Adult Stories

Kavita paused outside the police station, her eyes cast down as she nervously bit her lower lip.

“You look beautiful when you do that,” Sarfaraz said gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She lifted her gaze to meet his blue eyes, which sparkled like the clear sky behind the towering, icy mountains. The mountains loomed protectively, like a mother shielding her twin children—Fulisthan and Gulisthan—from the biting northern winds.

Shaking off her momentary uncertainty, Kavita stepped inside the station, deliberately ignoring the curious glances from the two armed policemen at the entrance.

The interior was modest, featuring a large wooden table with a nameplate that read "Surindar Khanna, Officer-in-Charge." The bald, middle-aged officer looked up at Kavita with interest before shifting his focus to a thin man quivering in front of him.

Kavita quickly scanned the room and settled onto a long bench reserved for visitors. Sarfaraz was already there, cradling her hand in his, a gesture of reassurance. Despite his strong appearance, his hands were warm and gentle. She smiled back at him, drawn in by his infectious happiness—whether he was calling his sheep to graze or relaxing by the fire after a long day. Her fondest memories were of the times he passed by the old temple, where she would sneak out to meet him, hidden from her father, Pandit Mohan Das.

Their love was profound and unwavering; it transcended faith, religion, and societal norms. They had loved each other long before they understood what love truly meant.

Officer Surindar Khanna motioned for Kavita to take the recently vacated chair. Lost in thoughts of Sarfaraz, she didn’t notice when the frightened man left the station. Taking longer than usual to cross to the table, she reluctantly sat down and gathered her courage to meet the officer's gaze. Surindar's eyes roamed over her with an unsettling hunger.

Kavita struggled to find her voice. As she framed her words, she felt Sarfaraz's comforting presence behind her. His warmth reassured her; with him by her side, she feared nothing.

“How may I help you, madam?” Surindar asked impatiently while still surveying her figure.

“I want to lodge an FIR,” she managed to say.

“Will you speak up please?” he insisted loudly.

“I want to register a complaint,” she said more clearly as she looked up at him.

“And you want to complain against whom?” Surindar asked while searching for his FIR book.

“I want to lodge a complaint against Inspector Surindar Khanna, Hawaldar Roshan Pandey, Alamgir Hossain, Jakir Khan, and Sub-Inspector Dipesh Malhotra.” Her voice grew stronger as she pronounced each name in one breath.

Surinder Khanna paused for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Dipesh, Roshan, Alamgir! Come here quickly! Also send an urgent message to Jakir that this lady wants to complain against us. May I know what crime we committed against such a sweet lady?”

Kavita met his gaze firmly. “I want to complain against you all for the murder of Sarfaraz Dayaz Khan.”

After half an hour of humiliation and mental torture in the police station, Kavita left not defeated but more determined than ever. Something had shifted in those thirty minutes; she had transformed from a shy girl into someone resolute.

Sarfaraz walked beside her on their way home. “They asked you abusive questions, didn’t they? You need to stop this madness. You cannot bring me back; I can’t bear your suffering.”

“Is my suffering greater than yours? When they wrapped your body in canvas and beat you mercilessly? When those bullets entered your head? I endured more pain seeing half your face destroyed by that shot—the same face I held in my palms that could erase all my hardships. How can I let it go, Sarfaraz?”

Sarfaraz halted and gazed at Kavita in awe. The timid girl who once feared being seen had transformed into someone fierce and unyielding. She felt Sarfaraz in every whisper of wind and every rustle of leaves; he was present in every ray of sunlight that painted their world golden. Kavita had lost Sarfaraz but found him again in nature's beauty—a reminder of their love amidst the turmoil between Gulisthan and Fulisthan.

In a dimly lit room illuminated only by a small kerosene lamp, Pandit Mohan Das sobbed quietly in a corner while Kavita sat still like a statue.

“How could you do this, Kabbo? How will I face your mother after my death? What will I tell her? How could I explain that my daughter has fallen for an infidel—a terrorist?”

“Please stop, Father! You know Sarfaraz… you’ve known him since childhood. He is not a terrorist.”

“How can you be sure? How can you trust a snake? I thought I knew my daughter well enough; it seems I was mistaken.”

Pandit Mohan Das sighed deeply as he sank into sorrow. Kavita turned her gaze toward the flickering light of the lamp and saw Sarfaraz's blue eyes burning with pain reflected in its flame.

The next morning, news hit the small village of Jannat-e-jamin like an avalanche. The focus was not on the love story between Kavita, the daughter of a respected pandit, and Sarfaraz, the cheerful orphan boy labeled a terrorist by the local police weeks earlier. Instead, the attention was on Kavita's bold act of walking to the police station to protest and attempt to lodge a complaint against the police themselves. This was madness they had never experienced before!

