Location: Amritsar

The sun was setting over Amritsar, casting an orange glow across the sky as the city prepared for the night. From the outside, everything seemed calm. People were walking down the busy streets, tourists visited the Golden Temple, and vendors sold their goods in the crowded markets. But underneath all that, a darker world was thriving—a world where crime ruled, and power was measured in blood and fear.

Gurpreet Singh was the man behind it all. Known as the “King of Amritsar,” his gang controlled every corner of the city. Whether it was drugs, extortion, or weapons, Gurpreet had his hands in it. He was feared by almost everyone—police officers, politicians, and even businessmen. No one could challenge him without paying the price. His men, dressed in dark clothes, always kept a watchful eye on the streets. No one dared cross them.

At the heart of Gurpreet’s empire was Rama Mandi, a busy market known for its bustling energy. On the surface, it seemed like just another market—vendors shouting out prices, children running through the crowd, and the smells of street food filling the air. But behind the noise and chaos, dark deals were being made. Gurpreet’s men moved through the market, making sure that no one dared interfere with their business.

Tonight, however, something felt different. A strange tension hung in the air. The usual hum of the market was quieter, the shadows longer. Word had gotten out that Gurpreet was planning to expand his influence beyond Amritsar, pushing into Ludhiana and Patiala. It was a dangerous move. The other gangs wouldn’t just let him take control without a fight. And one of them, Sandeep, the leader of The Shadows, was known for his ruthlessness.

Sandeep wasn’t someone you crossed lightly. His gang controlled parts of Ludhiana, and they were heavily involved in the illegal arms trade. If Gurpreet tried to move into his territory, it would mean war. But Gurpreet was used to wars. His gang had taken down bigger threats before. What worried him, though, was that Sandeep wasn’t just a gang leader—he had connections in the government, in the police, and even in Patiala. This wasn’t going to be an easy fight.

At the edge of the market, hidden in the shadows, stood Harman Kaur, a powerful politician with deep ties to the criminal world. Known for her intelligence and cunning, she played the game of power like no one else. She was often seen in the public eye, smiling for cameras and giving speeches, but behind closed doors, she made deals with the most dangerous criminals in the city. Tonight, she was meeting with Gurpreet—a deal that could shift the balance of power in Amritsar forever.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the first signs of trouble began. The calm of the evening was broken by the sound of a motorcycle revving its engine. A single man on the bike, wearing a helmet, sped through the streets. His eyes were sharp, focused on the shadows where he knew trouble was brewing. This wasn’t just any man—he was part of Gurpreet’s inner circle, and tonight, he had come to deliver a message. A message that would change everything.

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...Disclaimer...

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental. The cities, locations, and cultural elements mentioned in this story are inspired by the vibrant culture of Punjab, but the events, characters, and organizations portrayed in this tale are entirely fictional.

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Location: Tarn Taran, Punjab

Tarn Taran was quieter than Amritsar, but only on the surface. The streets here didn’t scream with noise — they whispered. Old buildings leaned over narrow lanes, and gurdwaras echoed with shabads during the day. But after sunset, those same lanes carried the sound of secrets.

Inside Gurdwara Baba Deep Singh Ji, the holy shabad played softly in the background. People bowed, prayed, and walked out. No one knew what was happening in the basement below.

The Jandiala Thugs — a rising gang — had made this gurdwara their cover. Not out of hate for faith, but because they knew:

“Jithe Rab da ghar hove, othe police vi pair dharn to darte ne.”

(Where God’s home stands, even the police hesitate to step in.)

The gang’s leader, Lovepreet Cheema, sat cross-legged on a dusty rug downstairs. In front of him were guns wrapped in red cloth — the kind used for religious offerings. One of his men, Sukhi, lit a cigarette.

“Hoy Sukhi, tu pagal hoya?”

(Hey Sukhi, are you crazy?)

Lovepreet growled.

“Ithe Rab da na chal reha, tu dhuan kar reha?”

(God’s name is echoing upstairs, and you're making smoke down here?)

“Veer, tension ch si… sorry,” Sukhi replied quickly.

(Bro, I was just stressed... sorry.)

“Bas soch reha si… Gurpreet ne saadi territory vich pair pa ditta.”

(I was thinking... Gurpreet has stepped into our territory.)

Lovepreet’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t a big man, but his silence could freeze blood.

“Main keh reha aa, ae banda shant ni chhaduga.

(I'm telling you, this man won't stay quiet.)

