Om Namah Parvati Pataye, Har Har Mahadev.
𝐊 𝐀 𝐒 𝐇 𝐈

Kashi – where even the name of Lord Shiva is incomplete without Maa Parvati. Here in Kashi, people don't just say "Mahadev," they say – "Om Namah Parvati Pataye, Har Har Mahadev."

Call it Varanasi, Banaras, or Kashi... all three are the same. With more than 2000 temples within itself, this Kashi is said to be very close to Lord Shiva's heart. People say, no matter where one is born, everyone wishes to die in Kashi. Why? Because here even death gives peace... here the soul finds that calm which perhaps cannot be found anywhere else in the world.

The cycle of birth and death... the moment you step into Kashi, you can feel it. "Somewhere an end becomes a beginning, and somewhere a beginning prepares for an end."

The Ganga Ghats – where thousands of people come to worship Maa Ganga. Just stepping here gives peace to the heart. In the daytime, these ghats appear in a completely different form... as if they are embracing you within themselves. But at night... !! at night these ghats look nothing less than a divine sight. It feels as if Maa Ganga herself is making her presence felt. Amidst the crowd of lakhs, only one voice echoes – "Har Har Gange."

And on the other side – Manikarnika Ghat... where the true identity and depth of Kashi is seen. It is believed that if someone's last rites are performed here, their soul attains moksh. They never have to be reborn again. Here, funeral pyres burn 24 hours... day or night, sun or rain, these flames never stop.

In the daytime, the lanes of Kashi, the steps of Banaras ghats, Mother Ganga, Manikarnika Ghat, and the temples all look peaceful and beautiful. As if even the noise here carries a strange calmness.

But in the rainy season... everything looks completely different. Every drop of rain feels like it is chanting Mahadev's name. The Ganga Aarti in the rain feels like something else entirely. The lanes of Kashi fall silent. The water running down Banaras' steps seems as if it wants to dissolve into the Ganga itself.

And Manikarnika Ghat... in the rain, at night, with burning pyres... seems to say – The cycle of birth and death begins here... and ends here.

As if those burning pyres leave behind a reminder, no matter what you do – "One day you too must come here... and leave this world the same way."
Kashi ko likhne ke liye or mehsoos karne ke liye , Kashi ko jeena padta hai.

( To write about Kashi, to truly feel it, one must live Kashi. )

Ek aesi kahani jo yaha adhuri reh gayi thi or aj fir se yahi se hi shuru hone ja rahi hai wo gatha, premkatha - ek anokhi gatha.

( A story once left incomplete here... is about to begin again from here – that tale, Premkatha – Ek Anokhi Gatha. )

𝗔 𝗨 𝗧 𝗛 𝗢 𝗥
25/08/2025

A girl dressed in a black kurta and pajama, holding onto her dupatta, was running. Her hair, loosely tied with a half-pin, had already fallen apart, and sweat glistened on her face, fear written clearly in her eyes. Yet, she kept running—through the crowd at the Ganga ghat, bumping into people again and again, but never stopping.

Behind her, some men seemed to follow. At first glance, they looked normal, but something about them felt off—like their eyes were fixed only on that girl. Because of the crowd, they still hadn't been able to catch her.

She somehow broke free from the crowd and, escaping their sight, began running toward the temple. Looking back nervously, she kept moving forward, afraid they might grab her any moment. She rushed up the steps, but suddenly her foot stopped, her body stumbled forward, and as she lifted her head front — her mouth opened wide, and a scream escaped.

"Nooooo..." The cry echoed faintly, like a whisper inside a closed room. She opened her eyes—and found herself sitting in her study room. She had dozed off while reading.

Rubbing her forehead, she muttered to herself, "Why do I keep coming back to the same place... why do I see things where two people always meet, only to separate again...!!"

Shaking away the thoughts running in her mind, she looked back at the book lying on her desk. It had slipped shut while she was asleep, but her finger was still wedged between the pages, keeping the spot. She glanced at the cover—"Sivyaveer – Gatha Kashi Ki."  That was the title of the book.

She stared at it for a moment, then turned the page—since she had already read previous page. But as her eyes moved across the next to next page, her brows began to furrow. She looked shocked... or perhaps confused, as if trying to understand what she was Reading.

The words on the page were the exact same events she had just dreamt about. Her heart skipped. She sat upright instantly. And right there—the story ended.

She quickly flipped the page back and forth—but nothing. There was no continuation, no extra lines. The story truly ended there. She hadn't realized that the book she was reading was actually about to finish at that very point.

