Gupta Brothers: Chaar Kunware from Ganga Kinare - Page 3

After all the wars, things are a little too quiet. How long will the silence remain?

Chapter 5 (When Banaras Decides the Heart)

Banaras had a way of deciding love stories long before the hearts involved even realised they were part of one.
It wasn’t the couples who started it — it was the chai vendors, the temple priests, the flower sellers, the paan shop boys. They whispered, smirked, and scribbled predictions into the city’s gossip before anyone had a chance to object.

At Gupta Nivas — The Spark of Meerat

Jay lounged on the veranda, one leg propped up on the low wall, sipping his lassi like a king surveying his chaotic kingdom.
Rajat sat nearby, folding his uniform with the precision of a man determined to ignore the circus around him.

Jay’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“So, Meerat, huh? You and Meera Prakash — fighting like married politicians already. When’s the shaadi, Rajat?”

Rajat groaned, pointedly avoiding eye contact.
“Stop inventing nonsense, Jay.”

Jay leaned forward, wagging his finger dramatically.
“Too late, mere bhai. Banaras has already shipped you two. Meerat is trending from ghat to gali. Even my chaiwala said, ‘Woh army wala aur Prakash kudi — kya jodi hai!’”

Rajat shot him a glare that could curdle milk, but Jay only laughed harder.

At Kalpana NGO — Whispers of Shiga

Across town, in the quiet courtyard of Kalpana NGO, Shiv bent down to secure a tent rope that was flapping wildly in the breeze.
Ganga, passing by with a stack of files, paused without thinking and helped hold it steady.

Their fingers brushed — nothing more, nothing less — but enough for two young trainees to start whispering behind their dupattas.

One nudged the other, eyes wide.
“Did you see that? Shiv sir helping Ganga ma’am? Shiga moment! Just like in a serial!”

The other giggled.
“I swear, if they don’t get married, it’ll be a national loss.”

Ganga heard the murmur, straightened, and sighed. Beneath that sigh, there was something softer — something she wasn’t ready to name.

At the Market — Veerja’s Comedy of Errors

Veeru Gupta was causing minor destruction at the vegetable market. He and Jaya Prakash were deep in one of their famous bickering sessions — this time about whether to bargain for ginger or garlic first.

In his enthusiasm, Veeru knocked over a vendor’s cart, sending tomatoes rolling like marbles across the street.

Rani arrived just in time, catching the cart before it fully toppled. She planted herself between them, hands on her hips.

“Veerja, could you both stop creating natural disasters wherever you go?”

Jaya flushed, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“Veerja? Are you mad? I’ll sue you for emotional damage, Rani.”

Veeru, beaming like he’d won a medal, added,

“Dekha? Even destiny pairs us, Jaya. Banaras ki public toh samajh gayi — ab aap bhi maan lijiye!”

Jaya grabbed a tomato, threatening to hurl it at him — but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

Jay entered mid-chaos, spotting Rani’s exasperation and Veeru’s glee.

“Ah, my favourite sitcom. And look — Rani ji’s already saving the day.”

Rani rolled her eyes, but a smile betrayed her annoyance.

“You always arrive after the mess is made.”

Jay winked. “I prefer to think of it as perfect timing.”

Aditi’s Balcony — The Alditi Murmurs

Later that afternoon, Aditi Prakash stood on her balcony, trying to review files, when she overheard two teenage cousins passing by below.

“I heard Alditi’s silent romance started at that old college debate,” one whispered, eyes full of drama.
“Arre haan,” the other added, “Aalok sir aur Aditi di — the best match! They’d balance each other like ledger books. Solid and dependable.”

Aditi closed her eyes, half exasperated, half amused.
“Ledger books?” she muttered. “This city has no sense of poetry.”

The Graffiti of Love

And Banaras didn’t stop at whispers.

