Scene Haridwar At night:
The Haridwar night deepened, cloaking the charred remains of Jeevika's home in a shroud of impenetrable darkness. The sirens had long faded, replaced by the hushed whispers of the police and fire brigade wrapping up their grim task.
Only the lingering stench of smoke and damp ash hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the tragedy.
Jeevika, still numb, leaned against Chaarumati Tai Ji, while Shivanya, strangely silent, clutched Jeevika's hand, her small grip surprisingly firm. Mrinalini Bua Ji stood close, her face a canvas of grief and practical concern.
A police officer, his voice softened with pity, approached them.
"We've secured the area for the night, Mrs. Singh," he said, nodding respectfully to Mrinalini.
"Forensics will begin their work first thing in the morning." He paused, his gaze briefly falling on Jeevika and Shivanya. "For now… you should take the girls somewhere safe."
Mrinalini Bua Ji nodded, her jaw tight. She looked at the desolate shell of her brother's home, then at the two orphaned girls, their faces pale under the dim streetlights. There was no discussion needed. The answer was obvious, yet heavy with unspoken pain.
"We'll take them to Rishikesh," Mrinalini stated, her voice low but resolute. She exchanged a glance with Chaarumati Tai Ji, who nodded in silent agreement. "To the Haveli."
Chaarumati Tai Ji gently squeezed Jeevika's shoulder. "It's the only place, beta. You can't stay here. The house... it's gone." Her voice was soft, laced with profound sorrow. "Our family will be there. You'll be safe."
Jeevika's mind was a blank slate of exhaustion and grief. Rishikesh. The Haveli. She'd heard stories, seen old photographs. It was the sprawling ancestral home of the Singh family, a place steeped in history and ancient lineage. Her own parents, Karan Singh and Sakshi Singh, had lived there once, before Shivanya was even born.
It was after Shivanya's birth, when they sought a quieter life away from the royal complex, that they had moved to this more modest home in Haridwar, building their own world brick by happy brick.
Now, that world was ash. And the royal palace, once a distant tale, was their only refuge.
Jeevika looked at the burnt ruins, then at Shivanya, whose unnervingly dry eyes were still fixed on the devastation. There was nothing left here. Nowhere to go.
She took a slow, shuddering breath. "Okay, Bua Ji," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "We'll go."
Shivanya, who hadn't uttered a single word since her reunion with Jeevika, tightened her grip on Jeevika's hand. She looked up at her Didi, her small face mirroring Jeevika's quiet resignation.
If Jeevika Didi was going, then Shivanya would too. Her world, shattered beyond recognition, now hinged entirely on the older sister clutching her hand. Their shared tragedy had forged a new, unbreakable link between them.
The two women, their grief momentarily overshadowed by the urgent need for action, began to make arrangements with the police.
A small bag was hastily packed with what few essentials neighbors could gather. The car, which had brought Mrinalini and Chaarumati, would now carry the two orphaned girls towards a future they couldn't yet comprehend.
The shift felt surreal. From the familiar comfort of her school bus to the terrifying inferno, and now, to the uncertain journey towards a grand, unfamiliar home. The road ahead was long, shrouded in the darkness of grief, but also in the unsettling silence of unspoken questions.
The sleek black car pulled away from the desolate lane, leaving behind the smoke, the ash, and the ghosts of a life consumed. Jeevika leaned her head against the window, watching her Haridwar melt away into the rearview mirror. Beside her, Shivanya, small and still, stared straight ahead.
The distance between them and the ruins grew with every passing moment, but the weight of what they had left behind, and the unknown they were driving into, pressed down with an unbearable intensity.
Their childhood home was gone, replaced by a promise of shelter in a palace of strangers. But as the miles passed, neither girl knew that the ashes they left behind held more than just memories; they held secrets, waiting for the right moment to ignite a conflict far older than the flames themselves.
Scene Journey to Rishikesh
The sleek black car cut through the winding roads leading to Rishikesh. The journey felt endless to Jeevika, the landscape blurring outside the window as the last vestiges of Haridwar faded. Beside her, Shivanya, small and unnervingly still, had drifted into a fitful sleep, her hand still clutched in Jeevika's.
Mrinalini Bua Ji and Chaarumati Tai Ji spoke in hushed tones from the front, their voices a low, somber hum that only deepened the silence in the back.
As dawn broke, painting the Himalayan foothills in soft hues of rose and gold, the towering gates of the Rishikesh Royal Palace finally came into view. Intricately carved, ancient, and majestic, they loomed large against the waking sky.
