The air was heavy as Dev Anand stepped out of the cold waters of the Kshirnadi River.
His clothes clung to his body, soaked, and his heart pounded—not from fear, but from what he had just witnessed.
The temple… the Shiva statue… the script… It wasn't a dream. It was real. It was ancient. It was powerful.
But as he climbed the muddy banks, something else caught his attention.
A group of six men stood near the shore, all in deep saffron, the mark of Swami Vairagyanand's loyal devotees.
They were whispering among themselves, confusion drawn across their foreheads. One of them stared at the river's surface as though expecting something to rise from it.
"There's something here…"
Another nodded.
"The air has changed. Something broke here."
They couldn't see the temple—not yet. But when Dev had entered, something inside the river had stirred, a barrier weakened, a spell unraveling. What had remained invisible to the world for thousands of years… would soon rise.
But not now.
Not yet.
And right now, he was exposed.
One of the men noticed him stepping out of the water, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Who's that? What was he doing there?"
The others turned.
They saw him—barefoot, wet, expression unreadable.
"Oye!" one of them called, approaching him. "What were you doing in this place?"
Dev didn't respond. He was trying to calculate. These were not common men. They were trained enforcers of the Ashram. If he said anything suspicious, a report would be made by nightfall.
They encircled him, blocking his path.
Then one of them recognised him. "He is Dev… he's from the Ashram."
Another turned. "Who?"
"Don't you recognize him? He's the one who does cleaning and errands. Swami always orders him around. Name's Dev."
The others eased a little.
"So he's one of ours. But what was he doing here alone?"
Dev straightened, forcing calm.
"Just cleaning myself before heading to the next village for errands. Ritual bath, that's all."
The man who'd recognized him waved the others off casually.
"Let it go. He's just a servant. Probably we are just overthinking."
The group chuckled.
But one of them still glanced back at the river, uneasy.
"Still… I feel there is something here. The wind does not change like this."
They lingered a while, looking into the river's calm surface. But the temple remained veiled, hidden to all eyes—for now.
Dev, meanwhile, turned his back and walked toward the forest trail. His heart was steady, but his mind was burning.
He had found something forbidden. Something ancient. And now, the clock has started ticking.
He knew he would return.
But next time… he wouldn't return as a servant.
—
The day of Adityanand's coronation as the future heir of Shree Kshetrapal Dham Ashram was approaching.
Swami Vairagyanand had declared with pride that his only son would not only inherit his throne but also the influence, wealth, and control over the region that came with it.
The final piece was marriage. The bride: Rashmi Yadav.
Adityanand should have been satisfied—she was young, educated, graceful, and politically promising.
But his instincts said otherwise.
"She smiles... but her eyes aren't with me," he muttered one evening in his chambers, staring at the bridal ornaments kept aside.
"She's hiding something. Someone."
The thought festered.
He began ordering his men to keep an eye on Rashmi's activities. Her interactions. Her movements. But nothing unusual came up—until one evening, near the Kshirnadi River.
Adityanand had gone out alone, his mood restless. The quiet of the river always helped him think.
But as he approached the bank, he heard muffled voices and soft laughter behind a dense patch of trees.
Curious, and increasingly irritated, he moved stealthily—expecting to find villagers, perhaps a couple sneaking around.
But when he parted the leaves—
His world shattered.
There she was. Rashmi. His promised bride.
Her hair unpinned, her clothes were disheveled. Her arms around a bare-chested Dev, who was leaning over her, their foreheads touching.
They weren't just talking.
They were lost in each other.
Dev's cock was entered inside the Rashmi pussy. And he was continuously slamming inside her.
While he also kissed her continuously.
Rashmi continuously moaned his name with love.
Adityanand froze.
The rage was instant.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms until they bled. His ego, his pride, his birthright—just spat on by a mere servant.
"This servant... Fucking my future wife?"
Dev's head snapped up at the sound of Adityanand's voice, his eyes widening in shock. He quickly pulled Rashmi in his arms protectively. But when he did this, his cock reached deep inside Rashmi.
"Aaahhh, Dev," Rashmi moaned in pleasure, without caring about Adityanand.
"Adityanand," Dev said, his voice steady without any fear, "What are you doing here? And what you see here is not the right thing?"
Adityanand laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. "Oh, I think it's exactly what it looks like," he sneered, his eyes raking over Rashmi's disheveled form, while Dev cock was still inside her pussy. "My bride, spreading her legs for a servant. How... disappointing."
He took a step forward, his fists clenched. "You dare to touch what is mine?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You, a mere nobody, dare to lay a hand on the woman I am to marry?"
Rashmi stepped forward, fury lighting up her face.
"Watch your mouth, Aditya. I am not your wife," she snapped, voice ringing with defiance. "You don't own me. Not now. Not ever."
