Bigg Boss 19: daily Discussion Thread- 1st Sept 2025.
Yeh Rishta Kya Kehlata Hai - 01 Sep 2025 EDT
Mannat Har Khushi Paane Ki: Episode Discussion Thread - 26
CASE IN COURT 31.8
UMAR KHAYID 1.9
Bacha chor is such an incompetent lawyer🤦♀️
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Mrunal Thakur Called Mean Girl
Yeh Rishta Kya Kehlata Hai Sept 2, 2025 Episode Discussion Thread
Author's Note: Okay people, garam bola, aur garam garam delivery diya. Aab aap sab ke bari! Please comment, I get a LOT of readers, but for some reason you guys are the shyest people on I-F! Kuch toh bol doh! (nahi nahi! UPDATE is not a comment!-- and if you res a spot, please come back to it ).
For us writers, the pleasure comes after we post, when you guys tell us your emotions, give us criticism, offer feedback, etc. That is why we work for hours writing our stories--for your pleasure--give some back to us, too! I hope you enjoy what you read below, and I hope you'll let me enjoy what you write, later on!
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TOMORROW: The Jallad. A term of such fear. A curse, a whispered taunt. It was now a word that had been uttered in a honey sweet voice for over a year, and it was now Rudra's favorite way of referring to himself. He did not even know exactly when the shame and disgust underlining the term's meaning had changed for him. The word, re- born in love's chrysalis, had become the mischievous nickname his beautiful, innocent wife used to call him to her side.
He would stop, panting, pretending to be winded. He, a man trained by the Indian Army in the harshest of terrains would wheeze as dramatically as his father Dilsher ever did. Rudra would wait, trap laid, for the suddenly worried innocent in front of him to return, to make his hunting easy. Paro, inevitably, would turn and dash back to within arm's reach, her soft voice trembling with concern, asking if he was alright, if he needed water. And then...like a snake, he'd strike, his trained reflexes unfair advantages against bright butterflies. He would grab the soft shoulders, and the hunter would get his prey.
"Choriye mennu, Rudra chor dijye..kitna bara Jallad hai aap! Kya karr rahe hai! Dopahar hui! Sub ghar pei hai! Kitni besharam hai aap! Bilkul Jallad hai, sach mei! Choriye na!
(Eng: "Let me go! Rudra, let me go right now! You are such a Jallad--what are you doing? Its afternoon! Everyone is at home! You are so shameless! you are really a Jallad, truly you are! Come on...let me go!)"
Paro would wail, as she'd get tossed over her husband's distractingly broad shoulders and leisurely carried off to his den. She, never one to give up, would still be teasingly calling him Jallad again and again, laughter and desire turning her voice into smoky silk.
He would undress her, eyes intent, kissing the tender column of her throat as she blushed, even after a year of this, nestled into his arms. Slender white fingers would teasingly try to stop him, hazel eyes would hide from the gaze that seared, as Rudra would murmur-"Jallad hu na, mere se kuch chupa nahi sakhti tu...I am a Jallad, right, so you can't hide from me, I wont let you.." and Paro would laugh, softly. And when he would lay her down in the afternoon light, naked, luminous as a freshwater pearl... her Jallad would take her to the stars in the bright light of day. And, after a long while, languorously, Paro would whisper "Jallad!" into his ear, after she'd screamed out in passion and rested, satiated and breathless, in his arms.
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Parvati Ranawat had lived her life until the age of 19 within a very small circle of dreams. The dreams she had, of a small home to call her own, children to run after, a husband to cherish and who would care for her, perhaps even a small community of a village to belong to. All these dreams had been wrenched out of her life in one blood soaked 20 minute encounter on a desert battlefield. In their place, in the place of such small dreams had come reality of much bigger proportions. Having faced the loss, not just of her future, but also the complete obliteration of her past, the Parvati who entered her 20th year inside a holding cell as a prisoner of war had been too frightened to dream again.
She had not even wanted to dream of freedom, or long for the courage to die. She had just---survived. One mouthful of roti at a time, one breath, one ray of sunlight at a time, Parvati had crawled her way back into existence. She had lost her village, her home, her happy innocence. But in return, she had received the truth. The truth of the horrors that had been perpetrated for 20 years, under the Thakur's reign of terror. The truth of the guns, the ammunition, the lives that had been lost throughout India because of one small village's blind faith and misplaced devotion to a Ravaan.
