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Chapter 15 - Thakur Vijay Singh

"I'm sorry, but due to excessive blood loss, Mr. Pranchal Singhal couldn't make it."

The doctor's apologetic glance crushed the last bit of hope left inside me.

I covered my face with my hands as small sobs escaped me. My crying hadn't stopped since I saw Anchal's lifeless body in the house or even when we brought him to the hospital. Shravan's attempt to console me fell useless. Sounds of Anchal's parents getting the news and breaking down as well was heartbreaking. Their son was murdered.

Someone stabbed him with a kitchen knife and left him to die.

Why?

We didn't know.

But I was going to make that killer pay for this!

"We have to get out of here," Shravan whispered. Tears flowed down my face as I shot him a glare. How dare he?! The one person who supported me through hard times and helped me a great deal when I had no one had just died and Shravan expected me to just walk out? "You're Sanya right now not Ahar." Of course, Sanya didn't know Anchal.

Still, I shook my head.

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and prompted me to move. Restricted under the promise of replacement Sanya, I complied and we sauntered out of the hospital.

There was a police car with officers in a hurry. One officer called us over.

"Mr. Singhal's cell phone has a photo of a white van and it's number plate," Officer Charan (so his name plate read) said. He held up the phone in gloves and showed us the photo. The white van resembled the one Sanya and Arun were kidnapped in. "Do you know anything?"

"It's the kidnappers'!" Shravan blurted out.

"Anchal did say he found a lead," I added slowly.

"Sir!" one of the constables called out of breath. "We traced the van! It was on the way to Uttar Pradesh, but since we alerted the police stations, they stopped them right at the state border. We have to go now."

Everyone hurried into their cars including Shravan and I. I didn't understand what we could do by following behind the officers, still it seemed a better option than sitting at home doing nothing to bring justice to Anchal. We were in Sonipat and UP--the state to the east--was in the exact opposite location as our homes. But Sanya and Arun were more important than going home.

I could see Shravan's hopeful yet anxious face while he drove.

The drive lasted twenty five minutes and we reached outside a police station. A white van stood with some officers and two poor looking men talking.

No signs of Sanya or Arun.

Shravan's face turned serious.

"Do you know them?" Officer Charan asked us. We shook our heads.

"Saab (sir), we're innocent," the shorter man said.

The police searched the van, returning with ropes. Traces of blood covered the evidence and without doubt, Shravand and I knew Arun and Sanya were in there at some point. The other man nervously bit his fingernails and sniffled. He didn't meet anyone's eyes, though his restlessness was clear. The police saw it too, and they barked some threats about locking those men in jail.

"They took our families!" cried the taller one. "They're hiding in our homes, saying if we didn't take the van to UP, they'll kill our families."

All of us hurried to the men's house.

"I think they left! Shit!" Officer Charan said, seeing the emptiness.

We heard a small bang in the back of the house. Shravan and I were closest so we ran (well, I limped) in first, finding two men and five children tied in ropes. Socks were stuffed in their mouths. We saw a bit of someone escaping from the door in the back. Kidnappers! Shravan and I dropped helping the family and darted out the back. A black SUV sped down the street. It had to come around to get out of this area, so we got into our car and chased after the potential kidnappers.

The police cars had their sirens blaring as they skedaddled behind.

"Shravan, left," I said, my eyes not leaving the car as it changed lanes every thirty seconds. There was a one car gap between us and as soon as that car left, we were directly behind the SUV. "Change lanes!" I ordered.

"Why don't you get behind the wheels?!" he snapped.

"Not possible at--AH!"

My words were cut off by a bullet piercing through the front window shield of the car. It went straight through the middle. Shravan swerved the car to the right as we saw arms popping out of the black car holding guns and firing aimlessly. If that wasn't enough, the police officers were also firing their guns. I covered my head with my hands and ducked down.

"Shravan, pull over!" I screamed, frantically. The police had to handle this situation. "We'll get hurt." He nodded, changing lanes but didn't slow down. "Why are you still speeding?!"

"There's something wrong with the car," he said and kept pushing on all the foot pedals.

"It was fine before," I said.

"Well, it's not cooperating now!"

Horror overtook me as I realized that our lives were in heaps of danger. We had acted in haste and didn't think of the consequences. But how and when could Shravan's car get tampered with? The steering wheel was still working and Shravan moved the machine in the far lane. Due to the bullets still firing in the air, we could hear them hitting against the outside of the car. Some hit the window shield, putting cracks. The police officers managed to get between us and the SUV, but not before our car went out of control.

The front wheel of the car screeched and Shravan twisted the steering wheel in every which direction.

We were rolling into the outskirts of a lifeless forest. I held onto my seatbelt and looked at Shravan terrified. His own frightened face was enough to increase my already racing heartbeat. He was mumbling incoherently. My head spun from the spontaneous and accelerated motion. My family and friends' faces flashed before my eyes. I was never able to bring happiness to anyone. Not my parents, not my friends, and not even myself. My life was spent . . . with no purpose.

I'm only twenty two.

Babaji, please mujhe mat uthao (God, please don't take me).

The car took hypnic jerks until it stopped with a weird sound and smoke coming from the engine.

