"Really!?" The woman of Korean origin exclaimed. "Did his stepmother really exile him and his wife for fourteen years!?" Her mono-lids registering a perfect mix of anger and disbelief, she asked. "And Lord Rama agreed without even putting up a fight?"

Her eyes swimming with unshed tears, Bhairavi nodded. "What's more, he was happy to have his stepbrother, Bharat, who was not present in Ayodhya then, replace him as the king." No sooner did the last word leave her lips than a lone tear slid down her cheek. 

Embarrassed, she dabbed her eyes with a tissue she had kept ready out of habit. She always cried in this part of the story. Always. 

"What an evil woman!" Bhairavi's audience pressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head. "I wish I knew it when I was a child. The story would have made more sense and sounded more logical. From what I had gathered, Shree Ram had led an army of monkeys across the sea to go and save his wife, who was kidnapped by the demon king Ravana while they were on a retreat in the forests! They were not there partying. They had been wickedly banished." Won Sungi dabbed her eyes as well. 

"I am glad that I could fill you in, Sungi-ya. And thank you for telling me about Janardana Temple. I hadn't heard the rumor. It's fascinating. If you succeed in finding it, I would love to know more about it." 

"Sure. I would have loved for you to visit it too, but from what we know, which is not much, it might be in bad shape with all the earthquakes reported in the area over the centuries."

The devout woman bobbed her head, "I understand. I truly hope you find what you are looking for." Then, as an afterthought, she offered. "How about, next time you visit your grandfather, we visit Ayodhya if you can spare some time?"

"That sounds lovely! Let's-"

"Attention, passengers. We are about to start our descent. Please fasten your seat belts."

"Ah, I guess that's me." The South Korean native shrugged, disappointed. 

"Time really flies when you have lovely company, doesn't it?" Bhairavi commented, turning towards the woman, who she had hoped would keep her company through the trip now that she was sure Mia would abandon her in favor of hanging out with that boy every chance she got! 

"Yes. And about your suggestion, we should do that: the trip to Ayodhya." As she said it, Won Sungi handed her business card to Bhairavi. Then, peering at Mia, who was perched on the left of her mother with her head buried in her iPad, she continued, "Mia, I envy you. You have such a cool mother!"

The girl ignored the stranger's attention and continued staring at her anatomy notes on her iPad. 

Bhairavi nudged her daughter rather painfully. 

"What!?"

"Kanna, aren't I a cool mother?" The embarrassed mother pressed, side-eyeing her daughter, to which Mia responded with a fake smile and oodles of sarcasm. 'Yes, you are. I am super lucky!' before going back to studying. 

Won Sungi (bless her heart) didn't catch the sarcasm-laden tone and nodded before turning to her newfound friend. "I wish the flight was longer."

"So do I, Sungi-ya. So do I."

After a short pit stop at Khandal, the plane took off for Jammu. 

*****

It had been precisely twenty-five minutes since the Dream Weavers had collected their belongings from baggage claim and almost as long since Bhairavi was restless again. 

As soon as they had gotten off, Mia had left Bhairavi and made a beeline for Raghav, citing that she wanted to know more about The Valley. Neither had she turned to look at her mother for approval, nor had she enquired if Bhairavi needed assistance or company. That ungrateful brat!

Bhairavi's mind was drawing a blank on how she could keep Mia next to her and (more importantly) away from their guide, who sounded like a bouquet of green flags.

He was a fifth-year medical student interning at AIIMS Delhi. 

The soul heir to the Raina empire that had all of their five fingers dipped in ghee (clarified butter), which translated to:
• The boy was filthy rich. 

• Good looking.

• Polite.

• And a thorough gentleman.

As far as Bhairavi was concerned, the verdict was still not out on the last one. Feeling lost without Won Sungi, she pulled a notepad from her pocket. She had found it under Sungi's seat while grabbing her purse from under hers. 

All by herself now, Bhairavi tried calling Sungi to inform her about the notepad. Unfortunately for her, the woman's phone was switched off. Sighing, she looked around and found the woman, who had been calling her daughter Soni since complimenting her at the holding area in Amritsar. 

The woman, Bhairavi noticed, was glaring at their tour guide. Hoping to get some dirt on their 'too-good-to-true' host, she sat on the chair next to her.

"Aunty-ji, I couldn't help but notice that you keep looking at our guide. I was wondering if there is something making you uncomfortable about him being here."

"Oh, Beta-ji, nothing like that." The woman, whose name tag read 'Amrit.' leaned closer to Bhairavi and spoke in a low but clear whisper. "I have seen a lot in my lifetime, child, but-" she looked around and making sure everyone else was busy, lowered her voice further, "Raghav's mother, his real mother, was my student. We were pretty close. She died a few months ago."

Bhairavi's eyes widened. Her mouth fell open. "How!?"

"Brain cancer," Amrit replied. "It was detected too late. Poor thing. She was a good soul, his mother." Her eyes turned cold and angry as she continued, "Curse his father! Shameless man cheated on her. When she confronted him, he threw her out. Of course, Raghav left with her." She paused, her eyes drifting back to the guide, "After she died, he went back to his father; since then, he has been ignoring me. I have been meaning to ask him about the deaths-" 

"Deaths!?" Bhairavi's eyes grew as wide as saucers. An avid fan of murder mysteries, her curiosity rose like noon temperatures in the Sahara desert. "What deaths, aunty-ji?"

"Ohhhhh." The older woman averted her gaze like she had said something she shouldn't have. "Forget that I said that, beta-ji."

"Why?"

"Because you will think I am senile. At least that's what my daughter and our driver thought when I told them the deaths were not innocent. The women were murdered." Amrit admitted bitterly.

"Aunty-ji, trust me, I won't. I may not look it, but I am pretty open-minded. And may be, just may be, I can prove to your daughter and driver that not only are you sane, but you have a great sense of logic to boot!" 

The old woman brightened up instantly, "Really?"

"Of course!"

The older woman's eyes twinkled with excitement and a hint of fear, "Well, what I am about to tell you, you won't find in any newspapers. Apparently, since 2020, every year, one out of those who have gone on this All-girls tour to The Valley has died."

"Aunty-ji," Bhairavi shook her head in disbelief, "-it's not possible for them to keep something so big hidden. I am pretty sure that if someone had died during a trip like this one, it would be all over the news or, at least, on some news portal."

Amrit chuckled. It was devoid of joy of any sort. "The Rainas are much bigger than what they show the world, my dear. And the deaths did not mention The Valley's connection because all these women died almost a month after they had returned from the trip. I calculated, you see! But Roshin, Raghav's mother, had hinted at it the last time we spoke."

Bhairavi discreetly glanced at her daughter and found that two other women had joined Raghav next to her daughter. It put her slightly at ease, and the detective in her took over. "Aunty-ji, please, tell me everything."

The older woman's eyes shone. After all, Bhairavi was the first to show interest in the conspiracy theory brewing in her mind. So how could she let this golden opportunity go?

Chapter Word Count: 1395
Word count so far: 5187

A/N: For Non-Indian readers:-
In India (and most Asian countries) younger people address older people (especially, if they are a decade or more older) as Aunty or Uncle. The suffix 'Ji' is to show respect.

Aunty-ji : Raghav uses it as an alternative for Mrs. Chopra. Bhairavi uses it to address Amrit.

Beta-ji : Literal translation 'son'. Amirt uses it as a term of familiarity, addressing Bhairavi as child, because she is much older than her.