The Man Wearing the Mask
2165 Words
Rain fell over the mountains like mourning.
The abandoned monastery stood hidden deep within the northern border cliffs, surrounded by dark pine forests and violent fog. Once, pilgrims had traveled for days to receive blessings there.
Now armed guards patrolled its gates with automatic rifles.
Religion had become camouflage.
Faith had become business.
And somewhere beneath the monastery’s sacred halls, Joga Singh finally understood the truth.
The Black Fang Circle had never belonged to Nitish Kumar alone.
Nitish was powerful.
Corrupt.
Dangerous.
But he had still been only one part of something far larger.
The real mastermind wore white robes instead of suits.
Spoke softly instead of violently.
And millions of people worshipped him every day.
Joga sat tied to a metal chair beneath a flickering underground light while blood dripped slowly from his split lip onto the concrete floor.
His breathing remained controlled despite the pain spreading through his ribs.
Across the room, large television screens displayed news broadcasts from around the country.
Every channel showed the same face.
Smiling peacefully.
Blessing crowds.
Speaking about environmental protection and spiritual purity.
Acharya Adisharan.
India’s beloved spiritual icon.
Founder of the Earth Dharma Foundation.
Global environmental ambassador.
Protector of wildlife.
The man governments called a saint.
Joga stared at the screens silently while bruises darkened across his jaw.
For several long seconds, the underground chamber remained quiet except for distant thunder outside.
Then footsteps echoed slowly through the corridor.
Soft.
Measured.
Terrifyingly calm.
The metal doors opened.
And the saint entered smiling.
White robes flowed elegantly around him while golden prayer beads rested across his wrist. His silver beard was perfectly maintained, and kindness appeared carefully practiced within his eyes.
To the world, Acharya Adisharan looked like peace itself.
To Joga, he looked like death wearing holiness.
“Leave us,” the Acharya said gently.
The guards obeyed immediately.
The doors shut behind them.
Silence followed.
The spiritual leader approached slowly until he stood directly before Joga.
Then he sighed sadly.
“You survived longer than expected.”
Joga’s eyes remained cold.
“You burned children alive.”
The Acharya smiled faintly.
“No,” he corrected softly. “Fear burned them alive. Men merely carried the fire.”
Rage surged violently through Joga’s chest.
Not explosive rage.
Worse.
The kind that became quiet enough to kill.
The Acharya calmly poured tea into two cups nearby as if they were discussing philosophy instead of m*********r.
“You know what humanity truly worships?” he asked mildly. “Not morality. Not spirituality. Not nature.”
He looked toward the television screens proudly.
“Power.”
Lightning flashed outside the underground windows.
“People needed a spiritual hero,” the Acharya continued. “So I became one.”
“You slaughtered forests while preaching compassion.”
“And they loved me for it.”
The saint smiled again.
That smile disturbed Joga more than violence ever could.
Because it contained no guilt.
Only superiority.
“Do you know why fake spirituality succeeds so easily?” the Acharya asked. “Because people prefer beautiful lies over painful truth.”
Television footage shifted across the screens behind him.
Millions touching his feet.
Children crying during his speeches.
Celebrities donating fortunes to his foundation.
Presidents honoring him internationally.
Meanwhile hidden beneath his environmental empire…
animals were tortured.
Villages destroyed.
Trafficking routes protected.
Murder financed.
Joga finally understood why Black Fang Circle had survived for decades.
Because nobody suspects the man preaching kindness.
The Acharya sat calmly across from him.
“You could have joined us once.”
Joga laughed quietly despite blood filling his mouth.
The sound carried no humor.
“You destroyed everything I loved.”
“Wrong.”
The saint’s eyes darkened slightly.
“We simply understood human nature better than you.”
Another television broadcast appeared.
This time showing Bhaag Kaur publicly leading anti-trafficking protests beside sanctuary volunteers.
The Acharya watched her thoughtfully.
“She has become dangerous.”
Joga’s entire body tensed instantly.
The saint noticed.
Ah.
There it was.
The weakness.
The Acharya smiled knowingly. “Love makes intelligent people predictable.”
Joga leaned forward despite the chains restraining him.
“If you touch her—”
“What?” the Acharya interrupted softly. “You will kill me?”
He chuckled quietly.
“You already tried killing monsters once, Joga Singh. Look what it turned you into.”
The name hit differently coming from him.
Because this man knew everything.
The massacres.
The erased identity.
The years hidden in forests.
The dead villagers.
All of it.
“Where is the evidence?” the Acharya finally asked.
Silence.
“The hidden Black Fang files.”
Nothing.
“We know you moved the sanctuary archives before your capture.”
Joga stared back without expression.
The saint sighed disappointedly.
“You force unnecessary suffering upon yourself.”
Then he stood calmly and walked toward the metal doors.
“Begin.”
The doors opened again.
Four masked men entered carrying electrical equipment.
Joga did not move.
But somewhere deep inside his mind, a memory surfaced unwillingly.
Bhaag smiling beside the sanctuary river during sunrise.
Her hair moving softly in the wind.
The way she looked at injured animals with genuine pain in her eyes.
The way loneliness disappeared briefly whenever she forgot to protect herself emotionally around him.
That memory became the only thing he held onto when the t*****e began.
The sanctuary war room had stopped feeling like a sanctuary days ago.
Maps covered every wall.
Weapon routes.
Surveillance photos.
Missing persons.
Black Fang operations.
Rain hammered against the windows while exhausted volunteers worked through endless fear and sleeplessness.
At the center of it all stood Bhaag Kaur.
Breaking apart quietly.
Nobody else noticed fully yet.
