No veil.No apology.No more shadows.
Rekha stepped out into the street.Naked.
Not in secret.Not at midnight.Not alone.
It was 4:44 PM.Broad sunlight.Screech of autos.Children returning from school.The city wide awake.
And there she was —Rekha.
Nude.Feet dusty.Hair unbound.Chest painted with words in sindoor:
"BELONGING IS A LIE."
Behind her walked five women.Also naked.Some trembling.Some smiling.
And behind them — a wave of murmurs.
Phones.Whispers.Laughter.Fear.
And then… silence.
Because no one could look away.
At the corner tea stall, three men stopped mid-sip.
One dropped his chai.Another adjusted his lungi with a shameful twitch.The third just whispered:
"Shani daanalu vesina devi la undi ra…"(She looks like a goddess who offered herself to Saturn.)
A woman across the road screamed:
"Daayi laa undi! Bayam vesthundi!"(She looks like a witch! She scares me!)
Her daughter, maybe sixteen, whispered:
"Kaani… chusthunna…"(But I can't stop watching...)
Someone called the police.Another started live-streaming.
And Rekha?She walked on.
Past honking bikes.Curious children.Men with half-erections and full shame.Women with twitching thighs and clenched jaws.
She didn't cover her breasts.Didn't lower her gaze.
She stopped at a signal.Stood tall.
Spread her arms.And shouted:
"This is not nudity.This is truth without zipper.This is the skin they try to sell and punish in the same breath."
A camera clicked.
Two women fell to their knees.
One man shouted:
"You're a whore!"
She turned to him.
Smiled.
Walked over.
And kissed his cheek.Then whispered in Telugu:
"Nee amma kuda mohanam lo edchindi. Nuvvu enduku avvavu?"(Your mother cried in pleasure once too. Why won't you?)
He fell silent.Then walked away.
A siren.Two cops.
Young. Nervous.
"Ma'am… please… this is indecent—"
Rekha walked up to the constable.Placed her hand on his chest.
He froze.
She whispered:
"What's indecent is you watching porn in secret and calling it a crime in public."
He looked away.Blushed.
Did not arrest her.
The crowd grew.
From fifty… to two hundred.
Some cheered.Some spat.Some knelt.
One man masturbated openly and was beaten by three others.
Rekha never flinched.
And then she reached Tank Bund.
Where the city came to breathe.
Where statues lined the road like sleeping gods.
She climbed the pedestal of Rudrama Devi.
Faced the lake.
And screamed:
"My name is Rekha.I am not your wife.I am not your whore.I am not your goddess.
I am the fire you locked in your wives' thighs, your daughters' throats, and your mother's memory.
And I will burn your shame with my moans."
The crowd roared.
The police froze.
The press arrived.
And so did she.
From the edge of the road stepped Roopa.
Former devotee.Rival.Mad with longing.
Clothed in red.
Lips dark.
Eyes furious.
"You think you're divine?" she shouted.
"You think your cunt makes you holy?"
Rekha didn't blink.
She stepped down.
Faced Roopa.
And said softly:
"No.My moans don't make me holy.They make me honest.And that's more dangerous than holy."
Roopa slapped her.
Hard.
The crowd gasped.
But Rekha smiled.
Grabbed Roopa's wrist.Pulled her close.
Whispered:
"Slap me harder. I've taken worse from silence."
Then — she kissed her.
Deep.On the mouth.On the shame.On the rage.
And Roopa…Roopa melted.
Her legs buckled.
She moaned into Rekha's mouth like a secret she'd buried in childhood.
The press clicked.
The city watched.
And Rekha?She turned to the cameras.
Naked.
Glorious.
Unbroken.
And declared:
"If you must cover me,
Let it be in your history books.
Not your lies."
By nightfall, hashtags were trending:
#RekhaDevi#NakedRitual#302ACult#HyderabadWalksWithHer#WhoreOrGoddess
Back at 302A, the floor was full.
New bodies.New hunger.
Witness watched it all.Still naked.Still trembling.
He turned to Rekha as she entered.
She smiled at him.
And said:
"Tomorrow, we open the temple."