The sun had begun to dip behind the lush Godavari palms, painting the sky over Vadapalli Temple in streaks of crimson and gold. Evening bells echoed through the still air as Nagamani, Vijaya Lakshmi, and little Bharadwaj stepped down the temple stairs after offering prayers. The scent of jasmine and camphor still lingered in their hands, mingling with the faint hum of devotional chants fading into the distance.
Their car waited by the ghat road — a modest white Ambassador that gleamed in the twilight. Nagamani, dressed in a graceful cotton saree, smiled at her mother-in-law.
"Athayya, Dilli will be waiting for the prasadam. Let's go quickly," she said.
Bharadwaj, ever curious and playful, ran ahead, chasing the glow of fireflies dancing above the water. He giggled — a sound that would soon be swallowed by something far darker.
As the car rolled out of Vadapalli, the road wound through narrow mango groves and quiet stretches of farmland. The rhythmic sound of cicadas filled the silence. Suddenly, a black Scorpio SUV appeared behind them, its headlights flashing repeatedly.
"Probably some political convoy," the driver murmured, pulling slightly aside. But the SUV didn't overtake. It stayed glued to their tail, inching closer — too close.
Then, without warning, a truck roared across the opposite lane, blocking the road ahead. Tyres screeched. The Ambassador came to a halt. Dust rose in the air, blurring everything in a golden haze.
Before they could react, four men in black masks jumped out of the Scorpio. One smashed the driver's window with a steel rod, dragging him out. Bharadwaj screamed as Nagamani instinctively pulled him into her arms. Vijaya Lakshmi shouted for help — but the fields around were empty, and the road was silent but for the fluttering of scared crows.
A muffled voice barked commands. "Grab them all! Quick!"
Within moments, Nagamani's gold bangles clinked as she struggled, Bharadwaj's cries echoed, and Vijaya Lakshmi tried to resist — her voice trembling yet fierce:
"Do you know who we are? You will pay for this!"
One of the masked men smirked under his scarf.
"That's the point, Ammaji. Someone already is."
They were shoved into the SUV, and the vehicle sped off toward the desolate canals of Atreyapuram. The temple bells in the distance rang one last time — as if warning the gods themselves of what had just transpired.
Hours later, as Dilli sat in his office at CosPulse Headquarters, surrounded by engineers and data screens, his phone buzzed. A blocked number.
He answered, distracted at first — until the voice on the other end cut through like a blade:
"Mr. Dilli Gadhiraju… we have your mother, your brother, and your grandmother."
Dilli froze. His heart stopped for a second.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice cracking between rage and disbelief.
A low chuckle came from the other side — cold, calm, and confident.
"Names don't matter. What matters is your empire. CosPulse and CosVerse — hand them over, or you'll never hear their voices again."
In the background, through the static, Dilli could hear faint sobs — his mother calling out his name.
"Dilli… save Bharadwaj…"
Then, the line went dead.
The room around him fell silent. Screens flickered, machines hummed, but for Dilli, the world had stopped moving. His hands trembled as he stared at the phone. The glow from the monitor reflected in his eyes — eyes that once dreamed of innovation, now burning with fury and fear.
The storm had come to Atreyapuram.
And this time, it wasn't business — it was personal.