One stormy day, when a flock of sheep returned without their shepherd, some villagers formed a search party to look for Sarfaraz. They searched all night and into the next day but found nothing. A few villagers expressed genuine sorrow for the ever-cheerful Sarfaraz. However, when the police later informed them of Sarfaraz's alleged ties to terrorism, none protested. Inspector Surinder Khanna addressed the public, claiming Sarfaraz had plotted against their homeland with terrorists from Gulisthan. The villagers accepted this without question; it was unthinkable to challenge the authority of the government. They might have misjudged Sarfaraz, whom they believed they had known since birth, but authorities were never wrong. Governments were akin to God—they gave life, protected them, and could take it away when necessary.

Now, a shy and almost mute girl from their village dared to challenge this supreme authority! The news created ripples in their small community that could not be ignored.

As the sun painted the highest mountain peak, villagers slowly made their way to Pandit Mohan Das's residence.

Mohan Das could not face the small gathering; he hid his face in shame and whimpered like a child in a corner, murmuring repeatedly, “Oh God, what is my sin that I deserve such punishment?”

The eldest villager spoke to Kavita in a consoling tone. “My daughter, we understand your upset over your friend, but you have to let it go. You cannot mourn for a terrorist. We realize it’s hard to see his true nature; if he could fool experienced people like us, you are just a child and can be easily deceived by his trickery.”

Kavita replied softly, “How can you say this, Chacha? You’ve known Sarfaraz since his birth. How can you label him a terrorist?”

“So you believe the police were wrong? Even if they are, who are we to judge them? Let Almighty Allah decide what is right and wrong. Just don’t bring trouble to our peaceful village. Who will protect us from Gulisthan’s cannons if you anger them?”

The crowd shivered at the thought of such an unforeseen future.

Kavita scanned the crowd and noticed Sarfaraz standing tall ahead of them. “So we will just forget this event? You will forget that they killed Sarfaraz out of suspicion and tortured him for three days? You won’t care if someone killed a young boy from your own village? No one will do anything? You may pretend to be helpless, but I won’t let this go easily.”

Her voice cut through their hearts like a cold blade. They knew every word she spoke was true but felt too ashamed and afraid to admit it.

An elderly man challenged her resolve. “And what will you do now? Even if you’re right and Sarfaraz was innocent, who will believe you? The police have dismissed your request; will you complain to the governor?”

“If necessary, I’ll go to the state capital and appeal,” she replied.

Pandit Mohan Das could no longer contain his anger. He rushed toward Kavita and slapped her hard. “Why you? Why must it be you carrying the flag of justice? He wasn’t even one of us!”

Mohan Das spat out his words with hatred.

“Because Sarfaraz still visits my dreams! Because he roams these hills! His soul will never rest until justice is served!”

Kavita cried out so loudly that silence enveloped the world around her. Her last words echoed through the village long after she had spoken.

---

When Inspector Surinder Khanna entered the governor's office, he trembled with fear and anxiety. Although the room was comfortably warm, an uncanny chill ran down his spine.

For several minutes—what felt like an eternity—the governor ignored him completely. Finally, with a nod of his head, Khanna stepped forward to take a seat before His Majesty.

“What is this fuss going on, Inspector? How did this girl arrive at my doorstep? Why is the media breathing down my neck?”

“I’m extremely sorry for any inconvenience caused, sir,” Khanna stammered. “I’ll take care of it; I promise.”

“Like you took care of that innocent boy Sarfaraz and received commendation for it?”

Inspector Khanna tried to defend himself by placing his hat over his heart.

“Sir, he was linked with extremist organizations; he provided us valuable information during interrogation before attempting to escape our grasp. We had no choice but to shoot him; it's all in the report.” Khanna extended his file toward the governor.

“Keep your worthless report to yourself! I have eyes and ears just like everyone else! The public knows what happened! That poor boy was too busy trying to survive to care about religion! You enjoyed torturing him as part of your scheme for promotion by staging a fake conspiracy against our country! Now you've put me on this double-edged sword where whatever I do will wound me!”

The governor turned red with anger as he shouted these words at Khanna.

“If I support the girl and agree to an inquiry commission, the center will axe me. If I ignore her and do nothing, I’ll be targeted by my own religious leaders and face the music in the next election. The worst will happen if I follow your idea—if anything happens to this girl, it will be on the front page of every newspaper in the country the next day.”

The governor rose from his chair and walked to the window, gazing out at the icy peaks that touched the blue sky of Jannat-e-Jamin. Once the crown of united Fulisthan, these mountains had become a source of political strife between two countries. Balancing communal sentiment with political unrest was a tricky endeavor. As long as politicians maintained this balance, the common public would not question the rising poverty and unemployment in the area. The only way to sustain their positions in this game of chess was to stoke the fires of communal or patriotic sentiment. For too long, politicians from both countries had played this game, but incidents like this threatened to disrupt the delicate balance.

The governor belonged to a royal family that had ruled this region for centuries. If only it were like in his grandfather’s time, he could have solved problems with a whip and sword. But now, common people were starting to ask questions—a dangerous situation for any ruler.

