Gupta Brothers: Chaar Kunware from Ganga Kinare - Page 2

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I stumbled upon this by chance and I'm already loving it.I love how the characters are shaping up and would like to read more.

Prologue

No women? How will that work out in the long run? They will never fall in love?

chapter 1

A house full of man and a house full ow women. If only!

Rajat and Meera have collided head on. Both are equally fiery.

What does the mother mean by break Rajat? Does she want her daughter to break his heart or something?

How did Shiv fail Amba? What happened in the past?

Chapter 4 (Of Old Echoes)

Banaras remembers everything.

It doesn’t just store secrets in its walls and grudges in its lanes — it keeps the echoes of the past alive, waiting to remind its children of all they tried to forget.

Long before the stares turned to storms and the silence hardened into walls, Banaras had seen these hearts clash in the open.

This is the story the city tucked away — of debates, festivals, and collisions that lit the fuse of a rivalry now written in stone.

Before Meera and Rajat became enemies, before Alok and Aditi’s sparring hid unspoken truths, before Veeru and Jaya’s bickering became legend — Banaras watched it all unfold.

The Alditi Clash — Mic Drop Moment

Inside the college auditorium, the air was thick with anticipation. The debate had drawn a sizable crowd — from students to local dignitaries — and in the front row sat Alok Gupta, reluctantly roped in as a judge. Always the picture of precision, he polished his spectacles and scanned his notes, hoping for an uneventful session.

But Banaras had other plans.

Onto the stage strode Aditi Prakash — sharp-tongued, fiercely independent, with a stack of rumpled notes and fire in her eyes. She’d been a last-minute replacement for a teammate who had fallen ill, but she carried herself as if she’d owned that podium for years.

The topic glared from the projector:
“Traditional family values: Unity or suffocation?”

Aditi gripped the mic, her voice steady as steel.

“Families who use tradition as a leash do not protect — they imprison,” she declared, her words slicing through the auditorium’s hush.

Alok shifted, bristling despite himself. He cleared his throat and, unable to resist, interjected,

“Or perhaps they protect from those who confuse rebellion with wisdom?”

A stunned silence followed. Aditi’s head snapped toward him, her eyes sharp as arrows.

“Spoken like someone hiding behind his family name instead of having a thought of his own,” she shot back, her tone calm but scathing.

Alok blinked, caught off guard — and secretly impressed. No one had ever dared to challenge him like that, and the thrill of it lingered long after she left the stage.

At the back, Jay and Rani traded whispered bets.

Jay smirked. “Ten bucks says Alok gets flustered before round two.”

Rani rolled her eyes. “Please. Ten says Aditi shuts him down in two sentences.”

When Aditi’s retort silenced the hall, Rani nudged him triumphantly.

“Pay up.”

Jay handed over a ten-rupee note, grinning. “Worth it.”

Veerja — The Great Bicycle Collision

Outside the fest venue, Veeru Gupta was deep in negotiation with a paanwala about the price of masala soda. His grin was wide, his charm working overtime.

Meanwhile, Jaya Prakash came flying down the narrow lane on her battered bicycle, her braid flapping behind her, late for her volunteering shift.

“Move!” she called out, pedaling harder.

“Eh? Move where —” Veeru turned just in time for the handlebar to clip his shoulder. Both went sprawling into a heap of limbs, spilled soda, and indignant yells.

“You—!” Veeru spluttered, trying to wipe soda off his kurta.

“You—!” Jaya snapped, brushing dust from her scraped elbow.

They glared at each other, breathless and furious, until the paanwala coughed behind them.

“Veerja moment already?” he muttered to his assistant.

“Veerja?” they both chorused in disbelief, before helping each other up — grumbling the entire time but both acutely aware that something about this banter just clicked.

From the chaat stall nearby, Jay winced as he saw the crash.

“Collateral damage, incoming.”

Rani snorted. “Should we help them?”

Jay shook his head. “Nah. Let them figure out their ‘Veerja’ destiny.”

Meerat — The Sacred Cow and the Unholy Argument

The Guptas’ and Prakashs’ homes were divided by a small orchard, claimed by both families but owned by neither. Beneath its ancient mango tree, Rajat Gupta and Meera Prakash faced off for the first time at age sixteen.

“I saw it first!” Rajat yelled, already halfway up the tree.

“You saw it — I reached it!” Meera countered, shimmying up the opposite side. “That’s how life works, soldier boy!”

They arrived at the branch together, neither willing to back down. Their scuffle sent the prized mango tumbling to the ground — where a passing cow munched it down with lazy satisfaction.

“You idiot!” Meera cried.

“Your fault!” Rajat barked back.

From that day, theirs became a rivalry for the ages. Whether it was bike races, golgappa competitions, or academic contests, they were always neck and neck — each determined to outdo the other.

Jay and Rani appeared from opposite sides of the lane, both newcomers to the orchard squabble. Jay had come looking for Rajat; Rani had been sent by Ganga to fetch Meera.

Jay stopped, watching the scene with amused disbelief.

Rani slowed, blinking at the chaos.

Jay quipped, “This orchard always like a wrestling ring, or is today special?”

Rani gave him a sideways look. “And you are...?”

He grinned, offering an informal salute. “Jay Bhardwaj. Rajat’s future defense lawyer, apparently.”

Rani folded her arms. “Rani Mishra. Meera’s damage control team.”

Their eyes locked for a moment — first meeting, first smirk — before the cow’s loud munch broke the spell.

Jay gestured at the cow. “And I guess that’s the judge.”

Rani laughed despite herself. “Looks like it already passed the verdict.”

Rajat and Meera glared at each other one last time, both fuming, as Jay and Rani exchanged a look that said: What did we just walk into?

The Last Festival Before the Wall Fell

The Banaras Spring Mela was the last festival the Prakash and Gupta families attended side by side, their civility hanging by a thread.

Aditi and Alok were roped into judging a rangoli contest, and their bickering was legendary.

“That’s not peacock blue — that’s turquoise!” Aditi fumed.

“Is this an art contest or a colour theory lecture?” Alok retorted.

Veeru tried (and failed) to cheat at the balloon-shooting stall, only to be dragged away by Jaya, who seized him by the ear.

“He was bribing the balloon guy to lower the targets!” she announced, marching him straight to Shiv.

And Meera? She challenged Rajat to a golgappa face-off.

“I hope you’re ready to lose!” she grinned.

“Bring it on, chudail,” he smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Jay manned a fake fortune-telling booth for fun, drawing a small crowd.

Rani approached, arms crossed. “Another scam?”

He grinned. “Madam, for you — free service.”

He mock-read her palm, lowering his voice dramatically. “Your fate… is forever tied to troublemakers.”

Rani smirked. “Then I should stay far away from you.”

Jay tipped his imaginary hat. “Too late.”

The fair was a tapestry of laughter, teasing, and unspoken promises.

And Then, the Silence

It wasn’t long after that day that Amba Prakash laid down her law — the infamous no-man’s-land policy. No more mingling. No more festivals together. No more orchard wars, rangoli debates, or shared laughter.

What remained were memories. And grudges that deepened in the quiet that followed.

Banaras remembered.

The city exhaled, satisfied. In one sun-drenched afternoon, it had planted the seeds of stories that neither family pride nor years of silence could truly bury.

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To be continued.