They attempted to seize Kajal, to drag her back to their base as a captive, a symbol of their victory.
But the village chaukidaar, a man of unwavering loyalty, stood in their path.
Though armed only with a simple lathi, his courage was unwavering.
He refused to let them take Kajal, his voice ringing out with defiance.
The League members, their patience wearing thin, attacked with brutal efficiency.
Their talwars flashed in the sunlight, slicing through the air.
The chaukidaar, though skilled in combat, was overwhelmed by their numbers and ferocity.
He was cut down, his body bearing the marks of their savagery.
His right hand was severed, a grotesque testament to their brutality.
Yet, even as he bled, he continued to fight, his determination fueled by a fierce protectiveness.
Their irritation growing with each of his defiant stands, one of the League members, his face contorted with rage, drew his pistol.
A deafening shot rang out, and the chaukidaar crumpled to the ground, a crimson stain spreading across his chest.
He lay motionless, unconscious, his lifeblood seeping into the dusty earth.
His wounds were grievous, his right hand severed, his chest pierced by a bullet, and countless other cuts covering his body.
Without immediate medical attention, a hospital, a luxury scarcely available in 1945, he would surely die.
The villagers, witnessing the chaukidaar's brutal downfall, were paralyzed with fear.
Their courage, already fragile, shattered before the League's ruthless violence. They dared not challenge them further.
With the chaukidaar incapacitated and the villagers cowed, the League members seized Kajal, dragging her away towards their base.
Their victory was complete, their message brutally clear: defiance would be met with merciless retribution.
As the caravan rumbled along the dusty road, Varun accepted the food offered by one of the caravan members.
He was about to take a bite when a subtle shift in his senses, a tingling unease, alerted him.
Simultaneously, Daivik's voice, sharp and urgent, echoed in his mind. 'Warning: The food contains a high concentration of an odorless anesthetic.'
Varun, though outwardly calm, tensed. His heightened senses, coupled with Daivik's analysis, confirmed the presence of the poison.
He subtly scanned the faces of the caravan members, his gaze lingering on four individuals who had not been present during the journey to Kolkata.
Their nervous glances and forced smiles marked them as suspicious.
'Daivik, analyze their facial expressions and body language,' Varun commanded, his voice a mental whisper.
'Determine if they are feigning normalcy.'
Daivik's response was swift and precise. 'Analysis complete. Their expressions and movements indicate deception. They are the source of the poison.'
Without a moment's hesitation, Varun acted.
He launched himself at the nearest of the four, his fist connecting with the man's jaw with bone-shattering force.
The sudden attack caught the others off guard.
They scrambled for their weapons, drawing talwars and rifles from beneath their cloaks.
The peaceful facade of the caravan was shattered, replaced by the grim reality of a deadly confrontation.
"The three assailants, their weapons now drawn, lunged at Varun, their faces contorted with a mix of fear and aggression.
But Varun moved with a speed and ferocity that defied their expectations.
He seized the first attacker, his hands closing around the man's throat, and lifted him effortlessly.
With a powerful heave, he hurled the man out of the moving caravan, sending him crashing into a large tree near the roadside.
The impact was sickening, the man's body slamming against the trunk with a resounding thud.
He crumpled to the ground, unconscious, blood seeping from a head wound.
He repeated the action with the next two, their weapons never finding purchase, each thrown with calculated precision and brutal effect.
Then, he turned his attention to the last man, the one who appeared to be their leader.
He grabbed the man by the collar, lifting him off his feet, and held him suspended in midair.
'For what reason was the food poisoned?' Varun demanded, his voice a low, menacing growl. 'And who are you?'
"i... I am... " Before the leader could utter a word, the air was shattered by the sharp crack of rifle fire.
Varun, though his senses were heightened and he was acutely aware of his surroundings, was still caught off guard by the suddenness of the attack.
He reacted instinctively, twisting his body to avoid the incoming bullets.
However, one round grazed his cheek, leaving a shallow, burning trail. The sting of the wound, though minor, was a stark reminder of the danger he faced.
The attackers, hidden among the trees and bushes lining the road, were determined to eliminate him.
The relative safety of the caravan was gone, replaced by the threat of unseen assailants and deadly projectiles.
The sudden barrage of gunfire was overwhelming. From the dense foliage lining the roadside, hidden figures emerged, their rifles spitting lead in a coordinated assault.
Varun, his reflexes honed to superhuman levels, danced and weaved through the hail of bullets, his movements a blur of controlled violence.
But the other caravan members, caught in the crossfire, were not so fortunate. They were ordinary people, unprepared for such a brutal attack.
The bullets ripped through their bodies, their cries of confusion and terror cut short by the deadly projectiles.
They fell one by one, their lives extinguished in a matter of seconds.
In the aftermath, a chilling silence descended upon the scene.
The air was thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood.
The ground was littered with the bodies of the caravan members, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky.
Varun stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with a raw, burning anguish.
A wave of guilt washed over him, a crushing weight that threatened to buckle his knees.
He had been so focused on his own survival, on the immediate threat, that he had failed to protect those around him.
Their deaths, their innocent lives extinguished, were a direct consequence of his presence, his actions.
Tears welled up in his eyes, hot and stinging.
He had tried to distance himself from the violence, to maintain a semblance of control.
But the reality of his situation, the danger he represented, was undeniable.
He was a catalyst for chaos, a magnet for death. And the guilt, the crushing weight of responsibility, threatened to consume him entirely.
A primal rage, a raw and untamed fury, erupted within Varun.
The sight of the dead, the innocent lives extinguished by his presence, shattered the last vestiges of his control.
He moved with a terrifying efficiency, his movements a blur of brutal violence.
He charged through the remaining attackers, his body a whirlwind of destruction.
He smashed skulls with bone-crushing force, slashed throats with the edges of his bare hands, and hurled bodies into the air, sending them crashing down from heights of thirty to forty feet.
The air was filled with the sounds of snapping bones, gurgling screams, and the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground.
In a matter of moments, the attackers were gone, their bodies strewn across the blood-soaked earth.
Only one remained, a man who seemed to be the mastermind of the operation.
He stood trembling, his eyes wide with terror, yet a manic grin stretched across his face. 'Go ahead,' he rasped, his voice laced with a chilling madness. 'I know this is my end. But I will not tell you who's behind us. Hahahaha!'
Varun, his eyes burning with a cold, merciless fury, was about to silence him when the man spoke again. '...Kajal..." Varun;s eyes suddenly constricted. "does that name ring a bell?'
Varun froze, his expression shifting from rage to bewildered horror.
The man, seeing Varun's reaction, continued, his laughter echoing eerily through the silence.
'While we thought we were the only ones after you, but who knew there were some mad dogs behind as well."
"Upon investigation, we learned that others, driven by a thirst for revenge... went to your village. ", Varun's eyes full of horror, "as for what they woruld do? hahahah, they must have finished their work by now... ravaging the village... hahahaha!'
Varun, his face contorted with a mixture of grief and fury, smashed the man's face with a devastating blow.
'What happened to Kajal?' he demanded, his voice trembling with a barely contained rage. 'Who are they? Why are they after her?'
The man, his face a bloody mess, laughed maniacally. 'They say it was for revenge... you should know better than me, for what revenge you are suffering this!' His voice was cut short as Varun ended his life.