SARAYU – Episode 1: The Deal
Arjun was driving his car with his wife, Anitha, and their five-year-old son, Suhas, heading to Vikarabad to spend the weekend together.
As songs played on the FM radio, Arjun turned it off and switched to his own playlist — Ilaiyaraaja’s classics.
Anitha looked at him impatiently.
“FM songs were good enough, right?” she said, pouting.
“With songs come those lovely ads too,” Arjun replied teasingly. “And handling your chatter is hard enough — I don’t need those too.”
“What! My chatter?” she said, pretending to be angry and playfully hitting him on the shoulder.
Before their banter could go further, Suhas interrupted from the backseat, “Mom! Dad! Please stop! Because of your fighting, I can’t watch Doraemon!”
Both of them looked at each other and burst into laughter.
Suddenly — “Dhan! Dhan!” — a deafening crash.
A speeding tipper lorry slammed into their car.
Within seconds, everything turned to chaos. The car was crushed.
Arjun, bloodied and half-conscious, somehow crawled out of the wreckage.
“Anitha!... Suhas!...” he screamed, collapsing to the ground, sobbing helplessly as his vision blurred.
Surrounded by blood, he slowly closed his eyes…
---
With a gasp, Arjun jolted awake.
He was in his bedroom.
The clock showed 9:00 PM.
His trembling hand searched under the bed — there was only an empty bottle.
Unshaven, hair grown to his neck, Arjun walked down a dimly lit street — tall, rugged, and broken. Women passing by couldn’t help but glance at him, but he ignored them all and entered the “Madhusala” bar.
He went straight to Table No. 9, his usual spot.
Soft Kishore Kumar old songs played in the background. The atmosphere was calm.
Without needing to order, Zaheer, the bartender, brought him two large whiskey pegs filled with ice.
“Good evening, sir,” Zaheer greeted.
Arjun just nodded and took a sip. For two years, Zaheer had served him — yet they’d never exchanged more than a word.
As others around drowned themselves in drink and music, the door suddenly opened.
Every head turned.
In walked a woman — red high heels, a long red skirt, and a dark pink handbag in hand.
Her beauty was impossible to ignore — the kind that could silence a room.
She walked straight to Arjun’s table and sat opposite him.
“I need to talk to you,” she said.
The crowd watched curiously, but when Arjun’s cold eyes met theirs, everyone quickly looked away.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked, taking another sip.
She leaned closer.
“I want someone killed.”
Arjun stared at her for two seconds — then burst out laughing.
“Vodka or beer? The starters here are good too. What should I order for you?” he asked sarcastically.
“I’m serious,” she said calmly. “I really want someone dead.”
Arjun frowned.
“And I’m serious too — you’ve got the wrong man.”
He turned and signaled to Zaheer for two more drinks.
The woman crossed her arms, locking eyes with him.
“Someone I know told me something,” she said quietly.
“The man I’m meeting tonight isn’t normal. He doesn’t need time, place, or weapons. Even a needle in his hand can stop a heart. They said he’s killed more than Indian Commandos have in their entire operations. His name is Arjun. Is that true?”
Arjun’s eyes turned red. He downed another sip.
“You know who I am — and yet you dare look me in the eye?” he said coldly.
She smiled slightly.
“What’s the worst you can do? Kill me? Fine. Kill me after the job. You’re paid for that, aren’t you?”
She picked up his second glass and took a sip.
“I quit all that a long time ago,” he said, standing up. “And I don’t intend to go back.”
As he turned to leave, she grabbed his hand.
“Please… this is about my life. I’ll pay you whatever it takes.”
Arjun paused. After a moment, he said,
“There’s an agency I know. You won’t see them — they won’t see you. Even I’ve never seen them. Send the photo, and they’ll finish the job. Once the process starts, it can’t be stopped — not by you, not by me. If you agree, I’ll make the call.”
“I agree,” she said instantly.
Arjun smirked at her desperation.
“Fine. Give me your number,” he said.
She took his phone, saved her number, and whispered,
“Thank you. I’ll wait for your call.”
Then she walked out of the bar.
---
An hour later —
Sarayu stepped out of her shower, towel-drying her hair. She looked at herself in the mirror — tears rolled down her cheeks. She wanted to cry aloud but held herself back.
After changing into her nightdress, she lay on the bed. Her phone rang — Arjun.
“Tell me,” she said.
Arjun’s voice was cold:
“Pack the money in a bag. Put the photo of the person you want dead in an envelope. Drop the bag in the dustbin outside your compound. Don’t look back.”
He cut the call.
Sarayu followed the instructions exactly.
A few minutes later, a message from Arjun arrived:
> “The one you want dead has only 24 hours left to live.”
Sarayu lay back on the bed, gazing at the moonlight through the window, slowly drifting to sleep.
A gloved hand appeared from the darkness, lifting the bag from the dustbin.
The bag was opened — stacks of money, and an envelope.
The masked figure took out the photo, looked at it…
It was Sarayu herself.
To be continued…
