Flashback
Rajgarh - Two Hundred Years Ago
Rajgarh, two hundred years ago, was a kingdom blessed with prosperity and peace. The heart of this kingdom was the royal family of the Raghuvanshi dynasty. Rakhi Raghuvanshi, the queen, and Pratap Raghuvanshi, the king, were loved and respected by all. Their kindness knew no bounds, and the people of Rajgarh flourished under their rule.
Their son, Ashtram Raghuvanshi, was the pride of the kingdom. At twenty-seven, he was a young, dashing prince with charm that captivated everyone he met. Strong, brave, and wise beyond his years, Ashtram was the perfect heir to the throne. His life was one of privilege and happiness, filled with the promise of a bright future.
At this point in his life, Ashtram had no idea that his fate would soon take a dark and unexpected turn. He had not yet received the curse that would change everything. For now, he lived freely, his heart unburdened by the weight of destiny.
One day, Ashtram decided to step out of the palace walls, determined to understand the real state of his people. His life, though filled with the luxuries of royalty, had made him curious about the lives of those who lived beyond the marble corridors of the kingdom. He wanted to see their struggles, their hopes, and the conditions they faced daily.
Determined to keep his royal identity hidden, Ashtram dressed in simple clothes, opting for a rugged tunic and trousers that blended in with the commoners. His usually well-kept hair was left loose, and his face, usually adorned with the regal pride of a prince, was now obscured with a simple cloth to keep his identity concealed.
As he walked through the streets of Rajgarh, the people hardly recognized him. The sound of his boots echoed through the narrow alleys, but no one seemed to notice the young man who moved with purpose and curiosity. Ashtram was not just a prince today; he was a silent observer, an anonymous figure walking among the very souls he had sworn to protect.
He watched as children played with makeshift toys, their laughter mixing with the chatter of vendors selling fruits, spices, and handcrafted goods. He saw women working hard, carrying heavy loads of firewood, or weaving fabrics, their faces filled with quiet strength. The men of the village toiled under the scorching sun, building structures, working the fields, and tending to animals.
Ashtram's heart grew heavy as he noticed the weariness in their eyes, the weight of life's struggles etched on their faces. He wanted to do more for them, to ensure they lived lives worthy of the prosperity his family had brought to the kingdom.
But on this day, he was just another face among the people, feeling their pain, their hopes, and their silent cries for help.
Disguising himself as a common man, he ventured into the bustling streets. The village was alive with activity-vendors selling fruits, children playing, and craftsmen working tirelessly under the sun.
As Ashtram walked further, he came across an elderly man sitting by the roadside, carving intricate patterns into a block of wood. Intrigued, Ashtram stopped and crouched beside him.
"Aapka kaam bahut accha hai," Ashtram said with genuine admiration. "Kitne saal ho gaye yeh kaam karte hue?"
("Your work is very good," Ashtram said with genuine admiration. "How many years have you been doing this work?")
The old man looked up, his face wrinkled but his eyes still sharp. "Bachpan se hi beta, lekin ab haath thak gaye hain. Par pet ke liye toh kaam karna padta hai," he replied. "Jo milta hai, usse guzaara karte hain."
("Since childhood, son, but now my hands are tired. Still, I have to work to survive," he replied. "I manage with what little I get.")
Ashtram's heart sank at the man's words. He noticed the poor condition of the tools and the strain on his body. Trying to keep his identity hidden, Ashtram asked carefully, "Rajmahal se koi madad nahi milti?"
("Doesn't the palace offer any help?")
The old man gave a faint smile, shaking his head. "Rajmahal apni taraf se madad karta hai, beta, par yahan gareeb logon ki kami nahi hai. Sabko madad milti nahi."
("The palace helps as much as it can, son, but there's no shortage of poor people here. Not everyone gets help.")
