REVENGE : Pain of a True Lover

Rashmi’s story with Rakshith had once been the kind of love people dream of. They met in college, shared five long years of secrets, promises, and laughter. Rakshi had loved her with all his heart, making her his world. But fate twisted when Rashmi got a chance in a small short film. There, she met Vijay Kumar, an actor with more showoff than talent, but with confidence and andha-chandha that dazzled her. Slowly, she began cheating Rakshi, hiding her double life. When Mithun, her father, asked her one day about madhuve, she confidently said she loved Vijay. Believing her, Mithun fixed the match, proud of his magale’s choice. Rashmi’s old love was buried in silence, as if those 5 years had meant nothing.

The house was glowing with rituals and relatives, madhuve songs filling the air. Tomorrow evening was the grand reception, followed by the muhurtha where Rashmi and Vijay would be declared husband and wife. That night, Rashmi lay happily on her bed as she spoke to Vijay about their future. Just then, Mithun knocked gently and stepped inside. “Magale, tomorrow is very big day,” he said softly. “Tell ma truly… do you have any past, any lover, anything that could bring shame? Aiyo I don’t want any troubles on such an important day.” Rashmi smiled hiding her guilt. She lied smoothly, saying Vijay was her first love. Mithun believed and left, not knowing how badly she had cheated Rakshith and even him.

Rashmi picked the phone again, laughing with Vijay. Their voices turned playfully cruel. She spoke of Rakshith as if he was a loafer who once wasted her time. “He is so dark, yappa… at night you can’t even see him,” she giggled, and Vijay laughed along, knowing the truth but enjoying the insult. Together, they joked as if Rakshith never mattered, reducing 5 years of love to nothing but laughter. In her arrogance, Rashmi felt she had won life but suddenly, as she turned she caught a blink of movement near the curtain. For a second, it was as if someone was standing in the darkness. Her smile froze. She quickly cut the call, her heart racing, whispering to herself, “Aiyo… maybe just my imagination…”

In the silent darkness of the balcony, a faint glimmer caught the light—Rakshi’s knife. He twirled it slowly across his mustache. His eyes were burning, but his movements calm. that night he waited until the house grew quiet, then jumped the compound wall with ease. Like a shadow, he scaled the balcony, climbed to the first floor, and slipped inside Rashmi’s room. The curtains became his hiding place, his breath steady, his grip tight on the knife. In that darkness, Rakshi was not the gentle lover anymore—he was the storm waiting to strike. As Rashmi got busy with her phone Rakshi moved. In a swift motion, his left hand clamped over her mouth, and the cold blade pressed against her neck. “Kirachbeda,”

He whispered harshly, his voice low and filled with fire. Rashmi’s eyes widened in shock, her body trembling under his grip. “One sound… and you won’t be spared,” he warned, the knife pressing closer. Her breath caught, panic running wild, when suddenly Mithun knocked and opened the door. Rashmi’s eyes pleaded for help, but Rakshi’s hand pressed tighter, forcing her silence. Somehow, she forced a shaky laugh and said, “Appa… nightmare… aiyo, just a bad dream.” Mithun shook his head, smiled at her playfulness, and left the room, as she couldnt tell her that her 5 old boyfriend is here at her room... she herself will be caught as she didnt tell him about her dirty past and her selfish breakup.

For a moment, as Mithun’s footsteps faded, Rakshi slipped back into the shadows of the curtain. Rashmi gasped for air, her mind spinning. “Was it real… or am I imagining?” she whispered, clutching her chest. But before she could gather her thoughts, Rakshi pounced again. This time he forced her down, her back hitting the bed, his legs on her waist. The knife’s cold edge brushed against her neck, his eyes locking onto hers with deadly seriousness. “Ninamman no second chance kane,” he said seriously this time. Rashmi screamed out in fear, but Mithun outside only shook his head, thinking, “Magale is just being playful again.” Inside, Rashmi’s nightmare had truly begun, with no one to save her.

Rashmi’s eyes widened but soon turned sharp with anger. She spat out curse words, mocking him, calling him a loafer, chappar, rascal, a man with no courage, asking what kind of man sneaks like a kalla into a woman’s room. Her words stabbed, but Rakshith’s face stayed like stone. Without a second thought, he replied back with a tight slap, the sound cracking in the silence. “Don’t test my patience, Rashmi,” he growled, his voice low, his mustache twitching as he leaned close. The sudden blow silenced her mockery, leaving her clutching her throat with fear visible in her eyes. Shaken by that slap Rashmi’s tone flipped suddenly. Tears rolled down, but her voice was pure sugar-coated lies. 

