The miya, his face contorted in a mask of rage, turned his head towards the unfamiliar voice.
His eyes, dark and menacing, narrowed as he took in Varun's presence. His good deed, his forceful attempt to claim Kajal, had been interrupted by this stranger.
"Which son of a bitch are you?" he roared, his voice thick with venom. "Dare to intervene in miya bhai's matter? Have you eaten leopard's gall and tiger's heart, to stand against me?"
His cronies, a group of rough-looking men, shifted around him, their eyes gleaming with malice.
They were used to intimidation, to forcing their will upon the weak. But this man, this stranger, stood his ground, his gaze unwavering.
The miya stepped closer, his voice laced with a dangerous calm. "Do you know who I am?" he hissed,
his eyes boring into Varun's. "I am miya bhai, and I take what I want. And what I want, is her." He gestured towards Kajal, his eyes filled with a predatory hunger.
Varun's voice remained steady, his gaze unwavering. "You will leave her alone," he repeated, his voice firm. "She is not yours to take."
The miya let out a harsh laugh, a sound devoid of humor. "You think you can stop me?" he sneered. "You think you can protect her?" He gestured towards his cronies. "These men are my soldiers. They will tear you apart."
Varun's gaze swept over the miya's men, his expression calm. "They are just men," he said, his voice devoid of fear. "And you are just a bully."
The miya's face flushed with rage. He had been challenged, his authority questioned, his manhood insulted.
He would not tolerate this insolence. He would teach this stranger a lesson, a lesson he would never forget.
The miya's already red face, flushed with rage. He had been challenged, his authority questioned, his manhood insulted.
He would not tolerate this insolence. He would teach this stranger a lesson, a lesson he would never forget.
"Bitch," the miya snarled, his voice thick with hate, "this is the first time someone has dared to block my path. I don't care who you are, or where you came from.
Now that you're here, forget about going back in one piece.
I'll break you first, then rape this bitch right here, in the middle of this bazaar. What could you possibly do to stop me?"
He puffed out his chest, a cruel smirk spreading across his face. "Do you even know who you're messing with? My uncle is the Tehsildar of this town. I own this place."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the gathered crowd.
They had witnessed this scene before, the miya's arrogance, his abuse of power.
He rode on his uncle's authority, his position as the Tehsildar granting him impunity.
He openly troubled, assaulted, and robbed people, knowing no one would dare stand against him.
"He's always like this," a woman whispered, her voice laced with fear. "His uncle covers for him."
"If you try to stop him," a man added, his voice low, "his cronies will gang up on you. They'll torture you, and then they'll go after your family."
The crowd, a mix of fear and resentment, watched the confrontation unfold.
They were trapped, caught between their hatred for the miya and their fear of his retribution.
They knew his threats were not empty; they had seen the consequences of defying him.
Varun, his gaze fixed on the miya, heard the whispers, the fear, the resignation.
He understood the power this man wielded, the fear he instilled.
But he also saw the desperation in Kajal's eyes, the pleading in the miya's victim's gaze, the silent plea of the crowd.
He would not back down. He would not allow this man to prey on the weak, to abuse his power, to terrorize the innocent.
He would stand against him, even if it meant facing the wrath of the Tehsildar, even if it meant facing the entire town.
Listening to the murmurs, the already arrogant miya, filled with pride, was about to proclaim, "Now you know who's the bos—" when he was abruptly cut short.
Varun, his movements a blur, unleashed a single, devastating punch. The force of the blow connected with the miya's face, shattering bone and cartilage.
The miya's head snapped back, his eyes widening in a moment of stunned disbelief before his body was launched through the air.
He flew backwards, a grotesque, broken figure, for eight to ten meters, crashing through the stalls and into a shop displaying brass and copper vessels.
The impact was sickening. His face, a mangled mess, was fractured in multiple places, blood gushing from his nostrils, ears, and mouth.
His nose bridge had collapsed, his front teeth were scattered across the ground, and his lower jaw was cracked.
The miya's back and neck slammed into the stacked vessels, the sharp edges of the metal slicing into his flesh.
Blood seeped through his torn clothing, staining the polished metal a dark crimson. He lay there, a broken heap, his spine fractured, his body unable to move.
The bazaar fell silent, the bustling hum replaced by a stunned, horrified quiet. The crowd, their faces pale, stared at the scene before them.
The arrogant miya, the man who had terrorized them for so long, lay broken and bleeding, his reign of fear brought to an abrupt, brutal end.
The vessels he landed on, were now stained red.
Varun, his voice a low, menacing growl, finished the miya's unfinished sentence. "There was no one to stop you," he said, his voice echoing through the stunned silence, "because everyone was afraid. But not me. I don't care if your uncle is the Tehsildar, or your father is Gandhi. I would wipe your whole family from the face of the world."
His words, delivered in a deep, chilling tone, sent a shiver through the crowd. They had never heard such raw, unbridled menace. It was a declaration of war, a promise of annihilation.
Kajal and Biren, standing nearby, were shocked and awed.
They had seen Varun's strength, his ability to protect, but they had never witnessed such cold, ruthless determination.
Kajal's heart pounded in her chest, a whirlwind of fear and admiration.
She had seen him as a, stranger, a savior, a protector, but now, she saw something more, something dark and powerful.
Her heart beat wildly, an uncontrollable rhythm that spoke of a dangerous, forbidden attraction.
The chaukidaar, his eyes wide with disbelief, stared at Varun, his talvar hanging limply in his hand.
He had witnessed a display of power that defied his understanding of the world.
He had seen a man who would not be intimidated, a man who would not be threatened, a man who would not be stopped.
The crowd, their fear now mixed with a strange sense of hope, watched Varun, their eyes filled with a mixture of awe and apprehension.
They had seen a hero, but they had also glimpsed something dark and terrifying. They had seen a man who could protect them, but they had also seen a man who could destroy them.