The following morning dawned with an unnatural stillness, a suffocating silence that hung over the haveli like a shroud. The joyful sounds of celebration were replaced by a chilling quiet, broken only by the hushed whispers of the servants and the stifled sobs of the women.

Nakul was a man transformed. The grief had been cauterized by a cold, relentless fury. He moved with a frightening calm, his face a mask of implacable resolve. He issued orders with a terrifying precision. The haveli, once a place of power and privilege, had become a place of judgment, a stage for the merciless execution of his justice.