After the brutal deaths of Brijbhushan and his men, Raghunath had become an unstoppable force of nature. His name was spoken in hushed tones, a curse among the corrupt and the powerful. Swami Vairagyanand had failed to control him, but he wasn't about to give up. He turned to a more powerful ally.
---
In a grand mansion far away, a new figure emerged—Kailash Yadav, one of the most influential and dangerous politicians in the region.
He was known for his ruthless methods and his stranglehold over the local government.
Word had reached him that Raghunath was a threat not just to Swami's power but to the entire system of corruption he had built.
Kailash's voice was cold as he sat across from Swami Vairagyanand in a dark room filled with the faint smell of incense.
"We can't let this go on," Kailash said, his face a mask of contempt. "This man is a menace. We've lost Brijbhushan, but he was weak. Raghunath is strong, and if we don't stop him now, he'll destroy everything we've worked for."
Swami Vairagyanand nodded, his eyes cold with anger. "He has to die. But we cannot do this alone. We need the police, the military—we need all the forces we can gather to end him."
Kailash smiled, a sinister grin spreading across his face. "Leave it to me. I'll ensure that the police and my men will be there. We will bring a hundred men to kill him."
---
The moon had risen high, casting an eerie glow over the land. Raghunath, aware of the danger that loomed over him, stood outside his home, his eyes fixed on the upcoming danger.
Radha was inside, her hands trembling as she prepared herself for whatever was to come. Dev stood beside her, sensing the tension.
The sound of heavy boots reached Raghunath's ears. The hundred men had arrived—Swami's henchmen and the police, united in their mission to destroy him. Their footsteps were like thunder in the night, announcing their approach.
Raghunath stood tall, his expression unwavering. He was ready.
As the men surrounded his house, Raghunath wasted no time. With a fierce roar, he leaped into action, his fists and feet flying with deadly intent.
The first wave of men rushed toward him with swords and clubs. Raghunath disarmed the first one in a flash, snapping his arm before driving his own blade into his stomach. The man crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from the wound.
Another man swung a club with tremendous force, but Raghunath ducked, and in the blink of an eye, kicked the man in the chest, sending him flying backward. As the man hit the ground, Raghunath was on him, breaking his neck with a single twist.
The next few attackers came at him with knives and daggers. Raghunath moved like a blur, dodging and slashing with brutal efficiency. He sliced one man's throat open with a quick, savage swipe before stabbing another in the heart.
Within moments, sixteen men lay dead, their bodies littering the ground. But the rest didn't stop—they pressed on, their hunger for blood and revenge growing stronger.
As the last of Swami's men fell, the sound of gunfire suddenly filled the air. The police had arrived. The men were armed with rifles and pistols, and they immediately began firing at Raghunath from a distance.
He was hit in the hand, the bullet tearing through his flesh. Pain shot through his body, but he didn't falter. Raghunath kept moving, ducking behind a tree for cover as the police advanced. His eyes locked onto the approaching officers, and he knew this battle was far from over.
One officer came at him with a large club, swinging it with precision. Raghunath grabbed it mid-air, snapped the man's wrist with a brutal twist, and then slammed the club into his face, sending the officer sprawling to the ground, unconscious.
Another officer tried to shoot, but Raghunath grabbed him by the throat, squeezing the life out of him with his bare hands. As the officer gasped for air, Raghunath twisted his neck with a single jerk.
But the tide began to turn. More police arrived, and they were now coming at him from all sides. Raghunath was losing strength, but his will remained unbroken.
One officer fired at him, hitting him in the leg. Raghunath winced but kept fighting. His blood now stained the earth beneath him, but he wasn't done yet.
He picked up a knife from the ground and threw it with deadly accuracy at the officer who had just shot him. The blade struck the officer's eye, tearing through the socket and piercing his skull. The officer fell, lifeless, to the ground.
But just as Raghunath turned to face another assailant, two more police officers opened fire on him. One bullet hit him in the side, but Raghunath didn't slow down. With rage burning in his eyes, he charged at the two men.