Ashtram nodded thoughtfully, his resolve strengthening. As he stood up, a group of children ran past, their laughter filling the air. Yet, one little girl caught his attention. She sat quietly in a corner, clutching a worn-out doll, her eyes following the other children with longing.
Ashtram approached her, kneeling down. "Tum unke saath kyun nahi khel rahi?" he asked softly.
("Why aren't you playing with them?")
The girl looked at him with tired eyes. "Mujhe bhook lagi hai, aur daudne ki taqat nahi hai," she whispered.
("I'm hungry, and I don't have the strength to run," she whispered.)
Her words struck Ashtram deeply. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of coins. Handing it to her, he said, "Yeh lo. Kuch achha kha lena. Apne maa-baba se kehna ki yeh ek dost ne diya hai."
("Here, take this. Get something good to eat. Tell your parents that a friend gave this to you.")
The girl's face lit up with a faint smile as she clutched the coins tightly. "Dhanyavaad, bhaiya."
("Thank you, brother.")
Ashtram rose, his mind filled with determination. The smiles and struggles of his people weighed heavily on him. As he made his way back to the palace, his thoughts raced with plans to uplift the village and its people.
Ashtram rode through the dense jungle on his horse, the cool breeze rustling through the leaves providing brief respite from the heat. The rhythmic clattering of the horse's hooves echoed in the otherwise tranquil surroundings. The lush greenery seemed endless, and as the sun climbed higher, Ashtram could feel thirst creeping in.
He slowed his horse to a trot and scanned the surroundings, his sharp eyes searching for any sign of a water source. The jungle was alive with the chirping of birds and the occasional rustling of animals, but there was no immediate sign of water.
"Yahan kahin paani hona chahiye," Ashtram muttered to himself, gently patting his horse's neck. "Thoda aur aage chalte hain."
("There should be water somewhere around here," Ashtram muttered to himself, gently patting his horse's neck. "Let's go a little further.")
As he moved deeper into the jungle, the faint sound of trickling water reached his ears. A wave of relief washed over him. He steered his horse toward the sound, weaving through the thick foliage until he came upon a small, serene waterfall cascading into a clear pool below.
Ashtram dismounted gracefully, tying his horse to a nearby tree. The cool mist from the waterfall kissed his face as he approached the water. Kneeling at the edge, he cupped his hands and drank deeply, the crisp, refreshing water quenching his thirst.
Ashtram wiped his face with the back of his hand, feeling refreshed as the cool water trickled down his neck. Just as he was about to return to his horse, his ears caught a faint sound carried by the wind. He froze, his body tense as he tried to identify it.
It was soft at first, almost lost amidst the rustling leaves and chirping birds, but as he focused, the sound became clearer-a girl's muffled cries.
"Yeh awaaz kahan se aa rahi hai?" Ashtram whispered to himself, his brow furrowing.
("Where is this sound coming from?" Ashtram whispered to himself, his brow furrowing.)
Instinct took over, and he straightened, his eyes scanning the dense forest. The cries were faint but persistent, coming from deeper into the jungle. His heart tightened with a sense of urgency.
"Main dekhta hoon," he murmured, striding toward the direction of the sound.
("I'll go check," he murmured, striding toward the direction of the sound.)
The path ahead was uneven and overgrown with wild foliage, but Ashtram moved with determination, his senses alert. The cries grew louder as he approached, tugging at something deep within him.
He knew he couldn't ignore it.
Ashtram's sharp eyes caught movement in the air as a piece of paper fluttered toward him, carried by the gentle breeze. Instinctively, he reached out and caught it before it could drift away. The edges were crumpled, and the ink on it looked hurried and smudged, as if written in despair.
Unfolding the paper, Ashtram's brows furrowed as he began to read the haunting words written on it:
"Main usse pyaar karti thi aur usne mujhe dhokha diya. Ab main uske bacche ki maa banne wali hoon, par usne mujhe chhod diya. Ab main kaise jeeyun? Maa, maaf karna, main aapki umeedon par khara nahi utar pai. Par main aur apmaan nahi sah sakti... mujhe apne aapko khatam karna padega."
