“She was a very religious woman,” he continues softly. “And the missing piece of Raghav’s life. When he learned about her devotion to God, he wanted to have a mandir in his home for her. He may not sit here performing long pujas or rituals himself, but he still spends some time in this temple room every morning.”
Hearing that about Raghav feels almost unreal. That man looks like he belongs among bloodshed, guns, whiskey glasses, and darkness. Not temple bells, sandalwood, and morning prayers. How can a man who spent half his life in the underworld possess such devotion towards God?
But maybe it shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve seen how much he values the memory of his mother, whom he never even had the chance to know. The pendant he wears is proof enough of that. I quickly shake those thoughts away and turn back to Kailash Uncle.
He speaks calmly, a quiet pride in his voice. “Every morning before starting his day, he lights the diya and offers fresh flowers to God.”
My brows furrow instantly.Raghav? Offering flowers in a mandir every morning?
For some reason, my brain refuses to even imagine that visual properly. This is the same man who looked ready to kill his own brother barely an hour ago, the same man who forcefully married me in front of the entire underworld. He apparently stands before these deities every morning in silence and prays. Seriously?
Uncle gestures towards an empty marble shelf beside the idols. “Anyway, you can place yours here,” he tells Mom. “This room is yours too now, whenever you wish to pray.”
Mom slowly walks forward, her expression softening as she carefully places her Krishna idol beside the others.
“This is beautiful,” she whispers. “Back at Vardhaan Mansion, I always wanted a small, peaceful mandir like this in the house.” A sad smile touches her lips. “But Shamsher, my husband, was never really a believer.”
Her fingers adjust the edge of her saree pallu over her head before continuing, “I never imagined I would find a place like this.”
I glance around the room again.Neither did I.
Mom folds her hands before the idols. “This place feels so peaceful.”
Kailash Uncle quietly watches her for a few seconds before finally speaking again.
“Now that we are standing before God, there’s something I want to tell both of you. I’m not here to justify what Raghav did. Because I know there is no justification for forcing a marriage like this.”
I stay quiet. Mom doesn’t interrupt either.
He lets out a weary breath. “The truth is, what Raghav did has shaken this entire family. Not just because of the marriage, but because with a single decision, he dragged the shadow of the underworld back towards himself again. For two and a half years, we all believed that the darkness inside him had finally gone silent.”
His eyes drift towards the flickering diya.
“But the day he picked up that gun again, I realised maybe I was wrong. It’s so hard to understand him sometimes.”
After a moment, he looks at me.
“Raghav doesn’t know how to put his feelings into words,” he says. “That boy… he has spent his entire life expressing emotions through actions instead of words. He reacts before he explains. He protects before he speaks. And sometimes he tries to control situations so aggressively that even we fail to understand what he’s truly feeling.”
His voice softens. “I’m not asking you to forgive him, Siya.”
Something inside me unexpectedly loosens on hearing those words. Because at least somebody here understands forgiveness is not that simple.
“But I can promise you one thing,” he says firmly now. “That man will never let harm come anywhere near his family. He may destroy himself if need be, but he would never intentionally destroy the people he considers his own.”
His own?
“You may have imagined freedom differently,” he goes on. “Maybe somewhere far away from all this. Far away from the mafia world.” His eyes move around RK Estate visible through the temple windows. “But this house and this family will still give you the respect you deserve, protection, and a place to call your own.”
Mom listens quietly beside me.
“You both are a part of our family now,” he adds. “And that will never change.”
After a moment, he says something that makes Mom stiffen faintly beside me.
“Raghav never really received a mother’s love while growing up, and the less said about his father, the better. That boy learned violence long before he learned affection. He grew up surrounded by bloodshed, betrayal, and survival.” A tired smile appears on his face. “Sometimes I think he doesn’t even know what softness is supposed to feel like.”
Mom’s fingers tighten unconsciously around the edge of her saree pallu.