The truth was ugly, flawed, cutting and dark. But it was still wholesome and honest. Having faced all that Paro had finally allowed the Jallad with the monstrous presence and the tender eyes to guide her out of survival, and into active resistance. And trusting, finally, in Bholenath to guide the small raft upon which her Fate rested, Parvati had given in to her BSD protectors, and aided them in the battle for the truth.
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Now the Jallad was her truth. As the afternoon light deepened to marigold and saffron, Parvati, the first to wake up from passion induced sleep, lay in her bed, looking at the dark, harsh-featured man nestled against her. She had been dreaming of the old days, she realized---memories of the past were fresh in her mind, as she regarded her present with grave, thoughtful eyes. The white sheet, the very one she had so carefully spread fresh and new onto Rudra's bed this morning tangled around them both.
Paro turned within Rudra's arms, his face now inches away from her own. Almost timidly, Paro wriggled a hand out of under her sleeping husband, and touched a butterfly caress down his strong, bold, blade of a nose. So arrogant, she thought--breeding in every line, harsh beauty that could only be the product of generations of masculine strength. She had never wanted a man who made every eye turn in his direction, a creature of raw power who was also (she could admit privately to herself) absolutely gorgeous. It made her shy, to trail behind such a man, to always be stared at because no one could stop looking at HIM.
Bholenath knew she had wanted a gentle soul, a simple man--pleasant, unobtrusive. And instead, he had tied her life's line to a ferocious, overpowering, handsome military commander.
The Ranawat men were apparently renowned for marrying beauties--and clearly her husband's mother must have been such a one. From Dilsher, Rudra had his strongly angled, harsh cheekbones, the broad brow and that nose. But his mother's eyes refined those features, turning what could have been just ordinary attributes into stark male beauty. Long lashes, curling, almost feminine, shielded the hooded eyes that had burnt a trail of passionate fire down her body just an hour ago. Paro, fascinated, touched a fingertip to trace the slashing eyebrows, trailing them across his face. Rudra slept on. Some men looked gentle, non-threatening when they slept, Paro thought, as she trailed her hands across the scarred shoulders, touching each twist of skin and hard plane of muscle, memorizing them. But her Jallad did not. Even now, resting in her arms, he looked like what he was--a warrior.
This had never been her dream for herself---a man who cared was what she had wanted. Instead, Bholenath had laughed at her timid desires, and given her a man who consumed, instead. Who watched her every move with eyes that rarely deviated from her face, who cancelled out all other thoughts in her head, at any time, with one touch, one look.
Paro had wanted care, companionship in her husband. Someone who let her be herself, gentle, non-threatening. Instead, she had been given passion, the other half of her soul. The Jallad who had stolen her from Death itself, who now guarded her like a hound of hell---and who's passion for her was wild, ravaging, and yet addictive, beyond any opium's dream. Honest in his fire, completely demanding in his desires, he had forced her to look within herself, to want him as much as he wanted her. She could melt against him in seconds, lose her mind within a minute of his caress.
Such desire was not anything she had even known existed, when she had dreamed. But it was in the Jallad's arms that she had crossed the threshold from innocence into womanhood. The Jallad. Who introduced her to the kind of searing passion that left her aching, breathless, crying actual tears of fulfillment, and who's love was as encompassing, fierce and endless as the desert winds and sands outside his home.
*********************************************
Touching her husband with the right that the slender black beads around her neck conferred, Paro remembered the dreams she had once had, of a small home, a simple family. And again, Bholenath and blessed her with far more than what his humble devotee deserved. The mistress of the Ranawat Haveli, the ancestral home of the Ranawats --Rajput aristocracy, wealth, fame, were all tied to her now. The missing mother-in-law, the one no one spoke off not-withstanding, Parvati still had a family here. Dilsher, sarcastic and undemonstrative, who hobbled behind her and sat near her wherever she went, giving her companionship, tousling her hair, telling her tall-stories and licking his lips like a small greedy boy over her cooking. Such love was something she had never imagined, much less hoped for, from her father-in-law.