“Rakshi… I was brainwashed, appa forced me… they pushed me into this madhuve kano, I swear, nanna nambu... trust me” she cried, trying to sound weak playing victim card. Rakshith let her speak, his stare piercing through every fake word. Then, with rage, both his hands rose and landed across her cheeks at once, a double slap that left her ears ringing. “Aaahhh!” she gasped in pain, but he cut her off. “Saaku drama. You chose betrayal. Don’t insult me with your fake tears, sule munde.” His tone was merciless and didnt encourage fake drama fake tears and manipulation which she was pro at. Cornered, Rashmi changed her tone again. She softened her voice, tried to smile through trembling lips.

“What do you want, Rakshi? If it’s me, I am yours… take me enjoy will offer my body to you kano,” she whispered, sliding closer, her hand brushing his chest, her eyes laced with a fake seduction. For a moment it looked like she had control, but Rakshith’s fury exploded. His fist wrapped around her thick hair, yanking it with all his rage. “idre ninamman nemmadi yaag irbek… you think I came here for this slut?” he spat. He flung her across the room. Her body hit the dressing table, glass shattering, a red cut blooming on her forehead. Rashmi’s breath hitched, realizing this was no game—Rakshith’s revenge had only just begun, he was not the same lover boy like before... it was time to face his dark side.

Rashmi’s voice cut sharp as she spat, “Hogo Kariya...” The word sliced the air. Rakshith’s jaw tightened, his hand still on the knife. For a second his blood boiled, but he didn’t strike. Instead, his voice came low, dangerous, “ley randi munde… I have more black inside my underwear. You talk too much, I will put it into your mouth.” Rashmi was astonished. He turned cold, searching the room from her cupboard he pulled out a folded red saree and a plain white one, tossing them aside. Then he gathered everything that once tied them—his pullover, his letters, the gifts, the photos—and piled them in the center of the room. A splash of little petrol. One matchstick. He burnt the memories.

Rashmi gasped, her fear slipping through in broken words. “Aiyo, please beda… don’t burn the room, don’t kill me, please kano!” Her body trembled, eyes darting to the flames. Rakshith’s glare cut through her pleas. “Kill you?” he growled, stepping closer, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. “I’m not a loafer or some criminal to murder the woman I loved for five years. I dreamed of keeping you like a maharani, Rashmi. I worked, I saved, I planned our life, every single thought was about you more than me myself.” His voice cracked with rage and grief. “But you… you played with me, made me a joker. I gave you my soul. And you spit on it for that fake hero.” She tried to back away, but his hand gripped her arm.

With a sudden yank he tore her clothes with his knife—the cyan t-shirt ripped down, the shorts flung aside—leaving her gasping in just her bra and panties, her dignity stripped bare. “Stop… please!” she whimpered, but he was hatavaadi. He picked up the red saree and draped it around her himself, mocking her silence. He pulled flowers from the bag, tied them roughly into her hair, then smeared kumkuma onto her trembling forehead. Forcing her toward the small fire, he hissed, “Now, look. This is the agni sakshi. This is our wedding. You are my wife Rashmi. i never break any promise... we promised that we will get married one day and now i am making it happen” He dragged her before the burning fire.

Rakshith grabbed the red glass bangles and forced them onto her wrists, the sharp edges scraping her skin as she whimpered. From his pocket, he pulled out a small black thaali, the one he had kept for years, waiting for this day. He tied looping it around her neck. Her body jerked, she screamed, “Aiyo! Stop! Don’t tie it, please beda kano!” But he pulled hard, tying three knots, each one firm like a nail in her coffin. Tears rolled down her face as she realized she had been married against her will. Without mercy, Rakshith dragged her by the arm, forcing her to circle the dying fire three times just like those sapthapadi ritual, his steps heavy, hers broken, the sacred ritual twisted into a cruel mockery.

He throwed her onto the bed, the bangles clinking as she fell. Bending low, he scooped the half-burnt ashes from the fire into a small cover. Rashmi’s heart pounded as Rakshith ripped the red saree from her shoulders, leaving her exposed in bra and panties. She gasped, her face pale. “No… no, Rakshith, please beda kano… don’t fuck me like this, please!” Her voice cracked in fear. His laugh was bitter. “Before, you were ready to sleep with me without marriage, Rashmi. Now suddenly you’re scared? alla adu henge.” She sobbed, trying to cover herself, but instead of climbing over her, he pulled out a plain white saree and draped it around her shivering body. She froze, her gut twisting. Something was wrong.