("I loved him, and he betrayed me. Now I am pregnant with his child, but he has left me. How can I survive now? Sorry, Maa, I couldn't live up to your expectations. But I can't endure more humiliation... I have to end my life.")
The words hit Ashtram like a thunderbolt. His hands tightened around the fragile paper as a surge of anger, sadness, and helplessness coursed through him. He could almost feel the agony of the person who had written it, her despair bleeding through every word.
"Yeh kaun ho sakti hai? Aur yeh chitthi yahaan kyun mili?" he muttered to himself, his mind racing with questions.
("Who could this be? And why did I find this letter here?")
His gaze darted around the area, searching for any sign of the letter's owner. The dense jungle was silent except for the sound of the waterfall and the rustling leaves. A deep unease settled in his chest.
"Mujhe dekhna hoga... kahin der na ho jaye," he thought, his instincts compelling him to act.
("I need to find her... before it's too late," he thought, his instincts compelling him to act.)
Ashtram mounted his horse swiftly, his heart pounding as he rode toward the direction the wind had come from, hoping to find the writer of the letter and stop her from doing something irreversible.
The jungle, once alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, now felt eerily silent.
When he finally reached a large banyan tree, he stopped dead in his tracks. His sharp eyes widened in shock as he saw a young girl hanging lifelessly from one of the low-hanging branches. Her frail body swayed slightly with the breeze, her lifeless eyes staring into the void.
"Hey Bhagwan!" Ashtram whispered, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
("Oh God!")
He rushed toward her, his heart pounding in his chest. The closer he got, the more he could see the bruises on her neck and the tear-streaked dirt on her cheeks. Her clothes were tattered, and she appeared to have suffered greatly before her death.
Ashtram untied her quickly, lowering her body gently to the ground. Kneeling beside her, he checked for any sign of life, but it was already too late. Her body was cold, and her pulse was absent.
Ashtram's heart clenched in his chest, and he stared at the note again for a moment, the weight of her final words sinking in. His hands trembled as he placed the note gently to the side, his mind racing with the thought of how much suffering she must have endured before making such a decision.
Suddenly, he heard frantic footsteps approaching, followed by a woman's anguished cry. "Meri bacchi ko kya ho gaya? Kya hua meri bacchi ko?!"
("What happened to my daughter? What happened to my daughter?")
Ashtram's head snapped up to see a woman running towards him, her face twisted in agony. Her clothes were torn and her hair disheveled, as though she had been searching for her daughter for hours. She reached Ashtram and fell to her knees beside the girl's body, her hands shaking as she cradled her lifeless form.
Tears streamed down her face as she rocked back and forth, her voice broken with grief. "Meri beti ko kisne yeh kiya? Usse kisne maar diya?"
("Who did this to my daughter? Who killed her?")
Ashtram stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to say. He had seen suffering before, but nothing had prepared him for the pain in the woman's eyes, the raw, unfiltered grief that radiated from her. His heart ached as he gently placed a hand on her trembling shoulder, his voice low and filled with regret.
The woman's hands trembled violently as she wiped her tears, still holding her daughter close. She let out a strangled sob before looking down at the lifeless body in her arms, murmuring the words her daughter had spoken to her earlier that day.
"Ma, mai aaj usko bata dungi ki aap maan gayi ho," the woman whispered, remembering her daughter's excited words from earlier that morning. ("Mom, today I will tell him that you've agreed.") She smiled faintly at the memory, the joy in her daughter's voice still fresh in her mind.