For a moment, Shravan and I stared at each other

"I thought we were going to die," I said and exhaled loudly.

"I didn't," Shravan lied, his own pale face finally getting some color back. Both of us hadn't seen this coming. Yet, we were safe. We piled out of the car. I closed my eyes for a few seconds and took deep breaths. I'm alive. "The tire's flat," Shravan announced. He kicked the front right wheel. "I think a bullet hit it."

"Why is it always your car that gets stolen or shot?" I asked.

"Normally happens when I'm with women," he taunted. "First Sanya and now you."

"Oh please," I scoffed. "You carry trouble on your back. First, Sanya got kidnapped when she was with you. Second, we went to that house where your brother and your girlfriend actually got kidnapped. Third, Anchal died when I brought you with me. Fourth, we were both in danger in your khatara (knackered) car!" I kicked the side of the vehicle in anger.

"Blame me all you want. It won't resolve anything," he informed. "I can't wait to go back to Albany."

"I can't either."

He was pissed off we lost the kidnappers and the cops while I was mad at . . . everything. We gathered our cell phones from the broken car and searched for people nearby. The wilderness surrounding showed that we were out of the city--not in the best location to be lost. The police didn't even check up on us. I tried to call Suman for help.

"No range," I sighed.

"Mine got shot." He pointed to a bullet stuck in his phone's center. I stared at it amazed. The agility of the phone to not break in half was commendable. What an iPhone. "Hey, look, little kids."

My eyes landed on a group of half-dressed boys playing tag or something.

Shravan and I had no other choice than to approach them and ask for help.

"Where are your parents?" Shravan asked.

"Oye tenu ki chahida (What do you want)?" one of them asked. I hid a smile. He wore a police hat and dirty shorts. In his hands was a long stick. The children were playing police-robber. Some held handcuffs in their hands. Serious game.

"We're lost," I said.

The six boys circled me and Shravan. We exchanged bewildered glances. What was wrong?

"Robbers!" the same kid declared. "They are runaways!"

I facepalmed myself.

"We're not playing this game, kid," Shravan said sternly. "Tell us where the closest--" Before he could finish, cool metal closed around our wrists. The stupid boys handcuffed us with real police handcuffs! "Hey!"

They giggled.

"Open this!" I said, tugging my hand.

"Yeh kanoon ka haath hai kaatiya (This is the hand of the law)!" one boy yelled.

"Kaatiya de bacche, tu ruk (Son of an idiot. Just wait)!" I threatened, grabbing his wrist. All of them froze. "Release us," I ordered, letting him go.

"Sorry, hum kanoon apne hathon mein nahi lete, aunty (Sorry, we don't take the law in our hands, aunty)!"

They ran away sticking their tongues out at me.

Aunty?!

I tried to chase after them, but due to the handcuffs, it was impossible. Shravan simply stared at me.

"They called me an aunty!" I said outraged.

"We officially look like runaway criminals and you're worried about being called an 'aunty'?"

"Obviously!"

He raised his left hand, my right raising along. The steel shone under the sunlight, adding another problem. I groaned. Both of us followed a random route and landed in an old village. I spread out my dupatta, so that it covered our handcuffed hands. Anyone would put us in jail first and then hear the explanation.

Some villagers even eyed us weirdly as they conducted their everyday business.

Shravan and I approached about ten people who refused to help us.

What was wrong?

A random stranger came to us.

"Need help?" We nodded quickly. "Police won't do anything. Go to the sarpanch (village head), Thakur Vijay Singh," the skinny lad said. He pointed towards a well-constructed Haveli (mansion).

Shravan and I had no other choice than to visit the man.

Something felt wrong, though.

"I don't have a good feeling about this," I told Shravan. All the villagers gave us pitiful or creepy stares as we passed by.

"One aunty comment and you've gone paranoid," he said, shaking his head.

"Shravan, you're new to India, but I'm not," I whispered. "We're in a place where the sarpanch (village head) has more control than the police. Not good."

He gave my worry no importance.

Well I warned.

We were allowed into Thakur Vijay Singh's house easily. A middle aged woman in a beautiful, white sari introduced herself as Pratima Singh and gave us water to drink. On instinct, I reached for it with my right hand, completely putting the handcuff on display.

The woman's eyes widened and she looked afraid.

"No, no, it's not what you think," Shravan said. "Some kids were playing a game and locked Ahar and me in these handcuffs."

"Please wait here until I get my husband," she said coldly.

Pratimaji left us, surrounded by their security guards.

"Thanks a lot, Virdee," Shravan muttered.

"It was a simple mistake--"

"Just don't," he interjected frustrated.

I sat back furiously. He wanted to blame so be it.

Our silence was broken by a cough. A man with a thick, black mustache stood at almost six feet. He wore a diamond studded suit and gold chains around his neck. His light brown eyes narrowed at us before his face broke into a smile.

"Thakur Vijay Singh at your service."

____________

A/N

The twists in this story are gonna be so hard to explain and reveal. Ugh.

Is the sarpanch trustable?

Is Ahar right to be worried?

This part is important, definitely. Everything happens for a reason ;D (Even my late updates sometimes. I have been spending too much time lately watching Jamai Raja and award shows xD)

~ K-K-Kiran