Somewhere near Assi Ghat, an auto-rickshaw appeared bearing fresh paint:

“SHIGA forever”
“#MeeratWar or #MeeratWedding?”
“Veerja = Fireworks!”
“Alditi: The Silent Love Story”

“JayRa — Unexpected, Undeniable?

Jay spotted the auto later that evening, bursting into laughter as he pointed it out.
“I told you, Rajat. Even the autos ship you!”

Rajat shook his head, though a reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
“This city’s mad,” he muttered.

Jay, nudging Rani as they crossed paths at the same moment, teased,

“Looks like Banaras has plans for us too, JayRa.”

Rani snorted. “In their dreams.”

But she smiled, and Jay caught it.

But Banaras had spoken.
It didn’t matter if hearts denied, if mouths protested, or if families feuded.
The city had chosen its couples — and it was waiting, watching, and writing their love stories into the breeze, onto walls, in shop chatter, and in its ancient, unbreakable memory.

Return to the Present

And as Banaras breathed beneath the weight of its own legends, the present waited — where eyes would meet again, words would wound again, and hearts would be tested in ways no gossip or graffiti could predict.

Gupta Nivas — Rajat’s Restless Night

The house was quiet, save for the soft tick of the old wall clock and the rustle of neem leaves beyond the veranda. Rajat sat alone on the charpoy, his uniform folded beside him, his eyes fixed on nothing and everything.

Break her heart, Rajat. Before she breaks ours.

His own words echoed in his mind, words he’d told himself in the heat of loyalty, of fear for his brother’s fragile health, of pride. But now, in the stillness of night, the resolve felt like sand slipping through his fists.

He remembered Meera’s face — fierce, unyielding, and yet, behind the fire, that fleeting softness. The way she’d looked at him that day, not as an enemy, but as if trying to solve a puzzle.

She’s not the villain you want her to be, something whispered inside him.

He closed his eyes and exhaled, the weight of the promise he’d made to himself pressing heavy on his chest.

Prakash Haveli — Meera’s Quiet Battle

Across the river, Meera leaned on the balcony railing, the moonlight painting her hair in silver strands. The orchard, the river, the city beyond — all seemed to hold their breath with her.

You’re the only one I trust, Meera.
Break him before he brings us down.

Amma’s voice, sharp as ever, rang in her ears. But Meera’s heart rebelled in silence. She’d set out determined to follow that path, to bring Rajat Gupta to his knees. Yet each time their eyes met, the plan felt hollow. Each time he listened instead of fighting back, the edges of her resolve softened.

He’s just a man. A man who carries more than his share of burdens, she thought bitterly. Why do I feel like I’m the one falling into a trap instead?

She gripped the railing tighter, as if the cold iron could anchor her.

Banaras, Some Years Ago — Alok and Aditi’s Unwritten Symphony

It had started at the community charity fundraiser. Alok Gupta, immaculate as always, had been supervising the accounts, tallying donations, refusing to let a single paisa go unrecorded.

“Do you always count money like it’s poetry?” Aditi had teased, stepping in to collect her group’s funds for the classical dance recital. Her ghungroos chimed softly with each graceful step.

Alok, never one for unnecessary words, had looked up, his brow raised.
“And do you always leave budgets to chance, Miss Prakash?”

Their banter had become a pattern. She mocked his endless ledgers, he questioned her impractical dreams. But behind every clash, there grew an unspoken respect — for her discipline beneath the grace, for his integrity beneath the numbers.

The night of the annual temple festival, she’d danced barefoot on the stone stage, the river breeze carrying the scent of marigolds. Alok, meant to be counting receipts, had found himself unable to look away — the way her movements wove devotion and defiance together, the way she seemed to command the very air.

And when the performance ended, she’d turned — and found him standing there, still holding his ledger, but lost somewhere in the music she’d left behind.

Neither spoke. Neither needed to.

Present — Banaras Sleeps, But Hearts Stir

The city quieted, but its children did not.