She looked down at her daughter's clothes, her fingers brushing the blue fabric of the girl's sari. "Woh keh rahi thi ki 'Maa, main aaj nila pehen ke jaungi, kyunki usne kal kaha tha ki wo nila pehenke aayega'. Aur maine bhi kaha tha ki main bhi aaj nila pehen ke tumhare saath chalungi," the woman muttered, her voice breaking as she clutched her daughter's body closer. ("She was saying, 'Mom, I'll wear blue today because he said he would wear blue tomorrow.' And I told her that I would wear blue too, to match her.")
She paused, her hand freezing as a realization slowly crept up on her. She glanced up, her eyes locking onto Ashtram. He stood at a distance, his blue attire catching her attention, and something dark stirred within her chest.
Her breath hitched, and the horror was palpable in her eyes as she suddenly stood up and pointed an accusing finger at him. "Tumhi toh ho woh jo meri beti ki maut ki wjh, hai na? Tumne hi usse maar diya!"
("You... you! You're the one who killed my daughter, aren't you? You're the murderer!")
Her voice was sharp, filled with rage and unrelenting pain as she took a step toward Ashtram, her body trembling with grief. "Meri beti ki khushi, uski zindagi tune chheen li, aur ab tu yeh chehre pe jaali rakkhe dikhate ho jaise kuch hua hi nahi!"
("You stole my daughter's happiness, her life, and now you stand there, with no remorse, as if nothing happened!")
Before Ashtram could even open his mouth to explain, the woman's anger spiraled out of control. Her hands shook as she stood, her face flushed with grief and rage. Her eyes, filled with the pain of a mother who had lost her child, glared at Ashtram with a fire that seemed to burn through the very air between them.
She stepped closer, her voice rising, trembling with fury. "Mai tujhe shrap deti hoon ki tu humesha zinda rahega, kabhi nahi marega tu! Tu hamesha apno ko marte huye payega... tu maut ki bhikh mangega, par tujhe maut nahi aayegi... yeh ek maa ka shrap hai tujhe... tu har din mar mar ke jiyega... tujhe bhi pata chale apno ko khone ka dard!"
("I curse you to live forever, never to die! You will always witness the death of your loved ones... you will beg for death, but it will never come to you... This is the curse of a mother upon you... you will live each day in agony... you will know the pain of losing those you love!")
Ashtram's heart raced as he instinctively took a step back. Something in her words sent a chill down his spine, but he couldn't understand what had caused this fury in her. He tried to speak, his voice low and calm, "Main... maine kuch nahi kiya, main-"
("I... I didn't do anything, I want to explain-")
But before he could finish, the woman interrupted him, her face contorted with anger, her hands raised high as if she were ready to strike him. "Main tujhe woh shrap deti hoon jo kabhi tu apne jeene ki wajah nahi samajh paayega. Tujhe hamesha zinda rehna hoga, lekin maut tujhe kabhi nahi aayegi! Tu apne hi dard se sidh hote hue pal pal jiteji marega!"
("I curse you with a fate where you will never understand the reason for your existence. You will live forever, but death will never come to you! You will die from your own pain!")
Ashtram felt a cold shiver run down his spine, and he instinctively reached for the hilt of his dagger, his grip tightening. But before he could move, the woman continued, her voice trembling with unspeakable grief.
"Tu humesha apne apno ko marte dekhega, par tu kuch nahi kar paayega! Teri aankhon ke samne, jin apno ko tu chahega, uski maut ho jayegi, aur tu kuch nahi kar sakega! Tu kabhi apne apno ko bachane ki koshish nahi kar paayega! Aur sabse badi baat, tu akela hi jine ke liye rahega... hamesha!"
("You will always watch your loved ones die, but you will never be able to do anything! You will witness their death before your eyes, and you will be helpless! You will never be able to save those you care for! And most of all, you will live alone... forever!")
Ashtram stood frozen in place, his body tingling with an eerie sensation. The curse she had cast upon him felt different-more powerful than any force he had ever encountered before. The air seemed to thicken around him, the weight of the woman's words pressing down on him like an invisible chain.