"How is this even possible...!! Why would anyone end a story at such a point...!! That girl who died... who had just realized what love was... she was left without even living her love. Why would the author leave her story incomplete...!!!" Still lost in those thoughts, she suddenly remembered the last paragraph and read it again.

" Kahaniyon mein kehte hain, ki pyaar agar saccha ho to wapas laut kar aata hai. Jaise Maa Parvati aayi Shiv ji ke liye, Radha ji aayi Kanha ji ke liye. Par kya hamare liye koi aayega? Kya unki tarah hamara pyaar bhi saccha tha? Agar tha, to kya woh kabhi wapas laut kar aayega? Kaisa hota hai wapas aaya hua pyaar? Kya kabhi sach mein mil bhi paayenge woh log..?
Kya yeh sirf kahaniyon mein hi hota hai, ya phir kisi ka pyaar ek kahani ban kar reh jaata hai...? "

("In stories, they say if love is true, it always returns—just as Maa Parvati returned for Lord Shiva, just as Radha returned for Kanha. But will anyone ever return for us...!! Was our love ever truly like theirs...!! And if it was, then will it ever come back...!! How does love feel when it comes back...!! Will those who were once lost ever truly meet again...!! Or does this happen only in stories, while someone's love remains nothing but a story itself...!!" )

Reading this, she whispered to herself, "Will this love ever be complete... or will it also remain just another story...!! Will she ever return...!!"

She flipped to the last page of the book, desperately searching for any detail—some sign that the author might have written, or at least thought about writing, another part of the story.

While her thoughts were tangled in these questions, suddenly her phone rang. She glanced at the time—it was 3 AM in India, though here In America, the day had already begun.

She answered in a steady, bold voice, "Yes, Meera." There was seriousness in her tone, the kind that made every word sharp.

Meera Harsana—IPS officer, and princess of Udaipur. Yet for her, being an officer mattered far more than being a princess. To Katha, she was not just a Best friend, but someone she could trust blindly—her best friend.

Hearing Katha's voice, Meera replied, her tone equally bold and strong, yet layered with seriousness: "Katha, your guess was right. The man assigned to the case was indeed a decoy. They framed a false case and buried it—just like always."

"Then we'll have to reopen the case. And you already know, if it's opened this time, I'll make sure it's closed forever." Katha's reply came in the same firm tone, unshaken, unbending.

Hearing this, Meera allowed a faint smile to cross her lips, though her eyes stayed grave. "That's exactly why I'm hiring the best criminal lawyer—the one whose appointment takes months to even secure. And now, no one but you can do this. I don't trust anyone else, because here—everyone is already neck-deep in politics."

"This government... And this corruption..." Katha said with a biting edge in her voice, dripping with disdain. She spoke like someone who knew all too well how politics and money buried the truth, silencing everything before the public could ever find out.

Meera's voice softened slightly then, almost hopeful. "At least this way, you'll finally come to India after five years." She had tried countless times to bring Katha back, but every time it was she who had to go to America instead. This time, she truly believed Katha would finally return.

But the very next moment, her hope shattered. Katha's words struck like cold steel: "When did I say I'm coming to India? I'll handle the case from here. The rest—you know what to do." And with that, she cut the call. Meera stared at the blank screen for a long moment, her face numb.

Watching her reaction, the female PSO standing nearby—Preeti , spoke carefully: "Ma'am... except for her, no one else in this world dares cut your call. And you never even get the chance to argue back with her." She paused, her tone turning more serious. "Tell me honestly... is she coming this time...?"

Meera exhaled slowly, leaning back in her chair before replying with a trace of frustration hidden beneath calm control: "No. Not this time either. She said she'll handle it from there, and the rest... we'll do."

Preeti simply nodded, as if she already understood the kind of bond, history, and stubbornness shared between Meera and Katha.

After a moment's silence, Preeti asked softly, "May I ask you something, Ma'am...?"

Meera tilted her head back against the chair, eyes narrowing, and replied with a short "Hmm."

"Why is she like that...? I mean, always serious, never speaking without reason, such a strong and bold personality... why? And why does the world only know her as the best Criminal Defense lawyer? She doesn't stay on the internet, she has no social media presence at all...!! Those who've seen her, have only seen her face to face—why is that...?"

Preeti paused for a moment, then gave a faint smile as she added, "Funny thing is—you two are best friends, yet your personalities when it comes to work are so different. I mean, you're strict and strong too, but you're visible everywhere on the internet and social media. And she's the exact opposite—zero presence online, and still... people know her."