For a moment, there was silence. The sound of the river bubbling behind them was the only sound between three hearts pounding like drums of war.
Adityanand looked at her with disbelief—then laughed. Cold. Cruel.
"You think this street rat can protect you?" He pointed at Dev. "Do you even know who you're siding with? He's nothing. A servant. A piece of dirt under my sandals."
Dev didn't speak yet.
His eyes didn't leave Adityanand, but his hands flexed—ready.
Adityanand stepped closer.
"You'll regret this, Rashmi," he hissed.
"And you—" he pointed at Dev, "I will crush you beneath my feet. I will make sure no one even remembers your name."
That's when Dev stepped forward.
His voice was calm. Controlled. But deadly.
"Try it."
That single word hit harder than any threat.
Adityanand moved suddenly—raising his hand toward Rashmi in a fit of rage.
But Dev caught his wrist in midair—steel grip, unyielding.
For a second, Adityanand saw something in Dev's eyes he hadn't before—something ancient, something terrifying. Something that didn't belong to a servant.
Dev's next words were quiet.
"Raise your hand again… and you'll lose it."
Rashmi was stunned. Frozen between fear and awe.
Adityanand yanked his hand free, breath ragged.
"This isn't over."
But just as he turned to storm off—
Dev's voice rang out, steady and final:
"No… this is over."
Adityanand stopped.
Dev took a step forward, his voice like a verdict carved in stone:
"Pitaram pāpa-kāriṇam, putra eva śuddhiṃ nayati;
Putrasya pāpānām daṇḍaḥ, pitari api patati."
"When a father sins, the son must cleanse the bloodline; but when the son inherits that sin—divine punishment falls upon both."
Adityanand turned, eyes wide—but before he could react—
Dev moved.
Fast as lightning.
A punch to the throat crushed his windpipe, silencing his scream.
Adityanand stumbled back, clutching his throat, gasping.
But Dev didn't stop.
He grabbed Adityanand by the collar and slammed his head against a nearby rock, the sound echoing like a thunderclap. Blood sprayed. The next hit crushed bone. Dev's rage had no voice—only movement.
Three more brutal slams—until Adityanand's face was nothing but pulp. His skull cracked open like a rotten fruit, brain matter mixing with the blood-soaked stone.
Rashmi screamed—but didn't run.
She stood frozen, trembling, witnessing the wrath of a man no longer just human.
Dev finally stood, panting, blood dripping from his hands. His chest heaved, not with fear, but calm satisfaction.
He looked down at the mangled corpse of Adityanand.
"Let your death carry the sins of your father."
He turned to Rashmi, whose eyes were wide with shock—and something else.
Dev walked up to her slowly, blood dripping from his knuckles, face smeared with violence. He wiped it clean on the end of his shirt and cupped her cheek gently.
"It's okay, baby."
Rashmi jerked slightly. Her voice trembled with panic, confusion, and heartbreak.
"How is it okay?!" she cried.
"You've killed Adityanand! The only son of Swami! Don't you understand? Now the whole Ashram will come for you. My father's men. The police. They'll burn down the world to find you!"
Dev didn't respond right away.
Instead, he looked at the blood-soaked ground, then pulled something from the hidden pouch sewn into his clothes — a fragment of the ancient scroll he had found in the temple.
His eyes focused as he began to chant the Sanskrit shloka inscribed in delicate, curling lines:
>"Sarvachakra-vyāpī rūpa-parivartanam,
Sūkṣmatā yathā pṛthivī-sthūlatā yathā meruḥ;
Na rūpaṁ satyam, na satyaṁ rūpaṁ —
Jahī māyāṁ, svīkuru anantatvam."
("He who masters the Sarvachakra can alter form at will— Be as vast as Earth, or as small as dust.
Form is not truth, and truth is not form—
Abandon illusion, and embrace the infinite.")
The air around Dev shimmered. The forest grew silent. Birds fled.
His body began to shift, skin tightening, bones crackling, stretching, reshaping.
Within seconds, Adityanand stood before Rashmi.
His features, voice, posture—everything was now identical.
Rashmi gasped, stepping back in disbelief.
"D–Dev...?"
Dev smiled, his voice now exactly like Adityanand, but his eyes still his own—calm and deadly.
"See, babe?" he said, arms outstretched.
"Now no one will know Adityanand is dead. And you?" He moved closer.
"You can marry me… legally. In front of the world. While they praise their next heir."
She looked into his face—Adityanand's face—but she saw Dev's soul beneath.
Tears welled in her eyes. Not from fear now. From something deeper. Something dark, beautiful, and terrifying.
Rashmi didn't answer with words.
She stepped forward and kissed him.