Adultery The Swamiji

[shailu4ever]

Scene 29B – A Nation Trembles



India had always been a land steeped in mysteries. From saints who levitated in temples to fakirs who walked barefoot through fire, the subcontinent had long been a cradle for the inexplicable, the mystical.
 
This was a place where the divine and earthly often brushed against each other, where miracles seemed as natural as the dawn.
 
It was a nation defined by the unexplained, by the folklore that made believers of skeptics, and dreamers of the practical.
 
But now… this was different.
 
It began on the red carpet in Mumbai. Rhea Kapoor, the darling of Bollywood, the face that graced every magazine cover, stepped into the flashing lights and was swallowed whole by them. She never emerged on the other side. At first, the crowd laughed, was it a stunt? A scandal? An affair, perhaps? “Actors,” they scoffed, “they live for drama.”

But the laughter withered, fading into an unease that no one could quite name.
 
Hours later, the next blow fell. The Home Minister of Telangana, Aarav Kapoor, who had been addressing the nation live, resigned mid-sentence, his voice dying on air. The camera lingered on an empty podium, a lingering silence as his phone, his briefcase, and, strangely, a single bead of saffron rolled across the podium like a sign.
 
A symbol of something unraveling. But, as with Rhea’s disappearance, people shrugged it off. Politics. Who could ever truly understand it?
 
 
Then came the third vanishing. Kiara Rao, pop music’s reigning goddess, the voice that had filled stadiums and hearts across the nation, simply dissolved into smoke on stage. A crowd of fifty thousand eyes swore she had been there one second and gone the next.
 
The air shifted, the speakers hummed with something ancient and unsettling, and then, silence. As if the world had simply paused. The footage looped on every screen. The nation watched, transfixed, as the image branded itself into their consciousness, a scar of something unknowable.
 
The fourth disappearance, Raj Malhotra, the patriarch of Delhi’s billion-dollar empire, vanished mid-flight, leaving behind nothing but the haunting image of a folded saffron cloth. Panic, subtle at first, began to take hold.
 
The stock markets trembled, shuddering as though the very ground beneath them had given way. Men in tailored suits whispered prayers beneath their breath, their eyes darting nervously across sleek boardrooms.

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