Hearing this, Meera kept her eyes closed, leaning back in her chair, and replied in a calm, steady voice: "Katha once dreamed of becoming an IPS officer, just like me. We shared that dream together. But, one incident is enough to change the entire course of a life... that's exactly what happened. And today, she's a criminal defense lawyer... while I'm an IPS officer."

And as for living in front of the world only as a lawyer, she only took the name Princess of Mewar because it came to her by inheritance. The world knows there is a princess of Mewar, but who she actually is—no one knows except a few people. And she doesn't even want the world to recognize her by that name.

Meera finished her words by saying, "She has built so many names for herself that even when the world knows her, they still don't truly know her. For her, it doesn't matter if she is not recognized because of Mewar."

Meera finished her words quietly, her tone steady but laced with pride. Listening to her, Preeti nodded in agreement. Somewhere deep inside, she too felt proud—to know who she worked for, and who stood behind her leader.

"Ma'am, it's almost 4 in the morning. Do you still want to stay at headquarters... or will you head home?" Preeti asked respectfully.

"No, I still need to mail the old case files to Katha. The rest of the work—you already know what to do." Meera replied without lifting her gaze, fingers already typing swiftly across her laptop keyboard.

Preeti couldn't help but smile—half amused, half admiring—as she gave a crooked grin, then straightened up and saluted Meera before quietly leaving the room.

𝗟 𝗢 𝗡 𝗗 𝗢 𝗡
"Om Namah Parvati Pataye, Har Har Mahadev..." 
A deep yet peaceful voice echoed through the entire mansion. A faint smoke filled the air—someone must have just finished burning incense. Inside the grand temple built within the mansion, a young man was performing his prayers. But this was not the voice of a woman—it belonged to a man.

As he descended the stairs, another young man spoke on the phone. Even in the smoky air, he walked steadily, as if he was used to this atmosphere. While speaking on the call, he said firmly: "Schedule the meeting. Prem and I will attend it ourselves before I leaving for India." After giving a few more instructions, he cut the call and walked straight towards the temple.

There, another young man sat only in a white dhoti. His hair fell almost to his end of the neck part, tied loosely at the back. A small golden hoop adorned his ear, while his neck and right wrist carried a rudraksha mala, covered with gold. Eyes closed, his voice calm but steady, he chanted mantras while pouring water on the Shivling.

In London, if anyone heard the mantras of Lord Shiva, it could only be because of one person—Prem. Like there is no temple, Prem had brought Mahadev home instead. Within this vast mansion, he had built his own personal temple. And now, that young man praying with complete devotion was none other than Prem Jodha.

Watching him pray, the one who had just arrived joined his hands before the Shivling. This was his closest friend—Nihal Ranawat. With folded hands, he muttered half-seriously, half-hopefully: "Oh Bholenath, please perform a miracle today and make Prem attend the meeting himself. This deal is really important for us, please." He glanced at Prem with a slight smile, then walked away.

Prem Jodha — A businessman few in the world could claim not to know. The soon-to-be king of Pritampura. Yet, he had no connection to social media, no need for publicity. His world was far beyond all that. Calm and composed, soft-spoken and thoughtful—Prem carried the weight of his name with quiet dignity. A devoted follower of Lord Shiva, whose day never began without worship.

But like Shiva, who was both serene and destructive, Prem too carried within him a side capable of devastation if provoked. Only Nihal had ever seen that side. For the world, Prem was more than a serene, royal, strong personality yet soft , clam and untouchable figure.

A little later, Prem came downstairs. He wore a simple black shirt and black pants—the shirt untucked, casual in style. A watch gleamed on his left wrist, while the rudraksha bracelet adorned his right. One button of his shirt was undone, revealing the rudraksha mala at his chest. His loosely tied hair let a few strands fall freely, brushing his ear, where the golden earring shimmered softly—giving him that messy yet irresistible charm that could hold any gaze.

In the dining hall, Nihal was already seated for breakfast. Seeing Prem, he rose with a smile, gave him a side hug, and both sat down to eat.

Between bites, Nihal spoke quickly, worry lacing his tone: "Prem, you're coming to the office today, right? We need to finalize the deal with MSK Industries. Only once it's done can we move ahead with the hotel project."

His expression carried nervousness—he feared Prem might skip the meeting again, and without Prem's confirmation, the chances of sealing this deal were slim.