The Haveli, so much a part of Chandigarth, where Parvati was liked, where she could go and feel respect and admiration that came, not from Rudra's rank, but due to her own nature. Her uncle in law and the cousins that Rudra barely acknowledged, but who visited often. And finally, the BSD--Aman bhaiya, The General, the BSD unit of men all of whom served with her husband, protected both him and her, and who had become her community too. Nothing close to her dreams. Now so much more, and beyond her imagination. All from the Jallad. All from him, the Jallad who Bolenath had sent--her protector, made in his image. Rudra.
**************************************************
Paro stretched her arms above head, wincing a little from the pins and needles. She had fallen asleep in Rudra's arms, and he had held her to himself with as fierce a grip in slumber as he did when he was conscious. His hands, long fingered, graceful, oddly artistic hands for a trained killer to have were still easily twice the size of her own. When he slept, he had a habit of holding her wrists captive, as if even now, a year later, he was afraid of losing his prize. She blushed at the marks his lips, and that stubble, had traced across her body. A long sleeved choli, with a very high back and a very proper, discreet neckline would have to be her outfit for at least a week.
Her neck burnt from his nipping bites. He had been really impatient this afternoon ---she liked it when he shaved, but he had been on a mission for weeks, during which she had pined for him until she was burning for his body as much as he apparently had burnt for hers. So, this afternoon when he had come home, she had not cared about the marks his stubble would leave on her. She had instead moaned encouragement as he licked and sucked her skin, molding her aching breasts to his hands, kissing and nipping his way to the doris behind her choli. Now that choli lay, torn and useless, on the floor.
She had been as desperate as him, tearing at his shirt too, his harsh laugh of triumph spurring her into passionately kissing his lips and stilling that laughter. She had nibbled at his mouth, sinking her small teeth into his shoulders, demanding his immediate compliance. And she had gotten it, as he had held her to himself, his fingers inside her core, stroking and coaxing her body into falling apart into ribbons of fire. She had fallen apart, almost at his first rough touch. But she wanted him still, deep inside her, his weight on her, his scent and hardness everywhere. Paro had been shameless as she had held his hands in her own, guiding his palms up the smooth length of her legs. Passion. This was what that word meant. Heated, consuming, a dazzle of desire in the eyes, diamond hard moments of restlessness until the start of that dance-- then conversely, a peace as thrusting body met body and reached for the stars.
Burning and consuming, on fire, and fire, both. Paro had screamed, cried out, clawed at his back, spurring on her Jallad, and finally, had felt that perfect moment of release, and fulfillment. He had collapsed, breathing her name. And, instantly, Paro had slept.
**********************************************
But now those little red marks did sting, a little. Paro rubbed at her arms, and slid away on the bed. Rudra grumbled in protest, his arms reaching for her even as he slept to trap Paro to himself. Swept closer to that column of heat, Paro allowed herself to be brought closer to the chest that had stood between her and danger countless times. Her head nestled against his heartbeat, thudding, steady, and dreamily listening to that slow, steady beat, Paro had a sudden thought. Rudra was fast asleep---and something Dilsher had teasingly told her this morning came to her mind now.
"Paro..." she whispered to her sleeping husband, saying her own name out loud to him. The thumping inside the broad chest underneath her cheek increased. Startled, Paro looked into Rudra's face. Still asleep. "Paro.." she said again and instantly, the heartbeat she was listening to sped up, the slow thumping of slumber increasing to the faster, pounding beat of passion.
"Pukar le tu... Phone kiss kaam ka?? Naam pukar, aur chala ayaga...teri liye baajti hai na, teri Jallad ka dil ke dharkan..."
(Eng: "Call for him, whats the point of using a phone? Call out your name, and he will come to you..his heart beats to your name, you know--your Jallad's heart beats only for you...")
Dilsher had said, when Paro, pouting over how late her husband was, complained to her father-in-law that Rudra was back from the mission, but not home yet. She had asked Dilsher to call up his wayward son.
"Chahta kya, teri woh Jallad ko? Naam pukar---teri khudki, uski nahi!! (Do you want your Jallad, this badly? I'm telling you--- call out the name--your own, not his!" Dilsher had said, jokingly. Paro had blushed and turned away from the teasing, and in any case, Rudra had walked in just then. But Dilsher, accepting tea from his adored bahu-rani, later had whispered "Teri naam se uski dil ki dharkan baajti hai, bol diya!--pukar kar dekhti--chatt se aa jata woh!" ( "Your name is what he would have responded to--you should have tried it out, he would have shown up in an instant!")