He felt his heart race and his mind swirl with confusion, but before he could gather himself to respond, the woman collapsed to her knees, exhausted from the emotional outburst. Tears fell freely from her eyes as she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Yeh tere liye ek shrap hai... ek dard jo kabhi khatam nahi hoga..."
("This is your curse... a pain that will never end...")
Ashtram stood in complete silence, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. The realization of what had just happened-the curse that had been placed upon him-began to sink in. His entire body trembled, not from fear, but from the weight of the future that now loomed over him.
The curse was real. And somehow, he knew that from this moment on, his life would never be the same. He was trapped in a nightmare that he hadn't asked for, and he could feel it in his very bones.
Suddenly, as the woman's words sank in, Ashtram's body began to tremble. His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of her cryptic words pressing down on him.
His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his face contorting in pain and confusion. His breaths became shallow, his chest rising and falling with each tortured inhale. A wave of helplessness washed over him.
"Nahi... maine aisa kuch nahi kiya... Mai toh usko bachane aaya tha," Ashtram cried, his voice raw with emotion. He trembled as he spoke, his hands clutching the earth beneath him. "Par aapne yeh kaisa shraap de diya mujhe? Mai woh nahi hoon jo aap samajh rahi ho. Koi aur hai... koi aur hai."
("No... I didn't do anything like that... I came to save her," Ashtram cried, his voice raw with emotion. "But what curse have you given me? I am not what you think. There is someone else... there is someone else.")
The woman's expression surprised, but her gaze remained intense. She stepped closer, her voice calm but firm as she spoke to him.
"Meri beti nai kaha tha ki uske sine pai Koi nishan hai jo usne uske liye banaya tha. Dikha ki tere sharir mai wo nishan hai ki nahi."
("My daughter had said that there was a mark on his chest that he had made for her. Show me, is that mark on your body or not?")
Without waiting for another word, Ashtram, growing tired of the strange encounter, pulled his upper kurta over his head in one swift motion. His bare chest glistened under the sunlight, showing no visible mark or scar. He turned slightly, exposing his side to the woman.
"Deekh lijiye, mere sharir mein koi nishan nahi hai," Ashtram said firmly. "Mai woh insaan nahi hoon jise Aap dhundh rahi ho."
("Look for yourself, there's no mark on my body. I'm not the person you're looking for.")
The woman froze. Her eyes, which had been searching him with such certainty, widened in disbelief. She stepped back, her hands trembling as she clutched them together. The sudden realization of her mistake hit her like a thunderbolt.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Ashtram could feel the weight of the silence between them. He stood there, his chest exposed to the air, wondering who this woman was and why she had so strongly believed in something that wasn't true.
Finally, the woman looked down, her voice barely a whisper. "Maine... maine galat insaan ko shraap diya..."
("I... I cursed the wrong man...")
The woman's voice trembled as she spoke, her hands still shaking in front of her. Ashtram watched her, the shock still visible on her face, as if the weight of her actions had suddenly dawned upon her.
"Maaf kar do mujhe," she repeated, her eyes filled with regret and sorrow. "Yeh shraap toh main wapas nahi le sakti... lekin jab sahi waqt aayega, tab tumhare liye vardan bhi aayega beta... par diya hua shraap wapas nahi kiya ja sakta... meri galti ke liye mujhe maaf kar do."
("Forgive me," she repeated, her eyes filled with regret and sorrow. "This curse cannot be undone... but when the right time comes, a blessing will also come for you, my son... but the curse I have given cannot be taken back... forgive me for my mistake.")
Ashtram's heart skipped a beat at her words. Her voice carried a sense of authority, but also an undeniable sorrow. The mention of a "blessing" piqued his curiosity, yet the weight of her words hung heavily in the air.
Ashtram stood there in stunned silence. The curse. His fate. He had no answers, only questions. The air around him felt heavy, suffocating even. Was this the beginning of something he wasn't prepared for? Something beyond his control?
