I.N.A.Z.
“How long will you continue this farce, Prime Minister Bheeshma?”
The question cut through the room.
A female reporter in her thirties rose slightly from her seat among nearly twenty-five journalists gathered before the dais. At the front sat Prime Minister Bheeshma, flanked by Home Minister Dheeksha Tripathi, and Cabinet Secretary Jai Druvan.
“It has been ten days since Chitrasena’s death,” she continued, her voice steady but sharp. “There are unrest and distrust across the nation. The government has made no statement during this time, and there are no reports of progress in the investigation. What actions have you taken to mitigate the situation?”
Bheeshma adjusted the microphone, his expression composed.
“We are looking into the matter,” he said calmly. “A Special Investigation Team was deployed the very next day. Their work is ongoing. We are also coordinating with police departments across the country to ensure that protests do not turn violent.”
“That is not a permanent solution,” the reporter replied without hesitation. “In his last press conference, Chitrasena presented incriminating evidence linking illegal activities to the current government. How do you think the public perceives his arrest—and his death during that arrest?”
Bheeshma’s gaze hardened as he looked directly at her.
“I am not aware of the evidence you refer to,” he said. “We have not found any such material. However, if it is proven to be true, I will step down and call for fresh elections immediately.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
“The arrest of Chitrasena,” he continued, “was part of an ongoing investigation by our Intelligence Bureau. We had clear evidence linking him to groups that posed a threat to national security. He was taken in for questioning. The shooting incident was… an unfortunate mishap. One we did not anticipate.”
“How long will it take for the Special Investigation Team to identify and arrest the culprit?” another reporter called out.
“One month,” said Dheeksha Tripathi, her tone firm.
Before the next question could land, Neela Madhav, the press coordinator, stepped forward from the side, raising her hands.
“That will be the end of this press conference—”
A sharp buzz interrupted her.
Then another.
Within seconds, the room filled with the vibration of phones. Reporters pulled them out almost in unison, eyes scanning their screens.
A collective gasp followed.
Whispers turned into a rising wave of chatter.
Dheeksha’s secretary hurried to her side, phone in hand, and whispered urgently into her ear. Dheeksha’s expression shifted—shock breaking through her composure.
Bheeshma noticed immediately.
“What is happening?” he asked.
Dheeksha looked at him, her voice unsteady.
“The I.N.A.Z group leader… the one who calls himself Zorath… has released a video.”
“And?” Bheeshma pressed.
“They’ve claimed responsibility for Chitrasena’s shooting.”
For the first time, Bheeshma’s composure faltered. His eyes widened.
“Prime Minister!” voices erupted across the hall.
“It’s the same group—”
“This confirms the evidence—”
Questions flew at him from every direction.
“The press conference is over!” Neela Madhav raised her voice sharply as security personnel moved in, forming a barrier between the media and the dais.
Bheeshma rose slowly, exhaling as he stepped away from the table. Dheeksha and Jai Druvan followed on either side as they exited the hall.
“Does he say anything else in the video?” Bheeshma asked as they walked.
Dheeksha hesitated.
“Yes… he does.”
“What?”
“He says there will be eight blasts across the country… soon. He also issued a warning to the protestors.”
Bheeshma clenched his jaw.
His secretary hurried up behind him, holding out a phone. “Sir, Mr. Ravi Mohan is on the line.”
Bheeshma took it immediately. “What’s the situation, Ravi?”
“Sir, we are trying to locate I.N.A.Z bases across the country,” came the voice on the other end. “But they appear to be operating through sleeper cells. They’ve never surfaced directly—only through recorded messages. Even the media has no direct contact.”
Bheeshma closed his eyes briefly, then spoke with quiet intensity.
“Find a lead. Immediately.”
He ended the call and handed the phone back.
Turning to Dheeksha, he said, “Deploy forces to all major public gathering areas. Use local units. And put the bomb squad on full alert.”
Dheeksha nodded.
Outside, they moved toward their respective vehicles.
Bheeshma leaned back into his seat, rubbing his eyes as exhaustion began to show.
“Call Sadayu,” he said.
His secretary turned to him. “Right away, sir?”
“Immediately.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
A crow glided past the line of coconut trees and settled on the quiet shore, pecking lightly at the sand.
Then it froze.
Something was coming.
The bird snapped its head up—and took off in a sudden burst of wings just as Aarav’s foot struck the very spot it had been resting on.
He barely found his balance.
Kajjo was already on him.
She closed the distance in a blur and drove her sword straight toward his chest. Aarav reacted on instinct, swinging his blade up to deflect the strike. Steel clashed. He pivoted and countered, slashing toward her neck.
Kajjo dropped low.
Her body folded with precision as she drove forward, her elbow slamming hard into Aarav’s chest.
The impact knocked the air out of him.
Aarav gasped, stumbling to his knees as his sword slipped from his grip and fell into the sand.
Before he could recover, Kajjo’s blade hovered inches from his head.
“I yield… please, stop,” Aarav managed, his voice strained.
Kajjo held her position for a moment, then lowered her sword.
Aarav remained where he was, one hand pressed against his chest, breathing hard. Slowly, the air returned to his lungs.
“S-so everything is fair in a sword fight, huh?” he said between breaths.
Kajjo didn’t answer.
She moved a few feet away and sat down on the ground, picking up a worn magazine and flipping it open as if nothing had happened.
Aarav let out a faint, breathless chuckle as he pushed himself up.
“You know,” he said, “I’ve come to understand you a little.”
Kajjo turned a page, uninterested.
“You act like a cold woman with a dark past,” he continued, “but you’re actually… kind. Fragile, even.”
No response.
Aarav’s gaze drifted past her, toward the coconut trees.
Someone was approaching.
He narrowed his eyes, focusing—and recognized the figure.
“Sabo…”
He straightened slowly as she emerged from the trees and walked toward them with urgency in her stride.
“We have to move,” she said.
Aarav blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“They’re closing in on our—” she paused briefly, correcting herself, “—my location. They’ll be here in two days. We leave now.”
Kajjo rose without a word and started toward the broken house they had been using as shelter.
“By ‘they,’ you mean the Pranvars?” Aarav asked.
Sabo nodded. “Their soldiers.”
Aarav lowered his head slightly.
“Do they have any means to kill me?”
Sabo studied him for a moment, then exhaled.
“They do,” she said quietly. “But are you sure you want to give your life away?”
Aarav didn’t answer.
“Let’s just keep moving for now,” she added. “Like I told you—don’t make any decisions yet.”
She turned and headed toward the house.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Gandhara,” Sabo replied without turning.
Aarav frowned. “Gandhara? Isn’t that where the Tora religion is centred?”
Sabo stopped.
Slowly, she turned her head just enough to glance at him.
“Cult,” she said.
Aarav blinked. “What?”
“It’s not a religion,” she continued, her voice flat. “It’s a cult organization.”
She paused for a moment before adding,
“Working for the Pranvars.”
Aarav’s steps faltered.
He stopped completely.
“The Pranvars?” he asked, disbelief creeping into his voice.
Sabo didn’t answer.
She simply turned forward again—and kept walking.
(To be continued)
Karun G Nath 
Leave a Reply