Rajat paced in the courtyard, the mission he'd given himself now a cage he could barely bear.
Meera lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling, willing her heart to harden, and cursing it when it wouldn’t.

Alok, at his desk, absentmindedly turned the pages of an old account book — and beneath it, folded carefully, was a faded program leaflet from that festival night.

And Aditi? She stood on her balcony once again, eyes on the river, the dance she hadn’t performed in years playing only in her mind.

Banaras kept watch. The city knew: the real war had always been within.

------

To be continued.

Chapter 6 (The Accidental Truce)

Meera and Rajat

It was a morning like any other — the city humming softly, the Ganga reflecting the pale gold of dawn. Rajat had taken his motorcycle out for a rare solitary ride, hoping the wind would clear his head.

But Banaras, as always, had other plans.

At a narrow crossing, just beyond the orchard that divided the Guptas and Prakashs, he braked hard as another bike swerved in front of him — Meera’s Bullet. She skidded to a stop, helmet tucked under one arm, eyes wide in surprise.

For a moment they just stared, caught in that space between reflex and recognition.

Meera broke it first, voice sharp but lacking its usual venom.
“Following me now, soldier boy?”

Rajat smirked, but the tiredness behind it showed.
“If I were, you wouldn’t have spotted me first.”

She should have snapped back. She wanted to. But something in his gaze — steady, quiet, almost... lost — disarmed her.

The silence stretched. Finally, she nodded at the mango tree that had witnessed their first battle years ago.
“Still arguing over imaginary property?”

Rajat glanced at the tree, then back at her.
“Some fights are habit more than hatred.”

The honesty surprised them both. Before either could say more, the temple bells rang — a reminder that even in Banaras, moments pass too quickly.

She kicked up her stand, ready to leave.
“Careful, Rajat Gupta. You’re starting to sound human.”

“And you, Meera Prakash, are starting to listen,” he said, quieter than she expected.

Their bikes rumbled to life, but the space between them felt... smaller.

Rajat’s Flashback — The Weight of Shiv’s Silence

The engine’s hum faded behind him, but Rajat’s mind stayed restless. That look in Meera’s eyes — not fire, not scorn, but something dangerously close to understanding — rattled him more than any insult could.

As the wind tangled his hair, memory claimed him.

He was a boy again, standing in the courtyard of Gupta Nivas, watching Shiv Bhaiya roll up his sleeves to fix a broken tap, to patch a torn kurta, to cook a meal when the world said men shouldn’t.

No mother’s hand had wiped his tears. No woman had braided his hair before school. Only Shiv — father, mother, brother — all in one, silent and unshakable.

We built this house without leaning on anyone. Without needing them.

Rajat tightened his grip on the handlebars. And I will not be the one who lets her tear that down.

His heart whispered doubt. His mind crushed it beneath duty.

Meera’s Flashback — The Shadow of Amba’s Strength

Meera rode fast, as if speed could outrun confusion. But no distance could silence the voice in her head — the one that softened when she saw Rajat today.

She forced herself to remember.

Amba.

The woman who had stood, sari starched, chin high, as whispers of betrayal filled their courtyard. The day her husband walked away for another woman, Amba hadn’t wept. She had locked the gates of Prakash Haveli, not just against men, but against weakness.

No man will rule my daughters. No man will ruin them.

Meera remembered watching, wide-eyed, as Amba taught Ganga to read accounts, taught her daughters to wield words sharper than knives. No begging. No bending.

And I will not be the one who lets him break what Amma built.

The flicker of tenderness she’d felt that morning hardened back to resolve.

Two Promises, One War

Rajat parked his bike, jaw clenched, heart heavier than when he’d started.
This ends before it begins. I will break her heart — for Shiv Bhaiya. For our home.

Meera stood at the haveli gate, fists at her sides, the city’s breeze tugging at her dupatta.
This ends before it begins. I will break his heart — for Amma. For our strength.