Prem simply nodded while continuing his breakfast. That single gesture was enough to bring visible relief to Nihal's face.

After finishing, the two left for the office. As their car pulled up, the driver quickly opened the door and greeted warmly, "Jai Bholenath, Khammaghani Hukum." 

Prem acknowledged with a slight nod, replying softly, "Jai Bholenath, Rama." They stepped into the car, and right behind them, their convoy of bodyguards followed.

𝗔 𝗠 𝗘 𝗥 𝗜 𝗖 𝗔

A Bentley stopped in front of a tall building. From the driver's side, Katha stepped out with quiet composure and walked inside.

As soon as she arrived, a man approached her, extending his hand politely. "Hello, Miss Katha. Thanks for coming."

Katha had a leather bag in one hand, while the other hand—though empty—was clenched into a loose fist. Not out of anger, but as if holding back something within. 

She glanced at the man's face, then at his hand, and instead of shaking it, she slowly removed her sunglasses. With a calm yet unreadable expression, she gave only a slight nod. Her face remained serene, without the faintest trace of emotion. Seeing this, the man quickly withdrew his hand and walked alongside her.

While they moved further inside, he spoke in a low, serious tone: "The boss's brother, the one who passed away—he had just returned from Germany a few days ago. But since last night, when no one could reach him, we sent our people to check. They found his Dead body in his own house. Sir believes it wasn't a natural death... it was murder, also police say that"

Hearing this, Katha asked directly, her voice steady, "Any suspects? Any known enemies?"

The man shook his head quickly. "No, ma'am. Neither sir nor his family had any enmity with anyone—never did."

Katha gave a short nod in acknowledgment. By then, they had already reached the upper floor, where she was being taken. This wasn't just any place — it was the building of a company. The man was the assistant to the company's owner.

Martiz Walkwo, the owner, was on a call when she entered. But the moment his eyes landed on Katha, words failed him. For a second, he forgot to even breathe.

Katha's presence was striking. She wore a black shirt and black pants —formal yet casual. Black heels clicked softly with her steps. A sleek golden cuff adorned the cartilage of one ear, while her lower ears carried one plain gold hoop and one diamond-studded hoop, both gleaming. Her hair was tucked neatly behind her ears, making the jewelry more visible. A simple gold chain rested around her neck, barely noticeable because she had left one button of her shirt undone. On her left wrist, a watch; on her right, a 2 layered chain gold bracelet. Elegant gold rings adorned her fingers, and in one hand, she carried her leather bag.

It was a look of simple elegance, yet one so powerful it forced even the strongest men to keep their eyes on her.

Martiz found himself lost, staring at her without even blinking. It was only when his assistant resumed talking that he snapped back into reality. Of course, Katha was aware of the effect she had, but her face betrayed no reaction—blank, unreadable, professional.

Taking her seat with calm authority, Katha said, "I want complete details—about your family, your backgrounds, and especially your brother. His work, the people he was associated with, every single detail. If even one thing is missing, I'll have to conduct my own investigation... in my own way."  Her last words carried a sharper, stronger tone.

Martiz, clearly unnerved but respectful, nodded immediately. From then on, he answered every question Katha asked. She listened, her expression unwavering, absorbing every detail. The investigation was in her hands now.

The discussion lasted almost two hours. Finally, Katha stood, adjusting her bag. "Alright. From here on, the work is mine. "

"Would you like to have lunch with me? It's already lunchtime anyway..." Martiz stepped closer as he spoke, his tone making it obvious—he didn't want Katha to leave just yet. 

But Katha simply picked up her bag, gave a firm shake of her head, and said, " No. If I need anything, I'll call your assistant."

"No, call me directly," he typed smoothly on his mobile and then said again, "I have your number, and I texted you. It's my personal number."

Kath walked away before Martiz could even take another step towards her. For a moment, her face paled slightly at his sudden attempt to close the distance, but she quickly regained control. She wasn't about to create a scene in his office. Pulling out her phone, she blocked the number—Martiz's number.

Yet, the number Martiz had texted her from wasn't her personal one. It was her second number.

𓆩❤𓆪

Meanwhile, Prem and Nihal had already arrived at their own office. Prem's presence was magnetic. His style, his dressing sense, his personality—it was enough to make even men look twice. If men struggled to keep themselves composed around him, it was easy to imagine the effect he had on women. Add to that his royal Indian aura, the graceful stride he carried naturally; even in America, where people admired Indian sophistication, his charm was irresistible.

