"Did she just ignore me?" Raghav muttered to himself.
Ego stung hard when you had billions in the bank and changed cars to match your shoes.
He swallowed his pride, dodged flying colour as best he could, and walked straight into the crowd toward her. He tapped her shoulder once—nothing. Twice—still nothing. Several more times, until she finally turned.
Her eyes widened in recognition. The music was deafening; neither could hear the other. The crowd surged forward, pushing them along.
Then the speakers blasted a new track—"Bharat Ka Bachcha Bachcha"—the ultimate mass anthem for rallies like this. The entire crowd erupted. People went wild.
Daisy started dancing right in front of him, singing along, completely lost in the joy. Seeing everyone vibing, Raghav leaned close to her ear and shouted over the music,
"Why are you dancing like that?"
She shouted back, grinning,
"For fun!"
Something shifted. He felt the energy too. When the track paused for a breath and the crowd kept singing the lyrics a cappella, the beat kicked back in stronger.
She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the rhythm. He hesitated—then let go. No fancy steps, no rhythm—just wild, unrestricted movement with thousands of others. Pure, carefree fun.
Later That Day – Temple Grounds
Near a small pond outside the main temple, Raghav and Daisy sat on the steps. Raghav had discarded his ruined coat, rolled up his sleeves, and washed the colour off his face as best he could. Daisy still had streaks of orange in her hair and on her clothes; she was gently rinsing her face with pond water.
"I can't believe I did all that," Raghav said, a genuine smile breaking through.
"That was crazy," she laughed, wiping water from her cheeks.
"My legs hurt," he groaned, rubbing his calf.
"We danced and walked for miles. What did you expect, boss?"
"My phone and coat are gone."
"That's normal in these crowds. Check your wallet."
He did. Empty.
"I must've dropped everything when I spotted the rally," he said, chuckling despite himself.
"Aren't you Christian?" he asked, glancing at her.
"Yes. But that doesn't mean I can't join a public celebration. It's open to everyone."
"Some people might argue with that."
"Well, I wasn't hiding anything. No one asked who I was."
"So it's really just… for fun?"
She smiled softly, looking at the happy crowd in the distance.
"Maybe. I love seeing people happy."
"Then why end up as a secretary?"
She looked away for a second, then met his eyes.
"Life doesn't always give you choices. And even when it does… you can't always afford them."
She tied her damp hair back.
"Glad the water's still warm."
She stood. "I'm heading home, sir. Need a lift?"
"You have a car?"
"Yes—of course. But not here. I'll take a taxi. Since you don't have money right now… I'll drop you."
He agreed. As they walked toward the exit, he paused.
"It'll be nice if we visit Shri Ram too," he said. "Feels wrong to enjoy His celebration and not even say thanks."
"Didn't you say earlier you don't believe in God?"
"I don't. But someone does. I don't call other people's beliefs wrong. And it'll take two minutes."
She quickened her pace.
"I don't want to stand in that huge line."
"Who said anything about lining up? Come on—we can slip into the VIP section."
Raghav watched curiously as she spoke quietly to the line-keeper. A moment later she waved him over. They joined the shorter VIP queue.
"What did you say to him?" Raghav whispered.
"Shh. Later."
Further ahead, he overheard the keeper tell her: "Tell your uncle 'Ram-Ram' for me."
She smiled sweetly. "I will."
"Does he know your father?" Raghav asked once they were clear.
"No. He thinks I'm the organiser's daughter."
Raghav raised an eyebrow.
"Are you sure you're related to Britain?"
"Never been there. My father lived there for a while."
"Oh—and he said there's a food corner too."
Inside the temple complex, the organisers had gone all out: a mechanical Mahabharata display with moving wooden figures, carnival rides, food stalls—everything labeled "Mela Bazar."
"They have rides here," Raghav said, surprised.
"Yup. And food. But we're getting the free meal."
They reached the main temple tent. Inside, the garbhagriha held beautifully adorned idols of Lord Ram, Sita, Lakshman, and Hanuman.
The regular line snaked like a maze—long but joyful.
"They're charging for prasad?" Raghav asked.
"No—they charge for the extra sweets that come with it. Basic prasad is free."
"You always see the good in people, don't you?"
"Maybe." She smiled. "See? Coconut and boondi packets—big ones cost extra, rest is free. Probably for taking home."
They reached the sanctum. Daisy folded her hands in namaste and bowed her head respectfully. Raghav, after a moment, did the same.
The pujari blessed them warmly:
"May you both have a happy married life."
They froze. Raghav opened his mouth—Daisy quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him out before he could speak.
Outside, Raghav asked,
"Why didn't you correct him?"
"I didn't want his blessing to go to waste. He blessed both of us. Let him keep thinking what he thinks—we'll focus on what we know."
Raghav refused the free meal area at first.
"It won't be that great."
"We're not eating," Daisy said. "We're serving."
He protested.
Next thing he knew, he was in the bhandara—serving food to people.
Daisy moved like she'd done it a hundred times—friendly, chatting with everyone, laughing with old aunties who praised her. Raghav fumbled at first, nearly forgetting which ladle was for what.
