It was said…
Back in the age of the Ramayana, there existed a being unlike any other.
Neither fully human… nor fully a crow.
A mysterious, divine entity known as Kakbhushundi.
Blessed by the divine itself—
He possessed powers beyond imagination.
He could bend time.
Move through it.
Forward… backward… or even freeze it in place.
Scholars believed that this very blessing was the reason crows were fed during ancestral rituals—because Kakbhushundi existed as a bridge between time, souls… and memory.
Legends claimed—
He had witnessed the Ramayana eleven times.
And the Mahabharata sixteen times.
Not as stories.
But as reality.
Again and again.
But what people didn't know…
Was his greatest power.
He could travel across dimensions.
Parallel worlds.
And not just travel—
He could interfere.
Change things.
Rewrite outcomes.
And yet…
Despite such immense power—
No one knew what happened to him.
Where he went.
Or how his story ended.
—
Until recently.
A man in Delhi claimed—
He had seen him.
In the Aravalli hills.
A figure with the body of a man…
But the face and wings of a crow.
For a while—
The story spread like wildfire.
People talked.
Debated.
Argued.
And then—
They laughed.
Called it fake.
A lie.
A publicity stunt.
And the man who told that truth—
Was destroyed.
His name…
Was Lalu.
—
Back in the underground den—
Vipul stood in front of him.
Removed his cap.
His voice calm… serious—
"Lalu… I need to know about the figure you saw in the Aravalli mountains. The one people call Kakbhushundi."
Lalu looked like a broken man.
Thin.
Weak.
Hair wild like a beast.
A beard even longer.
Torn clothes barely hanging onto his body.
To anyone else—
He was just a beggar.
But the moment he heard that name—
"Kakbhushundi…"
His eyes changed.
Clarity returned.
He sat up slightly.
And then—
He laughed.
Like a madman.
"Heh… Kakbhushundi… crow face… I saw him… in the forest… Aravalli… saint clothes… glowing like a god… but… no one believed…"
His voice cracked.
Tears filled his eyes.
Then spilled.
"I told the world… but no one believed… they called me a liar… called me mad… they beat me… threw me out of my home…"
His breathing grew heavy.
"I'm not lying… I'm not mad… I saw him… the one they call… the god of time… Kakbhushundi… it's real… it's all real…"
Vipul stood there.
Listening.
Silent.
And in that moment—
He understood something.
The world…
Didn't punish evil.
It punished truth.
Lalu's only mistake—
Was speaking it.
He had seen something beyond imagination…
And instead of being heard—
He was broken.
Humiliated.
Thrown away.
Even his own family…
Had abandoned him.
Vipul slowly reached out…
And placed his hand on Lalu's head.
The moment he did—
Something changed.
—
Memories.
Not his own.
Lalu's.
Vipul was inside them.
He saw—
A younger Lalu.
Standing in the hills.
Evening light painting the sky.
A photoshoot.
Calm.
Peaceful.
And then—
Near a waterfall—
A figure.
Strange.
Dressed like a saint.
Black robes.
Unnatural presence.
Lalu, curious, left his camera in the car…
And followed him.
"E-excuse me… who… who are you?"
The figure stopped.
Slowly turned.
And what Lalu saw—
Shook him.
A crow-like face.
And then—
Wings.
Spreading out from his back.
Lalu's voice trembled—
"W-what… are you?"
And then—
A deep, echoing voice filled the air—
"We… are Kakbhushundi, child."
The name itself felt heavy.
Divine.
Lalu's mind couldn't handle it.
And he collapsed.
—
The memory shifted.
Now—
Lalu was telling the world.
Cameras.
Reporters.
People listening.
At first.
Then—
Doubt.
Questions.
Mockery.
They twisted his words.
Turned truth into lies.
Called him insane.
Threw stones at his house.
Abused him.
Beat him.
Religious people called him a fraud—
Said he was using God's name for fame.
His own family—
Disowned him.
Threw him out.
And from that day—
He became "Mad Lalu."
Living in the filth of the underworld.
Drowning himself in alcohol.
Repeating the same truth—
Again…
And again…
And again.
—
The memories faded.
Vipul pulled his hand back.
But the pain—
Stayed.
His eyes were wet.
Without thinking—
He pulled Lalu into an embrace.
Lalu kept muttering… crying…
But Vipul held him tighter.
And spoke softly—
"My child… this is Kalyug. No one believes anyone anymore. Gods are called myths… and science is treated as the only truth."
His voice carried quiet anger.
"Families are broken… brothers fight each other… elders are left in old-age homes… children in orphanages…"
A pause.
"Good people like you… get crushed in between."
He exhaled slowly.
"I'll pray to God… that you at least get a better life… or at least… a peaceful death."
He gently let go.
Then turned.
And walked away.
Anger building inside him.
—
Back near Bhadra's area—
Some men laughed as they saw him return.
"Hey! Met that madman? What, did you see God too? Hahaha!"
They mocked him openly.
But Vipul didn't react.
Didn't even look at them.
He kept walking.
Bhadra, meanwhile, was on a call.
Busy.
Annoyed.
And then—
His voice suddenly rose.
"What did you say?! Singhania is dead… and Boss Bali too?!"
Vipul's steps slowed.
His eyes shifted toward Bhadra.
But he kept walking.
Then—
Another sentence.
"Don't tell me… that bastard Om Ahuja is behind this?"
And that—
Stopped him.
Completely.
Vipul froze.
Behind him—
Bhadra ended the call in anger.
Sat down heavily.
Lit a cigarette.
Took a deep drag.
"That damn Om… he's become a parasite in my life. I won't spare him. I'll rip his head off with these iron hands!"
His voice turned dark.
"Just wait, Om…"
But before he could say anything else—
Something flew through the air.
A body.
One of his guards.
CRASH!
The man slammed straight into Bhadra—
Knocking him off his chair.
Both of them hit the ground hard.
Stunned.
Before they could even recover—
A voice echoed.
Cold.
Burning.
Filled with fury.
"Rip my son's head off…? My son…?"
Vipul stood there.
Eyes blazing.
No longer calm.
No longer silent.
Now—
He was something else entirely.