Ae banda taan Lahore de bande naal vi gallan kar reha.”

(He's even talking to the guys from Lahore.)

“Othe vi hath paa reha.”

(He's making moves there too.)

Just then, an old man walked into the basement with folded hands. Bapu Balbir, a respected sevadaar of the gurdwara.

“Puttar, ae ki horha ae?

(Son, what is happening here?)

Tusi Rab de ghar vich yeh sab kaam karde?”

(You’re doing all this inside God’s house?)

Lovepreet stood up and bowed slightly.

“Bapu ji, asi vi Rab de bande aa.

(Bapu ji, we are also God’s people.)

Par rabb de naal nafrat karde ne oh bande,

(But those who hate God...)

jinnah nu asi khatam karna chahunde aa.”

(...they are the ones we want to destroy.)

“Rabb kabhi khushi nai hunda jado bandeya da lahu bahida,”

(God is never pleased when a man’s blood is spilled,)

Bapu replied, shaking his head.

“Bas yaad rakhin, ek din har ek bande nu apna hisaab dena painda.”

(Just remember, one day everyone has to answer for their actions.)

Lovepreet said nothing. But his eyes turned cold again.

Later that night, on a quiet road between Tarn Taran and Goindwal, a Mahindra Scorpio parked under a broken streetlight. Inside sat Inspector Rajdeep Sandhu, his eyes heavy with confusion.

He whispered to himself,

> “Every time I try to clean this city, some bloody ghost rises from the dirt.”

Just then, his phone buzzed.

A message.

“Watch your step. Tarn Taran is not yours anymore.”

Location: Jalandhar City, Punjab

Jalandhar wasn’t just a city. It was a system — a mix of old cricket grounds, illegal boxing rings, fashion streets, and shady basements. Every sector had a gang, and every gang had a king.

But no one touched Sector 27 — because of Gurpreet Nagra.

He didn’t speak much. He didn’t post on social media. But people knew him. And more than that — they feared him.

His ride? A black Scorpio. Black windows. Black plates. No one could see who sat inside — but once it stopped outside your door, you only had two options: kneel or disappear.

At 9:13 PM, the Scorpio slowed near Model Town.

Inside sat Gurpreet, wearing a black turban and black shades, even in the dark. His man, Happy Brar, looked nervous.

> “Veer, police di gaddi chaar time aayi aa is area ch.”

(Bro, the police car has come four times in this area.)

> “Kuch hor plan kariye?”

(Should we plan something else?)

Gurpreet didn’t blink.

> “Police? Police taan sada cover hai.”

(Police? Police is our cover.)

He pulled out his phone and sent a voice note.

At the Jalandhar Police Control Room, a constable received it and played it.

> “ACP Gill nu kehyo, ajj raat 10 to baad koi gaddi is sector ch nahi aayegi.”

(Tell ACP Gill that after 10 tonight, no vehicle enters this sector.)

The constable stood up.

“Sir, Gurpreet Nagra da message aaya aa…”

(Sir, Gurpreet Nagra has sent a message...)

ACP Gill leaned forward.

> “Kar dena jaise kehya ae.

(Do as he said.)

> Je main zinda rehna chahunda haan,

(If I want to stay alive,)

> taan menu Gurpreet de orders sunne pain ge.”

(then I have to obey Gurpreet’s orders.)

Back in the Scorpio, Gurpreet stepped out and walked into an old building. Inside, there were five boys, all under 20. Their hands were shaking.

> “Tusi navi gang banana chauhnde ho?”

(You want to form a new gang?)

The boys nodded.

Gurpreet smiled — the kind of smile that freezes your blood.

> “Ae Jalandhar ae, Canada nahi.”

(This is Jalandhar, not Canada.)

> “Ethe banda banda kutt da ae, par sirf oh jehra permission lai ke aave.”

(Here, men fight, but only those who come with permission.)

He walked to one boy and whispered.

> “Tera sir kal thalle milu mainu,

(I want to see your head bowed tomorrow,)

> nahi taan tenu vi koi na puchhega.”

(or no one will even ask where you disappeared.)

Outside, gunshots echoed from another lane.

But this wasn’t about guns anymore. This was about control.

This was about who ruled Punjab, one city at a time.

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...Disclaimer...

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental. The cities, locations, and cultural elements mentioned in this story are inspired by the vibrant culture of Punjab, but the events, characters, and organizations portrayed in this tale are entirely fictional.

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