He dragged her back near the fire. The red saree he had pulled off her was now tossed into the flames, curling and blackening as it burned. “Your sindoora dreams end here,” Rakshith with one swift rubbed her sindoora from her forehead, Her flowered hair was ripped apart, petals scattering to the floor, bangles shattered one by one against the bedpost. “Beda…” she whispered, her body shaking. He splashed water over her head, soaking her long hair until it clung heavy. Her breath caught. She knew. Every nerve screamed what was coming. Then, from his pocket, Rakshi pulled out a straight razor, this made her gut feeling true and real. He held it up slowly “Widows don’t keep hair, they will shave it smooth.”

Rakshith pressed Rashmi down onto the ground, his grip stiff on her shoulder. The razor flashed in the dim firelight as he planted it at the middle of her scalp. “Ley Randi… tonight no escape.” With one harsh scrape he tore through the thick black partition of her hair. She shrieked, jerking, and the blade sliced her skin. A thin line of blood trickled down her forehead. “Aiyo devare!” she cried. He tightened his grip, pushing her head forward. “The more you move, the more you bleed. But ninna thale anthu bodisutheeni.” His tone was ice. She froze, sobbing, realizing the fight was useless. Tears streamed as she whispered, “Please… don’t…” but the blade kept moving, shaving a bald track across her crown.

Hair fell heavy on the floor as Rakshith turned the razor to her left side, scraping it clean. “You mocked me for being dark, sule. But darkness is still better than your character.” Rashmi whimpered, her shoulders trembling, but he gave her no space to hide. Each stroke peeled her dignity, long strands sliding off her lap onto the floor. He shifted to the right side, shaving it merciless. “For five years I gave you everything, and you wore lies like this hair. Thick, fake, heavy.” Another scrape, another bald patch. Rashmi bit her lip, crying, “I was wrong… please, forgive me…please kano bittbidu nanna” He slapped on her bald head tightly. “Too late kane. Forgiveness in me burnt like that fire.”

Rakshith pushed her forward, dragging the blade down the back of her head. Thick clumps slid down her spine. Blood mixed with water as he splashed more onto her scalp, then scraped again, smoother, sharper, until her head gleamed raw and bald. Her sobs echoed, but his face was stone. When the last strand was gone, he poured water once more, rubbing her scalp hard, making sure nothing remained. Rashmi sat broken, her hairless thale shining in the fire’s faint glow. He pulled off her white saree, tossing it into the flames. The fabric caught instantly, curling and blackening. She was left shivering in just her bra and panties, stripped of pride, love, and hair. Rakshith stood silent as if nothing had happened.

Rakshith stepped back, spat on her face without a word, and turned. Rashmi froze, the hot spit sliding down her cheek, her eyes wide in shock. He didn’t speak, didn’t look back. He just left, closing the balcony door behind him. For the first time, she felt the weight of her betrayal. All the lies, the games, the mockery she had thrown at him—they had returned in full force... that was just her Karma. Her lips trembled as she wiped the saliva away, shame burning deeper than the sting. She realized how cruel her actions had been, how much pain she had caused the only person who ever loved her truly. And now… she had been spared, only to face the full emptiness of her own mistakes just like her empty bald head.

She sank onto the bed, tired, her body trembling. Her bare arms and legs felt exposed, her bald head cold under her fingers. Slowly, almost in disbelief, she ran her hands over the bodu thale, the soft curves of her skull shocking her senses in immense pain. Tears rolled down as guilt ate at her from inside. Every memory of her lies, her mockery, her betrayal, replayed vividly. She felt hollow, stripped of pride, beauty, and protection. She whispered to herself, broken and trembling, “Aiyo, What have I done… what have I done… thuuu ”. Her mind raced with the impossible thoughts of tomorrow which was her reception night—appa, mother, relatives, Viju her fiancé … the reception…

The world would see her like this. She pressed her palms over her bald head, the coolness shocking her, and her heartbeat quickened. “How… how will I face them… what will I say… how can i even explain them.... its out of control, Aiyo i cant even mange something?” Her whispers broke into stammered panic. Exhaustion clawed at her body, but her mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Slowly, the panic and tears drained her, her arms falling weakly by her side. Her eyelids grew heavy, and at last, she drifted into a restless, guilt-filled sleep, her fingers still tracing the smoothly shaved bodu thale , knowing that the next day would bring endless questions she couldn’t answer and unacceptable insults which she can digest.