He reached the first officer, slashing his throat open with a knife. The man fell in an instant. He spun around, grabbing the second officer's rifle and smashing it into his face, breaking his nose and skull with one brutal blow.
But the pain was starting to take its toll. His movements were slowing, and his breath was labored. Another officer took aim and shot Raghunath in the chest. The wound was deep, and Raghunath staggered back, barely able to stand.
With his last ounce of strength, Raghunath grabbed a nearby sword. He charged toward the remaining officers, slashing and killing two more in a savage frenzy. His bloodied body was now barely holding together, but he wouldn't give up.
Just as he was about to strike again, one final officer fired. The bullet struck his head, and Raghunath fell to the ground, his body crumpling in a heap.
But the police weren't stopped here.
With cold, mechanical precision, they dragged Raghunath's lifeless body to the center of the battlefield. They dismembered him, cutting off his arms, legs, and head with a saw and machete.
They left no part of him intact, ensuring that nothing remained of the man who had defied them all.
They scattered the pieces, leaving nothing but a blood-soaked scene as a grim reminder of what happened to those who dared oppose Swami and his allies.
---
Radha stood in the doorway, her heart shattered, as she watched the scene unfold. She could do nothing as her husband's body was torn apart by the forces he had fought against. Dev, holding tightly to her, felt the weight of their loss. She didn't scream. She didn't cry.
She simply acted.
Inside their modest home, Dev, barely a boy of six, looked up at his mother with wide, tear-filled eyes.
"Maa…" he whispered.
Radha held his face tightly, her hands trembling. "Shhh… meri jaan. You are not dying today. You're going to live. You're going to rise. And one day, you'll bring down these devils."
She kissed his forehead and lifted a hidden floorboard, revealing a narrow dug-out hole, where she had once stored grain. Now, it would save her son's life.
"Don't come out, no matter what you hear," she said, her voice firm but loving. "Promise me, Dev."
Dev nodded silently, tears rolling down his cheeks. Radha smiled for the last time, lowered the board, and covered it with a blanket to conceal the trapdoor.
The Final Stand of Radha
Radha moved fast. She turned the gas knob on, flooding the room with a deadly hiss. The air began to thicken with the smell. She lit a few matchsticks, not yet striking them, and held them ready in her trembling fingers.
She heard the voices now—Swami's men, mocking, laughing, talking filth about her even before they entered.
Her eyes burned, but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of fear.
Before they could enter, she took one final step. She took a sharp kitchen knife, held it to her throat, and slit it in one deep, determined motion.
Blood poured from her neck, but she didn't fall immediately. As the men burst through the door, they found her standing in the middle of the room—bleeding, smiling, her eyes defiant even as her lifeforce drained.
One of the men muttered, "What a witch she is..."
And in that very second, her fingers dropped the lit match.
---
The Explosion
BOOOOM!
The gas ignited instantly. Flames exploded through the room, engulfing the Swami's men in a sea of fire. Screams tore through the air, as their bodies were incinerated in the inferno. The entire house began to collapse from the blast, fire licking through wood and stone like a beast unleashed.
Outside, the corrupt police and Swami's remaining henchmen stared in shock at the burning wreckage.
"Wipe it all," one of the senior officers barked. "If there is anything left then erase it. No records. No witnesses."
They began torching nearby documents, dragging corpses into nearby pits, fabricating a story about a "domestic fire."
---
But not all hearts were corrupted.
Among the officers was Inspector Javed Ali, a man torn between duty and conscience. As others searched for survivors with malicious intent, Javed noticed something strange—a loose blanket, unmoved by the explosion.
He approached quietly. His heart raced as he lifted the board and saw a pair of terrified eyes staring back.
Dev.
Javed didn't hesitate. He looked around—no one saw him. With gentle urgency, he whispered, "Come with me, beta… come silently."
He wrapped the boy in his jacket, hoisted him into his arms, and walked straight past his own men, unnoticed in the chaos.