her question while Richa shook her head. “Sometimes I forget you’ve only been with us for four months.”

Pouting at her friends, Niyati asked, “Tell me, then.”

“Okay, okay. Uhmm, where to start? Yeah, okay, so the Chaudharys are like gods in Begusarai. They’re like deities who walk on earth. And Bahubali Phoolan Chaudhary is the head of the family—sort of like the king of this place.” Then, lowering her voice, she added, “You’re aware of the Mafia Raj in Begusarai? The Chaudharys are the ones who lead it.”

“In other words, the Chaudharys rule Begusarai. Even a leaf doesn’t move without Phoolan Chaudhary’s will.”

What? Is she hearing this right? It sounds like the opening of one of those dark novels. Richa’s description made the Chaudharys sound like a monarchy. Even a leaf won’t move without his will—what is he, the wind god? And the Mafia Raj—she knew Begusarai wasn’t very safe, but surely the government would have done something if things were that extreme here, right?

She chose not to voice these thoughts in front of her overexcited friends and kept her mouth shut for a while.

The audience applauded, and Niyati, not knowing why, followed their cue. “There they are,” she heard and turned.

“Since you don’t know them, I’ll tell you who’s who.” Niyati only nodded at her friend’s excitement, not having the heart to tell Asha that this wasn’t as thrilling for her.

The principal and board members followed a regal-looking man dressed in a white dhoti and kurta, with an angavastra draped over his left shoulder. He was tall and had a strong build for a man in his sixties. His hands were folded behind his back as he took long strides to the front of the stage.

“He is Bahubali Phoolan Chaudhary. He’s the man who single-handedly built the Chaudhary empire. One of the most powerful and influential men in all of Bihar. The man behind him…”

A slightly shorter man with a menacing face followed Phoolan Chaudhary closely. “He is Lokesh Chaudhary, the military commander of the Chaudharys. Twenty-eight murder cases have been registered against him to this day.”

Eyes wide as saucers, Niyati shockingly turned to Asha. “What?” she mouthed. Her friend only nodded in confirmation. “And the man after him, the stockier, bulkier guy with an unapproachable face, is Mithilesh Chaudhary. Phoolan Chaudhary’s elder son. He shoots first and thinks later.”

“And the one following him…” Asha continued, pointing to the long-haired man, “he is Vijay Chaudhary. Lokesh Chaudhary’s only child. He helps—Bade Malik,” she clarified when Niyati looked confused, “Mithilesh Chaudhary, that’s what people call him.”

Brushing her friends aside, Asha continued, “Yeah, him. All the black work—extortion, murder, assault—is done by him. He’s also the biggest drunkard of the family, and just a few months ago, he was found passed out in someone’s field.” She shared the gossip.

“Wow,” Niyati huffed. “It really feels like I’m in some B-grade action film. Here I was thinking, if these men have such a large following, they must be good people, but hearing you—just wow! They’re all criminals.”

“Shh, don’t be such a spoil sport—”

“I’m not being anything but realistic. You realize half of what you just said is illegal.”

“Shh, shh. Keep your trap shut for a few seconds. If my sources are correct, our real deal hasn’t even graced us yet.”

Distracted, Niyati asked, “You have sources? What? Do I even want to know?”

“Gossip. She meant gossip,” Richa said flatly. “And no, you don’t want to.”

Several people gasped, including Asha. Niyati didn’t bother to turn this time, too busy making fun of her friend’s antics with Richa. “Look, you two, stop and look.”

Forcefully yanking Richa and Niyati together, Asha made them look.

Niyati’s eyes widened comically. Was the universe playing a joke on her? What—just what?

The man whose silhouette had haunted her for days was now walking in front of her, with his same confident steps, handsome face, and beautiful smile.

“He is Achintya Chaudhary, the younger son of Phoolan Chaudhary. Which shouldn’t need to be said, considering his face already announces it to the world.”

Niyati could see that. This man, Achintya’s height and physique were quite similar to the first man she saw. Even their appearance and facial features matched to some extent. He was also quite handsome—every Chaudhary was—but he had a kind, gentle aura around him that made him seem friendly. A gentleman.

Niyati wondered how someone like him could be associated with that criminal family. He looked more like a scholar or professor than a psychopath.

Right at that moment, Richa burst her bubble. “Don’t let looks deceive you, Asha.”

“What do you mean by that?” Niyati asked.

“See, he even made you curious about him. Huh! That’s his charm.”

“Shut up.”