The car purred to a stop, the grand archway swallowing them whole.
The palace courtyard was vast, paved with smooth, age-old stones. Moonlight filtered through towering trees, casting long, dancing shadows.
The air here was different – crisp, clean, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and old stone. A sense of history, heavy and undeniable, hung in the silence.
The car door opened. Mrinalini Singh stepped out first, followed by Charumati Rathore Singh. Then, Jeevika and Shivanya emerged, their small figures dwarfed by the immense architecture.
They stood for a moment, blinking in the dim light, their eyes adjusting from the tight confines of the car to the sprawling expanse of the palace grounds. It felt less like a home, and more like a fortress.
They walked towards the main entrance, a massive, ornate wooden door. As it swung open, revealing a softly lit hall, a wave of familiar faces greeted them.
The entire family was there, gathered in the grand foyer, their expressions a mix of anticipation and relief. They'd been waiting.
Maharaj Adityaveer Singh (Jeevika's Bade Papa) stood at the forefront, his imposing presence softened by a warm smile. Beside him, Rani Saubhagya Laxmi Singh (Bade Maa), her eyes filled with gentle concern. Maharaj Ranvijay Singh( jeevika father's second Elder brother)(Pragati's Papa), and Rajkumar Samar Pratap Singh( jeevika father's younger brother)(Virat's Papa), were also there, along with Rajkumari Niharika Singh (Virat's Mom).
The younger cousins – Ram, Virat, Pragati, Preesha, and Chandu – clustered excitedly behind them.
A collective sigh of relief, a wave of smiles, washed over the family. They saw Jeevika and Shivanya, safe and sound. They didn't know the truth yet. Not the whole truth.
Niharika Singh, Virat's Mom, stepped forward, a relieved smile on her face. Her voice, normally warm and welcoming, held a hint of casual expectation.
"Oh, thank goodness you're here! We were getting worried," Niharika said, her gaze sweeping over the two girls. "You both only came? Where are your parents, Karan and Sakshi?"
Jeevika's heart, already a raw wound, clenched tighter. Shivanya, still clutching Jeevika's hand, remained silent, her gaze unwavering on the ground. Neither girl could form a word.
The casual question, so innocent, felt like a physical blow.
Samar Pratap Singh, Virat's Papa, stepped slightly forward, a friendly smile on his face, trying to lighten the mood. He didn't know about Shivanya's stoicism yet.
"And you must be… I know Jeevika, of course," Samar Chachu said, his eyes twinkling kindly at Shivanya. "What's your name, little one? I only know Jeevika."
Shivanya instinctively shrank back slightly, pressing against Jeevika's leg. Her grip on Jeevika's hand tightened. Jeevika felt her own throat constrict. The words were stuck, choked by grief. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward.
Ranvijay Singh, Pragati's Papa, a man with a shrewd gaze, noticed the sudden tension, the girls' unnerving silence. His smile faltered, replaced by a frown of concern.
"What happened?" Ranvijay asked, his voice now sharper, cutting through the lingering warmth. "Mrinalini? Charumati? Why are the girls so… quiet? Where are Karan and Sakshi?"
Charumati Rathore Singh took a deep, shuddering breath. Her gaze swept over the expectant faces of the family, then landed on Ranvijay Singh, her husband. The silence in the grand hall became absolute. Every eye was on her.
"My… my love," Charumati's voice trembled, breaking on a sob. "When we reached their home in Haridwar… there was no home." Her voice cracked. "It was… ashes. Just ashes. Their house… it was completely burnt down."
A collective gasp, sharp and visceral, ripped through the foyer. Faces paled. Smiles vanished. Disbelief, then dawning horror, spread through the family like a cold wave. Rani Saubhagya Laxmi Singh, Bade Maa, clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in shock.
"Burnt down?" Adityaveer Singh roared, his voice booming, shaking the silence. "What are you saying, Charumati? My brother… Karan… Sakshi… no! Is this true?" His face was contorted with disbelief and dawning fear.
Samar Pratap Singh, Virat's Papa, his face now grim, stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Mrinalini. "But why? What was the reason for the fire? Was it an accident?" His voice was low, filled with a desperate need for answers.
Mrinalini Singh, her own voice steadying with forced control, met his gaze. The relief of Shivanya's survival was still there, but overshadowed by the devastating loss and the grim details.
"The locals told us they heard a gas leak sound before the fire erupted," Mrinalini said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "And the police… they've confirmed it. In their preliminary forensic report. They believe it was a faulty gas connection."
