Abhinav looked at Kishore. “Get Devendra ji on the phone.”
The line connected on the third ring. “Anand Mahal, Devendra Chauhan speaking.”
“Mr. Chauhan. Abhinav.”
“Khamma Ghani, Hukum.” Devendra’s voice faltered.
“If your family interferes with this sale again, I will end your employment… Completely. Is that understood?”
Silence pressed against the line.
“Hukum, if there has been some misunderstanding…”
“Don’t insult me.” Abhinav rose and walked to the window. “One buyer walks away over ghost stories. Another leaves because your daughter rallies the community. I have shown patience out of respect for your service. And for my father’s regard for you. Do not mistake that for weakness.”
“I understand, Hukum.”
“Good. Control your daughter.”
The call cut.
Abhinav remained at the window longer than needed.
Across the room, Kishore stared very intently at the desk. And said nothing.
???
Devendra found Meera in the records room. The door closed with more force than he intended.
She looked up from the account book, reading the tension before he spoke. Her fingers stilled on the page. She caught her lower lip between her teeth.
“He called,” she stated quietly.
“He threatened to throw all of us out.”
He stood rigid, hands flat against his sides. An old habit. She knew it well. Fear sat behind it.
The sight struck deep, but it did not sway her. “Because people sat outside their own temple and prayed?”
“Did you tell them?” His voice tightened.
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “I told them what was happening. I told them the truth and let them decide what to do with it.”
He drew in a breath. His chest felt heavy. His shoulders dropped a fraction. “Do you understand what you’re putting at risk? Employment. Housing. Years of trust. You will burn it all in one season.”
“Babuji…”
“He is our Hukum.” The word cracked through him. A belief shaped over years, straining under pressure but not yet breaking. “What he decides stands. This is how it has always worked.”
Meera stayed silent for a moment.
The answer rose easily,‘Then it has always been wrong.’
She swallowed it. Not from doubt, but from love for her father.
“He has legal rights. Fine. Let him use them. But this place does not survive on legal rights, Babuji. It survives on the people who believe in it.”
“And when those people return to their homes?” His control slipped. “When we are asked to leave? Will belief feed us? Give us a roof?”