“I meant what I said. Don’t let his handsome face deceive you. You can’t forget whose blood runs in his veins. Rumor has it he has a genuine glint of madness in his eyes.”

Before Niyati could ask more, the welcome song started, drowning out her voice but not her questions. She had many, running a marathon in her mind. What could be dangerous about him? Surely, a bad association affects even the best one. But don’t they say sandals remain unaffected even when snakes cling to them?

Different acts followed the welcome song as the cultural program reached its end. There were also arrangements for food and drinks for the students and guests afterward.

It was early evening when the function ended. Shivangi was waiting for Niyati, who was bidding goodbye to her two friends. When she came, both girls hopped into a rickshaw from the main road to their home.

On the way, they excitedly talked about the function, going through every act and discussing what they liked and disliked about it. The criticism and praises of different groups.

“…and then Asha started her Chaudhary Puran, which basically sounds to me like a bad script some drunk writer wrote. I mean—” Niyati was in the middle of telling Shivangi the nonsense she heard that day when she felt Shivangi’s hand briefly touch her own. Looking at her sister’s face, she found it neutral.

Usually, they took the rickshaw all the way home. “Bhaiya, stop here,” Shivangi said, ignoring Niyati’s bewildered expression but holding her forearm to make her move.

“Don’t say their name, Amu.”

“Is that why—why—you stopped the rickshaw miles away from home just to say this? This? Wow!”

Puzzled by her angry expression, Shivangi said, “No, no. Of course not.” She glared at the smug expression of the youngest, realizing Niyati was teasing her. “Silly girl. And it’s five minutes away from our home, not miles away.”

“But seriously, dii, why are you so naïve? And how do you always fall into my trap?”

“It’s because you’re an idiot.” Then Shivangi’s eyes dimmed, and a serious expression covered her face. Niyati sighed. Here comes another lecture on what to do and what not to do in Begusarai.

She was sure one of those things would include some rule about not badmouthing the Chaudharys. “Don’t go around uttering the Chaudhary’s name anywhere.”

Dang. Bullseye.

Giving a deadpan expression to Shivangi, Niyati groaned, “Don’t you people have another topic to talk about rather than Cha—fine. The Dark Lord. Is that okay? I’m really tired of hearing about them.”

“You bought it.”

“No, I didn’t. I was just telling you about my day, but you—you actually stopped the rickshaw just to talk about this. Oops—” Walking side by side on the road, Niyati kicked a pebble with her foot, hitting a large man who turned around to see the culprit but found none.

The two girls walked away, tiptoeing without getting noticed.

“Don’t do that. I had a hard time controlling my expression and announcing us.”

“Sounds like your problem to me.” Laughing together, just as they were about to reach their street, Shivangi turned Niyati to face her. “I know you’ll make fun of me again, but seriously—”

“Fine. Fine. I won’t ever say their name in public. I won’t even mention you-know-who’s name, even in the confines of my room.” Sulking, Niyati said, “You’ve warned me enough times, dii. Just let it go. You’re acting like I actually said something heinous about them.”

“It could be, Amu. Ten mouths, ten versions.” Looking at the uninterested expression on her face, Shivangi blinked in frustration. Niyati was one stubborn creature.

“I’m just saying, whatever you do, don’t associate yourself with anyone outside of our world.”

“What are they, aliens?”

Without missing a beat, Shivangi replied, “For us, yes. The lives of middle-class people are far different from those of the upper class. You’re not understanding the depth of things here. Begusarai isn’t what you think it is. It’s not Indore, Amu. Someone could be killed in broad daylight in the middle of a market, and no one would do anything about it.”

Niyati was flabbergasted, not knowing whether to find this cool or idiotic. “I know the city isn’t very safe in some respects. The crime rates are sky-high, and for whatever reason, the government isn’t doing anything about it—”

They had reached Shivangi’s home. The shop was closed since Raghuveer had gone to a house inauguration for a friend. After giving Niyati one final look, Shivangi opened the gate.

“It’s not that the government can’t do anything about it, Amu. It’s that they won’t. After all, one doesn’t live in Rome and fight with the Pope. Begusarai belongs to the Chaudharys. Period.”

She waved goodbye and left, leaving a bewildered Niyati behind.

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Author's note.

Bahubali:- someone who can change the course of politics through his sheer manpower. It's a famous title used manly in Uttar Pradesh and Bihar to honour someone who has the large following and is powerful.

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Also, one of the character's name is my bestfriend's name. Hush⊙⁠﹏⁠⊙

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