"You know, in America this is called community service," he muttered.
"Is it bad?" Pitha-Ma asked in his head.
"No. They give it as punishment."
An elderly man asked for more curry—the one Raghav was holding. He served quickly.
They served for a good while—smiles, thanks, tired but content faces.
A certain news reporter was filming nearby. Somehow, neither Raghav nor Daisy noticed her.
Later – On the Way Home
In the taxi, Raghav turned to Daisy.
"You said you don't need to believe in God to respect belief. But isn't that basically the same thing from a different angle?"
"You're right. Maybe I do believe… and I just don't realise it. People say they don't believe because they haven't seen or heard God. If He showed up, they'd believe instantly."
"And what if He's not what we imagine?"
"Then we need new ones," she said lightly.
They parted ways.
Her last words lingered:
"God isn't reality. Reality is God. And our reality is in our hands."
Raghav stared after her taxi.
"What does that even mean?"
That Same Night – Sunday Morning News Office
Maya and few ditors reviewed Ram Navami footage for archives. One cameraman paused on a frame.
He zoomed in.
"Boss—look at this." The editor was about to look, but Maya beat him to it.
The she leaned over.
"Why didn't the cameraman notice him?"
The editor glanced down briefly towards her chest —then back at the screen.
"Does Supriya know about this?"
"No—she didn't say anything."
Knowing Supriya, that meant something.
"This is big," She said. "Leak the footage online. Make it look unprofessional—no direct link from us. Let it spread naturally. Frame it like he's attention-seeking."
"Should we make it a bit… religious? He's not exactly known for that side."
Maya smiled faintly. "Good thinking."
The editor seeing the half new boss smiling. Do immediately what she said.
The clip went up anonymously.
Outside, Maya made a call.
"1 Hacker Way, Menlo Park, CA 94025."
A man with a calm voice answered.
"Spread the meme I sent," Maya said.
The man confirmed.
"May I know the reason?"
"He's one of our candidates."
The man's tone shifted. Serious.
"End is inevitable."
"End is the truth," Maya finished.
Next Morning – Drishyam Office
Every eye followed Raghav as he walked in. Whispers. Strange looks.
He reached his office and immediately buzzed Daisy.
She entered.
"What's the buzz about?"
She showed him her phone—news channels exploding, social media flooded. The leaked footage of him in the rally and temple had gone viral.
Some praised him as religious and down-to-earth. Most called it a publicity stunt—glory-seeking, fake devotion.
Raghav understood instantly.
"Where did it start? Any cameras there?"
"CCTV likely. I can check."
He stepped onto the balcony, motioned her over.
"Give me your phone."
She handed it.
"Call the freelancers. Tell our team to pull every frame from the rally and temple—especially ones with both of us together."
"Do you have Insta or Twitter?"
She nodded.
"Great. Post that selfie we took—make it look like we're dating. Say I went because you dragged me there. Act playful, bossy—like you're in charge of your 'boyfriend.'"
He took his own phone back.
"I'll post the same from my accounts—professional tone. File a police report for lost phone and wallet too. If anything escalates, it helps."
He looked at her.
"If anyone asks about last night, say we were on a date. You wanted me to go. Understood?"
She stared at him—silent.
"Understood?" he repeated.
She nodded slowly.
"Please don't just nod. Use your words."
She was about to leave when he added,
"Smile when you walk out. Everyone's watching."
She did. Heads turned as she passed.
Once alone, Pitha-Ma's voice spoke in his head:
"You shouldn't have done that."
"What?"
"You hurt her feelings. You're using her."
"I know. But I need to control the narrative. Escalate it."
"There were other ways."
"None this effective. It'll help in the long run."
"And her? Shouldn't you have explained better?"
"She's an adult. The world works like this."
"Didn't you read the Bhagavad Gita? Or did you skip the important parts?"
"I did what was necessary. I'll apologise later. People forget quickly."
"This isn't Britain, Raghav."
"Do I look like I care? She'll manage."
"Come here," Pitha-Ma said.
Raghav took the lift down.
The old man looked at his dark blue clothes.
"Sit on the podium."
Raghav sat in the centre of a circle marked with ten trigrams.
Pitha-Ma began chanting softly. Nine tips glowed. Words appeared in the air.
Kama (lust)
Krodha (anger)
Moha (delusion)
Lobha (greed)
Mada (pride)
Matsarya (envy)
Buddhi (intellect)
Manas (mind)
Chitta (will)
Ahamkara (ego)
"These represent the ten heads of Ravana—different aspects of the self. You have nine. No Lobha (greed). Understandable—you already have the wealth of gods. But why Matsarya (envy)? You seem to have everything a man could want."
"That's none of your business."
"As the one judging your worthiness, it is my responsibility. Your qualities are heavy burdens. And you lack motivation—so I will give you some."
"What kind?"
"You've wasted enough time. If you cannot master your feelings… it will be life or death."
"Wait, wha—"
The floor vanished.
Raghav fell—freefalling toward the ground.