He turned his attention back to Inspector Khanna. “Remove yourself from my office and let me handle this my way. Be prepared for a swift transfer along with your gang of goons.”

---

When Kavita opened the door of her hotel room, she was surprised to see a group of visitors. Their attire indicated they represented a specific community, seeking permission to enter.

“My God! You’re just a kid, yet you possess such power! We’ve never witnessed such bravery from someone of your religion! It’s said in our holy book that when Almighty faced hordes of enemies in the holy desert...”

The most talkative member began addressing Kavita but was quickly interrupted by a younger member.

“My sister, we want you to come and speak to our community about the torment and torture you and your fellow villagers face daily at the hands of the army and police. We want you to explain how the governor turned down your request to reopen Sarfaraz's murder case and betrayed his own community for power. We need your voice so we can gather enough support to throw him off his throne. Help us, and we’ll help you get justice.”

Surprised, Kavita glanced at Sarfaraz, who smiled knowingly as if saying, “I told you so.”

When Kavita turned them down, the first speaker became angry and agitated. “Do you think you can fight this alone? Who will support you if not us? Even when the great prophet stood alone before the holy cave...”

He was interrupted again by the young man. “I know you’re afraid. We could offer you support; this is a war you cannot win alone. If you’re scared, we can even arrange political asylum for you in Gulisthan or any country of your choice. Remember how one girl from Gulisthan flew to another country after being slightly injured? Now she has fame, wealth, and even a peace award named after her! We can offer you all that—and more.”

Kavita remained silent as she walked to the door and opened it for her guests to leave.

“Just answer one question: why are you doing this? He wasn’t even from your religion; he won’t come back even if he gets justice. What do you hope to gain?”

“Sarfaraz isn’t gone; he never left me,” Kavita replied firmly. “What will I gain? I’ll gain true love’s value if I can prove even to one person that Sarfaraz was not a traitor. He loved every blade of grass and every rock in this country as much as he loved me. Sarfaraz won’t abandon his love, and I’ll ensure he doesn’t need to.”

Kavita spoke these words not just to those around her but directly to Sarfaraz, who watched her intently, rediscovering her strength.

“What will you do now that the governor has turned you down? You have no one left to appeal to but the prime minister. Why would he listen? Will he admit his police made a mistake? You’ll be nobody once you step into the capital; your cries won’t reach his ears.”

When the angry mob surrounded Kavita, shouting, protesting, and cursing, she was completely unprepared. As they heckled her, ripped her clothes, and hit her with sandals, she didn’t even try to protect herself. When they shouted “Traitor,” “tout of Gulisthan,” and “whore of another religion,” and began pouring black ink on her face in the bright daylight of the capital, she could hear nothing. All she could see was Sarfaraz holding her closely in his arms on the soft green ground of Jannat-e-Jamin. She envisioned the icy peak of the mountain protecting them from the chilly northern winds. In that moment, the depth of Sarfaraz's blue eyes transformed into the blue sky.

The next day, the news made headlines in most newspapers. They reported how a village girl planned to walk all the way to Parliament with a candle of hope in her hand to appeal to the highest authority in the country. The articles chronicled her journey from the small village of Jannat-e-Jamin to the capital in search of justice and love. Each obstacle she faced along the way only strengthened her determination into iron will. The papers also warned that the country would show its iron fist against this small village girl's iron will by issuing an alert for her arrest as soon as she stepped within one kilometer of Parliament. It was a confrontation between one person and an entire system, and the country was watching.

Kavita struggled to keep the candlelight ignited against the strong wind. It became easier when Sarfaraz helped shield the flame with his large palm.

“So we are here, Kabbo. We are finally here,” Sarfaraz whispered through the passing wind on the streets of the heartless metropolis.

“Yes, we are here. I’m scared, Sarfaraz. Promise me you’ll be with me?”

“To the end, Kabbo, to the end,” he assured her as they walked toward Parliament with a burning candle in hand.

Before she could finish her first turn, an elderly woman joined them, lighting her own candle from Kavita’s flame and walking alongside them. They exchanged no words, but Kavita suddenly felt all weakness evaporate from her mind.

Meanwhile, in his room, the prime minister was having dinner with the opposition leader. He glanced out the window at the darkness enveloping the streets.

“Any news about that girl and her candle of justice?” Mockery and amusement were evident in his voice as he shared a laugh with his political rival.

“She might be out there somewhere, but that tiny candle of hope will probably be extinguished by the darkness of this vast capital.”

Both men laughed together until they abruptly stopped as they noticed that the dark roads of the capital had suddenly been illuminated by thousands upon thousands of tiny candle lights. The collective glow transformed into an endless serpent of fire slithering through the streets as if to engulf their political careers.

In utter surprise, the prime minister couldn’t identify Kavita among the gathering; all he saw were millions marching toward his cozy bungalow in search of justice and love. The small candle lights merged into a giant flame demanding answers. The brightness was so intense it forced him to close his eyes.