Banaras, as always, watched in silence.
The accidental truce had lasted only a breath. The war had found its footing once more.

A Meeting of Ledgers and Grace — Alok and Aditi

Years ago, at a charity committee meeting at the community centre, Alok Gupta sat surrounded by papers, his ledger balanced on his knee.

He didn’t notice her at first — not until the quiet jingle of ghungroos announced her arrival. Aditi, dressed simply in a cotton kurta, a folder of plans under one arm, took the chair opposite him.

Their eyes met across the table. No one else in the room seemed to matter.

Alok cleared his throat, gaze dropping to his notes.
“Still funding impossible projects, Miss Prakash?”

Aditi arched an eyebrow, settling into her chair.
“Still measuring dreams in decimals, Mr Gupta?”

The committee members, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the polite words, continued their chatter about budgets and schedules.

But beneath the banter, something softer stirred — the memory of moonlit nights, of music and numbers tangled in ways neither had expected.

It had started long before.

He had seen her first at the temple festival, the night she’d danced with the Ganga breeze for music. He’d meant to tally donations, but found himself counting her steps instead, lost in the rhythm she wove with her hands and feet.

She’d mocked his seriousness, his ledgers, his endless accounts — but beneath it, she’d respected the discipline he carried like second skin.

And slowly, between arguments about funds and permissions, between chance meetings at events and stolen glances at rangoli competitions, the scorn turned to challenge, and the challenge turned to quiet admiration.

That day, as the meeting ended, papers shuffled, voices faded — and for a fleeting moment, their hands brushed across the table, reaching for the same ledger.

Neither pulled back immediately. The room emptied, but the weight of that touch lingered.

Present — Alditi’s Silent War

Now, standing apart in the same community courtyard, Alok and Aditi exchanged nothing more than a nod.

Family first, Alok reminded himself. Always.

I can’t betray Amma, Aditi thought, folding her arms tight.

Their hearts knew what they wanted. Their minds knew what they must choose. And so they stood, side by side in duty, miles apart in longing.

Shiv and Ganga — The Quiet Pull

Shiv stood near the temple steps, watching the preparations for the coming festival. His gaze, meant for the decorations, kept straying toward Ganga — supervising volunteers with calm efficiency, her dupatta pinned precisely, her hair neatly tied, but her eyes soft when no one noticed.

Once, their eyes met — only for a moment. She looked away first, but not before Shiv felt the strange pull again.

Fool, he told himself. There’s no space for this. Not now.

But the pull remained, stubborn as Banaras itself.

Veerja — Chaos in the Market

Meanwhile, the spice market echoed with shouts.

Veeru and Jaya had once again turned a simple errand into theatre.

“You can’t bargain for turmeric like it’s property!” Jaya scolded, hands on hips.

“And you can’t buy coriander without checking its soul, Jaya ji!” Veeru shot back, arms flailing dramatically.

A shopkeeper smirked at his assistant.
“Veerja ki nayi episode chal rahi hai.”

Rani arrived just in time to grab both by the ears.
“Do either of you know we’re meant to buy things, not dismantle stalls?”

They glared at each other — but the smiles that broke through ruined the show.

Two Promises, One War

That night, as Banaras glowed beneath a thousand diyas, its children made silent vows.

Rajat sat in the courtyard, polishing his boots like armour.
I will break her heart. For Bhaiya. For our family.

Meera stood at her balcony, the wind carrying her mother’s words back to her.
I will break his heart. For Amma. For our strength.

Alok reviewed ledgers with mechanical precision, but his fingers traced the edge of a faded temple festival program.
It doesn’t matter what I want. Family first.

Aditi packed dance props for an upcoming event, but paused when her hand found an old anklet — the one that had slipped during that first festival.
There’s no room for us.

Shiv stood at the window, watching Ganga leave the temple grounds. The pull remained. The heart whispered. But duty spoke louder.

And Banaras kept watch, knowing that love and war often walk the same winding path.

