THE NAYAGANS

Inside an abandoned building, a group of masked men sat in silence.

In front of them stood their leader, pointing to a board covered with photos — port containers, warehouses, shipping routes, all connected with red lines. But one thing stood out: five containers, all linked to a single photo… KAALI.

Leader:

“Out of ten containers, five already belong to him. If the rest fall into his hands, the legacy and heritage will be gone forever.”

One of the masked men raised his hand cautiously.

Masked Man:

“Sir… we’ve been fighting over these containers for so long, but no one ever told us — what’s inside them?”

Before the leader could answer, the room went cold.

The windows creaked open with a sudden gust of wind. Shadows danced across the wall.

A figure stepped in.

Heavy chains still hung loose from his arms. His eyes gleamed with fire.

The masked men froze.

The leader’s lips trembled.

It was him.

VIKRAM.

The heir of the Nayagan Pariwar.

The man the government declared dead.

Now… a ghost in their world.

Vikram (stepping forward, voice deep, steady):

“It’s finally time… I tell you the truth.

The year after Independence.

The government ran a secret operation — not against the British… but against the Nayagan bloodline.

The Prime Minister himself ordered it.

Every coin, every jewel, every piece of wealth we held… was to be seized. Not for greed, but to patch the wounds left by the British theft.

You see, the Nayagans were not like the common people.

They were royalty. Untouchable. Even the British couldn’t bring them down.

While the country suffered in chains… the Nayagans lived in palaces, in luxury.

They never raised a hand to free India.

And for that — they were chosen to be erased.

But before the bloodline fell… they made one last move.

They gathered everything — gold, diamonds, wealth beyond imagination, enough to rival the GDP of nations — and buried it.

Hidden… inside a temple no man could ever find.

But fate has a way of breaking silence.

Forty years ago… the temple was unearthed.

Destroyed. The treasure melted down.

And from the ashes of stone and gold… rose ten containers.

Containers that carried the legacy of the Nayagans.

Half are already under Kaali.

The rest… are what this war is about.”

(Vikram looks around, every masked man frozen in shock, their eyes widening as the weight of history crashes down.)

Vikram (voice sharp, cutting through the silence):

“You must be thinking… what good will this do for us, hmm?

Why are we fighting over some dead family’s line?

I’m not like the Nayagans.

They hoarded their gold while the country bled.

I… will take this gold and turn it back into fire for our people.

Because in this world… mercy is not given — it is bought.

(He begins pacing toward the board, his shadow falling over the kneeling men. The room tenses.)

People act like loyalty is in their blood.

But real loyalty… true loyalty…

only comes when someone shows them a piece of paper… with a man’s face on it.

(The masked men exchange uneasy glances, some nodding, some lowering their heads. The air grows heavier with Vikram’s words.)

Leader (voice trembling but loud):

“Boys… I’ve been leading you for long.

But the real one has entered.

From this moment…

WE ALL LISTEN TO HIM.

Am I clear?!”

The whole group (roaring in sync, fists clenched, eyes burning):

“SIR! YES SIR!”

(The abandoned building shakes with their voices, echoing like a war cry. Vikram doesn’t smile. He only stares at the board, the photos of Kaali’s containers, the past and present chained together. His silence is heavier than any word spoken. The fire has been lit.)

Vikram stands at the center. A single dim light above him, the men seated in silence. He speaks with calm authority, every word landing heavy.)

Vikram:

“Listen… after my release, Kaali blasted the trial room. The world thinks I’m dead. Good.

From now on—whatever we do, we do it in the shadows.

This is not a game, this is not a fight for pride.

It’s a war between us and him.

And no third party should ever be involved.

Remember… what we are doing is not for revenge.

It’s for revolution.

We may have to kill.

We may have to blast.

We may have to torture.

But never forget… they say one man’s Revolution…

is another man’s terrorism.”

(The men glance at each other, some nodding, some swallowing hard, the weight of his words sinking in. Then slowly, fists tighten, eyes sharpen. They are ready.)

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***