With a phone in one hand and the other casually resting in his trouser pocket, Prem walked in wearing his black shades. Everyone greeted him warmly and professionally. In return, he responded with a calm nod, acknowledging each of them while continuing towards his private elevator—the one that led straight to his office on the top floor.

Inside the meeting room, the guests were already seated, waiting. The moment Prem entered, they stood to greet him. He raised his hand lightly, signaling them to sit, before settling into his own chair. After that, he shook hands with each of them politely.

Throughout the meeting, Prem hardly spoke. He only listened—calm, composed, his presence commanding enough without words. When discussions reached the end, Nihal  said in a low, decisive tone: "So, let's close this deal with a 20% profit. The materials from your industry, and the designs from ours... agreed?"

At that point, Prem's eyes dropped back to his phone, while Nihal took over the final discussions.

The man sitting across, not a foreigner but Indian, adjusted the Bluetooth headset in his ear before replying: "With 20% profit, we'll also maintain 5% grip on operations. If that works for you, we'll close this deal today."

There was something unusual in the man's voice—firm, yet strangely positive.

Prem, who had been staring at his phone until then, slowly lifted his eyes and fixed them on the man. A thought crossed his mind instantly: How did he know exactly what I was thinking...?

Even though his attention had seemed on the phone, Prem's mind had been on both the device and the deal. And now, this sudden twist had caught him off guard.

After a moment's pause, he stood up smoothly and said, "Deal done."

Nihal, who had been worried whether Prem would agree, looked at him in disbelief—then a wide smile spread across his face. He was overjoyed, almost shocked at how easily Prem had accepted.

The meeting concluded. Papers were signed, handshakes exchanged, and the guests left satisfied.

Elsewhere, Katha was driving. Her phone lay on the passenger seat when a notification lit up the screen. Without taking her eyes off the road for long, she glanced down.

It was a simple message: "Deal done, ma'am."

For the first time that day, a faint smile touched her lips.

𓆩❤𓆪

It was almost night in America when Katha returned to her villa. After freshening up, she sat down for dinner. Other than her, the villa was occupied only by workers and bodyguards. At times, Meera would visit from India, but apart from her, no one ever came or went through the grand estate.

Just as she picked up her first bite, her phone began to ring. Seeing the caller ID, she answered softly, "Jay Bholenath, Chote Baba."

On the other side, it was her uncle—Abeer—whom she lovingly called Chote Baba. His voice came gently through the line: "Beta, you are coming for Bhabhi's fifth Shradh (death anniversary ritual), aren't you?"

Katha's tone softened, though her words carried restraint. "Kunal bhai is there... so what need is there for me, Chote Baba?"

It almost felt as though she didn't want to say it, but forced herself to. She spoke as if placing a stone on her heart—careful not to let her true emotions slip into her voice. Abeer Ji couldn't sense the pain behind her words.

He replied kindly, almost pleading, "But beta, it is the fifth-year tithi... if you come, everyone will feel better."

Katha's eyes dimmed, her grip tightening slightly on the phone. "When I wanted to come back then, I wasn't allowed. So what use is there in calling me now, Chote Baba? And besides... I closed the chapter of Mewar long ago." This time, her voice held a sharp edge—firm, controlled, but undeniably filled with suppressed anger.

Just then, another voice came through the speaker. A deep, familiar one. "Mewar needs you, Katha. Let the past go... come back."

The moment she heard it, She said directly "Jay Bholenath, Baba..." 

It was her father—Shravan Mewar, the king of Mewar. His voice, tender yet heavy, filled the silence.

"Jay Bholenath, beta." he replied lovingly, then asked softly, "Katha... you are coming, aren't you?" This time, his voice was slower, weaker. Almost fragile.

Katha closed her eyes, holding back everything inside her. Her words were firm when she answered, "No, Baba. Bhai is there to handle Mewar. And as for me... I will not reopen the book I have already closed."

There was a pause. When her father spoke again, his voice was lower, carrying the weight of hidden pain. "If not for us, then come... at least for your mother's sake, Katha."

He didn't wait for her reply. His voice faded, and then he was gone from the line. Abeer Ji's voice returned, quieter than before, "You'll come, won't you...?"

Katha exhaled slowly, her heart heavy."...Hmm." 

That was all she said before ending the call. She pushed her dinner plate aside, untouched, and silently walked upstairs—her face calm, but her heart in turmoil.

────୨ৎ────
𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 🧿