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To be continued.

Chapter 7 (When Banaras Plays Cupid)

Banaras had decided it was done watching silently. Now, it would nudge, push, and tumble its reluctant lovers into each other’s path — with all the grace of a buffalo in a ghat lane.

The Festival of Kites — Where Strings Tangle and Hearts Follow

The annual kite festival had turned the city into a riot of color. The sky was a patchwork of paper birds, and the rooftops echoed with battle cries of “Woh kaata!” and “Ab dekh main kya karta hoon!”

On the Gupta rooftop, Rajat tightened the string on his fighter kite, jaw set, determined to think only of victory.

On the Prakash rooftop, Meera did the same, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the familiar black-and-gold kite that could only belong to him.

And then — inevitability. The two kites tangled mid-air, dipping and circling in a chaotic dance neither pilot could control.

“Let go!” Rajat shouted across the rooftops, fists clenched on his string.

“You let go, soldier boy!” Meera yelled back, hair flying, face flushed.

Their families watched from the sidelines — Shiv rubbing his temples, Amba muttering a prayer for patience, Veeru and Jaya placing secret bets.

The crowd below had noticed too.
“Meerat match ho raha hai! Dekho, unka pyaar ki tarah, kabhi alag nahi hote!”

Rajat groaned. Meera nearly snapped her string just to shut them up — but neither could quite do it.

Veerja: The Great Gola Sabotage

Meanwhile, Veeru had a plan. A brilliant, foolproof plan to outshine Jaya at the festival gola stall.

“Ek gola challenge?” he smirked, already bribing the vendor to add extra masala to Jaya’s ice.

But Jaya was not born yesterday. She’d seen that glint in his eye and whispered to the vendor first — “Bhaiya, extra salt daalna iske mein.”

The result? Two spluttering, coughing messes, red-faced and hiccupping as the stall vendor handed them both free water, shaking his head.

Rani watched, hands on hips.
“Two children. Over ice.”

Veeru grinned mid-cough.
“See? We’re meant to suffer together, Jaya ji!”

Jaya aimed a melting gola at his head.

Alditi — The Dance and the Math

On the main stage, a mix-up in the festival program left Aditi and Alok announcing winners together.

Aditi, in her graceful dancer’s posture, tried to smile as Alok corrected prize amounts mid-announcement.

“Winner of rangoli — gets ₹1,500!” she said.

“Actually ₹1,485. After tax,” Alok added, soft, almost teasing.

The crowd roared with laughter, but the moment felt like theirs alone.

Afterwards, as they stood at the edge of the stage, Aditi shook her head, half amused, half exasperated.
“You and your numbers,” she said quietly, her voice softer than her words.

Alok glanced at her, his gaze lingering just a second too long.
“And you and your dreams,” he replied, low enough that only she could hear.

Their fingers brushed as they reached for the same prize list. Neither pulled away — not immediately.

In that brush of skin, the world fell away for a heartbeat. But duty, always louder than desire, tugged them back.

Shiv and Ganga — The Lantern Moment

As night fell, paper lanterns began to rise, golden against the velvet sky.

Shiv lit one for the Gupta family, his hand steady, his heart not so much.

Beside him, Ganga struggled with hers, the flame flickering dangerously close to the paper.

Without thinking, Shiv reached out, steadying it with gentle fingers. Their hands met over the fragile lantern, eyes locking in the soft glow.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Careful,” he said quietly. “You almost let it burn.”

And they both knew he wasn’t talking about the lantern.

Banaras Delivers Its Verdict

The festival ended in laughter, spilled syrup, tangled kites, and whispered bets.

The city’s graffiti gained new additions the next morning:

“#MeeratKiteCouple”
“Veerja Gola Legends”
“Alditi: Love + Tax = Forever”
“ShivGanga — One Lantern, One Heart”

And Banaras slept, satisfied — its work, for today, was done.