The words hung in the air, cold and final. A gas leak. An accident. The explanation was logical, terrifyingly mundane for such utter destruction. But in the stunned silence that followed, a seed of doubt, a faint, unsettling tremor, passed through Jeevika.
She glanced at Shivanya, whose eyes, still unnervingly dry, seemed to hold more than just shock. They held a depth of knowledge, a silent, unreadable story.
The grand hall, moments ago filled with warmth and anticipation, was now a tomb of shattered hopes. The fire had left more than just ashes in Haridwar;
it had left an indelible mark on the soul of a royal family, introducing two orphaned girls into a world both familiar and utterly alien. And as the news settled, a quiet, unspoken understanding passed among the elders, that this was just the beginning of a long, painful chapter.
A gas leak. An accident. The words were a comfort, a convenient truth. But the silence in Shivanya's eyes screamed a different story, a secret born in the heart of the flames, waiting for the world to finally listen.
Scene at evening shivanya room
The vastness of the Rishikesh Royal Palace felt less like a sanctuary and more like a gilded cage as evening descended. Lights flickered to life in the grand halls, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to swallow sound. After the initial shock of the news, the palace had settled into a somber quiet, a fragile peace attempting to blanket the raw grief.
Ten-year-old Shivanya, however, wasn't seeking comfort. She stood near a massive arched balcony, her small frame silhouetted against the fading twilight. Her gaze was fixed on the distant hills, but her mind was miles away, trapped in a replay of fire and screams.
The cold marble beneath her bare feet was a stark contrast to the burning floorboards from just hours ago. She hadn't cried. Not a single tear. Her mother's words echoed, a fierce, silent command in her memory.
A soft tread behind her barely registered. Shivanya didn't flinch. She simply waited, an unnatural stillness about her.
A shadow fell over her. Then, a voice, low and smooth, brushed against her ear like a whisper of smoke. It was Bhavya Pratap Rathore. Mrinalini Bua Ji's husband. Preesha and Chandu's Papa.
He moved with a quiet grace that always seemed too effortless.
"So, little one," Bhavya Fufa Ji murmured, his voice laced with an unnerving calm, "you're standing out here alone? Lost in thought, are we?"
Shivanya didn't turn. Her body was rigid.
What he told her next was for her ears only, a truth hidden from everyone, and a terrifying weight that threatened to crush her small world.
Bhavya Pratap Rathore leaned closer, his voice dropping to a chilling, almost imperceptible whisper.
"If you tell what happened that day to anyone, especially Jeevika, that day will repeat."
His words were a silken thread of menace, wrapping around her heart. "And this time, Jeevika will die. I will kill this family like we did that day to your family."
Shivanya's breath hitched. A cold, hard knot formed in her stomach. The scent of jasmine in the evening air suddenly felt suffocating.
"So hide the truth," he continued, his voice softer, yet infinitely more dangerous. "Don't tell anyone about me. Don't tell anyone about what you saw. And you escaped that day, didn't you? That means your life is not safe now. Try to save your life, little one." His words were a direct threat, a chilling promise of retribution.
Furious. Shivanya felt a hot, blinding rage ignite within her.
It surged, burning brighter than any fire she had witnessed. But she stood silently, perfectly still. She remembered her Kaali Maa's words, a powerful mantra whispered during temple visits.
> "Stay silent. Stay calm. When the time is right, you can show what your anger and furious look like."
>
His gaze, she felt it, was like a physical weight on her back. A silent question, a taunt: You missed that day, didn't you? But now… how can you be safe? How can you live? It was a challenge, a chilling declaration that her survival was merely a temporary reprieve.
No one else saw this intense battle playing out on the balcony. No one knew. Not now. And not yet. The grandeur of the palace, the comfort of family, shielded them from the silent, deadly war that had just begun for a ten-year-old girl.
The grand hall, moments ago filled with warmth and anticipation, was now a tomb of shattered hopes. The fire had left more than just ashes in Haridwar;
it had left an indelible mark on the soul of a royal family, introducing two orphaned girls into a world both familiar and utterly alien. And as the news settled, a quiet, unspoken understanding passed among the elders, that this was just the beginning of a long, painful chapter.
A gas leak. An accident. The words were a comfort, a convenient truth. But the silence in Shivanya's eyes screamed a different story, a secret born in the heart of the flames, waiting for the world to finally listen.
The palace walls, meant to offer safety, had just become a gilded prison for Shivanya's truth. Every hushed breath, every loving glance from her family, was now a painful reminder of the monster hidden among them, and the silent, deadly choice she had just been forced to make.