He stared at the woman, trying to make sense of her cryptic words. "Mujhe yeh sab samajh nahi aa raha," he muttered, his voice strained. "Mujhe koi jawaab chahiye."
("I don't understand any of this," he muttered, his voice strained. "I need some answers.")
The woman lowered her head, a sorrowful expression on her face. "Tumhe sab kuch samajhne ka waqt abhi nahi aaya hai, beta. Tumhe apni taqdeer ke saath jeena seekhna hoga... jab waqt aayega, sab kuch tumhare saamne hoga."
("You are not meant to understand everything right now, son. You will have to learn to live with your destiny... when the time comes, everything will be revealed to you.")
With that, she turned and began to disappear into the shadows of the jungle, leaving Ashtram standing there with more questions than answers. The curse, the blessing, and the mysterious woman had all left him in turmoil. But one thing was clear-his life would never be the same again.
As the mysterious woman disappeared into the shadows, Ashtram stood by the waterfall, his heart heavy with an unexplainable sense of foreboding. The strange encounter had ignited a flame of uncertainty within him. Little did he know, that moment would mark the beginning of a dark and tragic transformation in his life.
For days after, Ashtram could feel a strange change in the air around him. It was as if the very fabric of his existence had been altered. His strength, his will to live, everything that once made him a proud, young prince, began to slowly slip away. The curse, the blessing, he could feel it settling into his bones, like an unshakable shadow he couldn't escape.
Ashtram tried to ignore it, but the signs were undeniable. His life began to unravel in ways he couldn't comprehend. One by one, his loved ones began to fall ill, the kingdom fell into chaos, and his once perfect life crumbled before his eyes. The faces of those he cherished-his parents, his friends-faded from his world, taken by the curse that seemed to have no mercy.
"Why am I still here?" he would often whisper to himself in the silence of the night, his heart aching with the weight of his losses. "Why can't I die? Why can't I be free?"
The pain of losing everything he held dear became unbearable, but death was elusive. It was as though fate had bound him to this life, this curse, with no escape.
Ashtram had once been a man of faith, believing in the gods, the powers that governed the world. But as years turned into decades and then centuries, his belief in any higher power began to fade. The more he suffered, the more he hardened. The divine forces that had once been his guiding light now seemed like empty promises. His prayers went unanswered, and his questions were met only with silence.
"Is this how it's supposed to be?" he asked the stars one night, as they glittered coldly above him. "Am I meant to live forever, watching everyone I love perish while I remain the same? What kind of life is this?"
And so, over time, Ashtram stopped seeking answers from the gods. He turned his back on faith, on hope. His heart, once full of compassion and love, turned cold. The man who had been the beloved prince of Rajgarh became a shadow of his former self.
The pain of his eternal existence was too much to bear. He began to despise the very life he had once cherished, the riches and power that came with his royal lineage felt like chains rather than blessings. Ashtram could no longer feel joy, love, or hope. His heart had been torn apart too many times, and now, it had become as cold as the stone walls of his palace.
As the centuries passed, Ashtram became a man without a soul, a heartless king. His sense of purpose faded, and he lost himself in the darkness of the underworld. He rose to power in the Mafia, embracing his role as a ruthless leader who ruled with fear and intimidation. There was no room for weakness, no room for love. He had learned that in this world, survival was the only thing that mattered.
His transformation was complete. Ashtram Raghuvanshi, the prince who had once dreamed of a bright future, had become the Heartless Mafia King, leading a life devoid of emotion. His heart had long since hardened, and now, he ruled with an iron fist, imposing his will on those who dared cross him.
And through it all, Ashtram never stopped wishing for one thing: death. Yet, no matter what he did, death eluded him. He had become trapped in the never-ending cycle of life, no love, and no hope.
"I wish I could die," he would whisper in the dead of night, but the words never reached the ears of anyone but the cold winds that whispered through the shadows.
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