When the Laughter Fades

Banaras slept, its streets empty of festival crowds, its sky bare of kites. But in homes across the city, the hearts that had laughed and sparred that day lay wide awake — tangled in threads they couldn’t cut, no matter how they tried.

Rajat — The Weight of a Smile

Rajat sat on the veranda, boots unlaced, staring at the scuffs on his kite-fighting hands.

He hadn’t meant to laugh when Meera’s kite tangled with his. Hadn’t meant to smile at her fury, her flushed cheeks, the stubborn tilt of her chin.

You were supposed to break her heart, not fall into it, he thought bitterly.

And yet, there it was — the memory of her voice, her defiance, the spark that made him forget everything else.

He rubbed his face hard, as if trying to scrub the weakness away.
Tomorrow, Rajat. Tomorrow you’ll remember your promise.

Meera — The Echo of His Gaze

On the Prakash balcony, Meera leaned against a pillar, arms crossed tight.

The city had teased them mercilessly that day — Meerat, the crowd had called them. And the worst part? For a breath, she’d let herself enjoy it.

She’d seen the way Rajat had looked at her when their kites tangled — not with scorn, but with a strange, quiet wonder that had undone her more than any insult could.

Amma trusted you. Amma believed in your strength. Don’t fail her, she told herself, nails digging into her palms.

But the crack had begun. And Meera feared it was too deep to mend.

Alok — The Brush of Her Hand

Alok stood at his desk, ledger open, eyes unfocused. His fingers traced the margin where a tiny smudge of gulaal pink remained — a reminder of the prize list he’d shared with Aditi.

That fleeting brush of her hand had burned more than any festival flame.

Family first, he reminded himself, but the words tasted hollow tonight.

Aditi — The Space He Left Behind

Aditi sat cross-legged on her room’s cool floor, the anklet she’d worn that day lying in her lap.

She’d felt his presence beside her at the prize table, steady, familiar, impossible. And when their fingers had touched — that brief moment had said what words never could.

She stared at the anklet, as if it held answers.

There’s no space for this, she whispered. But her heart argued back.

Jaya — Dreams She Doesn’t Dare Speak

Jaya lay on her cot, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day’s moments.

How Alok’s calm voice had sounded over the festival microphone, how his slight smile had reached his eyes as he handed out prizes.

She didn’t think of it as love — not yet. Just admiration, a wish she didn’t dare name.

And as always, fate had tangled her day with Veeru’s chaos instead.

Why does he keep crossing my path? she thought, half-laughing, half-annoyed.

But even as she drifted to sleep, her last thought was of Alok.

Veeru — Blissfully Unaware (Mostly)

Veeru flopped onto his charpoy, arms behind his head, replaying the gola fiasco with a grin.

“Veerja — fireworks!” the crowd had called them.

He didn’t know what fate was up to, pairing him with Jaya over and over, but he couldn’t deny one thing: every fight with her made his day brighter.

Shiv and Ganga — The Quiet Lantern

Shiv stood by the window of Gupta Nivas, watching the last of the lanterns rise into the night sky.

Across the street, Ganga was locking up Kalpana’s gate, the glow of the diyas softening the lines of her face.

She paused, sensing the weight of his gaze, and for a fleeting second their eyes met across the distance — two steady souls, drawn to the same quiet.

Shiv looked away first this time, his heart too full of questions he wasn’t ready to ask.

Let it go, Shiv, he told himself. But the pull remained, warm as the lantern’s light.

Banaras Watches

The city lay quiet now, but its work was far from over.

In the laughter of the day, the walls of duty had cracked. In the silence of the night, those cracks deepened.

Banaras waited. Because in its lanes, no promise of war can stop the march of love forever.

------

To be continued.

The city and people in it have decreed the four love stories. How can they escape now?

Their hearts are conflicted between loyalty to family and the emotions tugging at them.

This city doesn't just watch. This one gets into the action. It will pull these people along for a ride.