"Paro!" she said again, softer this time, tears in her heart, joy in her soul. And, sure enough, Rudra's heart answered the sound of the only name engraved upon it, and beat, faster, to her call.
*****************************************
A wave of incredible tenderness engulfed Paro as she suddenly wrapped her arms around her sleeping warrior, and hugged him as fiercely as her slender limbs would allow. Instantly, the unaccustomed pressure woke Rudra, and within seconds she was beneath his hard body, protected as he looked around her. Hooded eyes, alert, now frantically tried to spot the danger that had triggered her strange actions. Observing nothing but the lazily waving curtains, the silent, bright room and the murmur of the Reth wind outside, Rudra, quizzically, looked down at his bride.
"Kuch hua kya? Soi thi!! Tune kyu utaha diya?"(Whats the matter? I was asleep! Why did you wake me up?") He didn't move from her body, her wrists, as always trapped by her head, held in his grip. His eyes examined his Paro. Her hair fanned around her face, a few locks draping over her naked shoulders. The dark waves were fragranced like Paro--sandalwood and myrrh. The sheet had covered her lush curves, but he was, after all, on top of her, and he could feel every soft give and silken hollow, plump hill and valley of the girl underneath him. His eyes darkened in awakening passion, but Rudra nevertheless waited for his wife to tell him what had startled her so. Paro looked into his eyes, an unreadable expression in her own.
"Kya?" He asked again, a little self consciously. She was staring at him quite oddly. Was it his weight? She was after all buried underneath him, and he was four times as heavy as she was. He sat up slowly, carefully edging a pillow behind Paro's shoulders as she scooted to the head of the bed, the sheet held as a flimsy barrier between them. She still stared at him silently, as she absently rubbed at the red marks on her arms and neck.
"Teri kya haal bana diya! Sorry! Paro, yaha aja, mein dekhti hu! Dard hoga, naa? Paro, sorry, mein sach mein Jallad hu, tujhe zakhm diya, control nahi kaar paya khud ko...tujhe bohot dard hoga, naa?? Maaf kar de, Paro.. teri yeh Jallad ko.." The red marks seemed to explain Paro's silence. Rudra, very penitent, now drew Paro closer, trying to rub and to soothe the small bruises flecking his tender, beautiful wife's creamy skin.
(Eng:"Look at what I've done to you! Sorry! Paro, come here to me, let me see those marks! It must hurt you a lot right? Paro, I am so sorry, I truly am a Jallad, I bruised you, I couldn't control myself---it must be really hurting you ?? Forgive me, Paro, I am so sorry...")
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A soft finger was pressed against his lips, as Paro threw herself into his arms. Rudra, astonished, held her to himself, softly stroking her glossy hair as he was hugged with as much strength as his tiny wife could muster. She kissed him wherever she could reach, now on his nose, lips, hands, now against the bruise on his shoulder, where she had bitten him not too long ago. Startled, he frowned at her, and was kissed on his forehead too. It was all really odd--men were truly clueless when it came to women, beautiful or otherwise. Rudra could hear Paro talk to herself, bubbling with happiness, laughing and crying, shaking with an emotion he could not follow. Dimly, he understood that she was happy, but it was going to be one of those strange things she would not explain.
He knew, by now, that these things happened. Rudra held his peace, as, from all the words of love and adoration his quiet, calm wife poured into his ears, talking about Bholenath, and dreams, havelis and houses, only the final statement came clearly:
"Hah. Sach mein. Bholenath jaante tha, aur phir bhi bhej diya ek Jallad ko, meri pass. Jallad hu tum. Yeh baath sach hai. Lekin meri Jallad ho. Bholenath khud tumhe de diya, meri kismat pe. Meri. Jallad. Jallad. Jallad. Lekin meri. Bholenath ke lakhon abhar--woh hi bhej diya--ek Jallad ko, meri paas."
(Eng: "Yes. Its true. Bholenath did all this knowing very well that you are a Jallad, and still he sent you to me. You are a Jallad, this is true. But you are mine. Bholenath, he gave you to me, himself, gave you to me as my fate. My Jallad. Jallad.A Jallad, yes, but mine. To Bholenath I offer a million thanks, a million prayers, because he knew everything, saw everything, and then sent my Jallad, straight to me.")
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