But Neha did.
Bhaag had not slept properly since Joga disappeared.
Had not eaten properly.
Had not smiled once.
She stood before a digital map tracking possible Black Fang movement zones while anger and fear slowly destroyed her from inside.
“We lost the signal near northern border territory,” Raaji explained carefully. “After that, nothing.”
Bhaag clenched her fists harder.
Nothing.
That word had become unbearable.
Nirmal entered the room carrying fresh intelligence files.
“We intercepted another transport route,” she said grimly. “And there’s something worse.”
She placed photographs onto the table.
Bhaag looked down.
Then froze.
Acharya Adisharan appeared beside multiple political leaders connected secretly to wildlife trafficking operations.
Private meetings.
Hidden financial transfers.
Black Fang symbols visible within encrypted documents.
Bhaag stared at the images in disbelief.
“No…”
Neha looked sick.
“The saint?” she whispered.
Nirmal nodded slowly. “He funds anti-poaching campaigns publicly while protecting trafficking networks privately.”
Bhaag sat down heavily.
Emotionally numb.
Her mother had once admired Acharya Adisharan.
Millions had.
Children trusted him.
Entire environmental movements followed him.
“How many people know?” Bhaag asked quietly.
“Not enough.”
Bhaag looked toward the rain outside.
For years she had believed evil looked obvious.
Cruel faces.
Dark intentions.
Violent men.
But real monsters smiled beautifully while teaching morality to crowds.
That realization horrified her more than bloodshed.
Raaji’s phone suddenly beeped sharply.
Everyone turned.
He opened the encrypted message quickly.
Then his expression darkened.
“What is it?” Bhaag demanded.
Raaji swallowed once.
“We found Joga.”
Silence crashed through the room.
“Where?” Bhaag whispered.
Raaji hesitated.
“Inside Adisharan monastery territory.”
Fear flooded her body instantly.
Because nobody escaped that place alive.
The underground chamber smelled like rust and burned flesh.
Hours had passed.
Maybe longer.
Joga no longer knew.
Pain covered every inch of his body now.
Electric burns scarred his arms while blood stained the concrete beneath the chair.
One eye had swollen partially shut.
Still he said nothing.
The hidden evidence location remained locked inside him.
A masked guard punched him again violently.
“Where are the files?”
Joga spat blood onto the floor.
The guard cursed furiously.
Another electrical surge exploded through Joga’s body moments later.
His muscles convulsed painfully against the restraints.
Still nothing.
Not because he feared death.
Because he feared what would happen if Black Fang destroyed the evidence before exposure.
Thousands more animals would die.
More forests burned.
More children orphaned.
More monsters protected.
The guards finally stepped away exhausted.
One muttered nervously, “How is he still conscious?”
Another replied quietly, “Maybe the rumors are true.”
“What rumors?”
“That the forest protects him.”
Joga almost laughed despite the agony.
The forest had never protected him.
It had simply refused to let him die yet.
The metal doors opened again.
Acharya Adisharan returned calmly carrying prayer beads.
“You disappoint me,” he sighed gently.
Joga lifted bloodied eyes toward him.
“You disappoint God.”
The saint smiled sadly.
“God abandoned humanity long ago.”
“No,” Joga whispered weakly. “Men like you just speak louder.”
Something dangerous flickered briefly inside the Acharya’s expression then.
Not rage.
Ego injury.
Far more revealing.
The saint leaned closer quietly.
“She will die because of you.”
Joga’s breathing slowed.
“You cannot save Bhaag Kaur.”
The words hit harder than t*****e.
Because part of him already feared they were true.
The Acharya studied his silence carefully.
Then smiled.
“Ah,” he murmured softly. “Now we finally found the wound.”
By midnight, Bhaag was already preparing for the rescue operation.
Nirmal loaded rifles beside the vehicles while sanctuary volunteers coordinated border routes through encrypted radio channels.
Everyone looked terrified.
Nobody said it aloud.
But they all understood the truth:
This mission could become suicide.
Rain poured heavily outside the sanctuary gates.
Thunder rolled across distant mountains.
Bhaag stood alone briefly beneath the shelter roof adjusting the handgun strapped beneath her jacket.
Her hands trembled slightly.
Not from fear of dying.
From fear of arriving too late.
Neha approached quietly.
“You love him.”
Bhaag closed her eyes briefly.
There was no point denying it anymore.
“Yes.”
The word barely escaped her throat.
Neha looked away sadly. “Then bring him back.”
Bhaag nodded once.
But deep down, terror whispered continuously inside her chest.
What if she couldn’t?
What if the forest finally took him away forever?
Several hours later, deep inside the underground chamber, Joga realized something important.
He was not leaving alive.
The guards had become too nervous.
Too aggressive.
Black Fang knew authorities were getting closer.
Which meant loose ends would disappear soon.
Including him.
The realization strangely brought calmness instead of fear.
He had survived death too many times already.
But Bhaag…
Pain crossed his exhausted face briefly.
He needed to protect her somehow.
Even now.
Especially now.
One guard eventually threw an old phone onto the floor beside him mockingly.
“Record your last prayers.”
The others laughed before exiting temporarily.
The metal doors shut again.
Silence returned.
Joga stared at the phone for several long seconds.
Then slowly pulled it closer with shaking hands.
Blood covered his fingers.
Rain echoed faintly outside the underground walls.
He activated the recording.
For a moment, he simply looked into the screen quietly.
And suddenly speaking felt harder than t*****e.
Because emotions terrified him more than death ever had.
Still…
he began.
“Bhaag.”
His voice sounded broken.
Rough.
Human.
Not the calm controlled voice she knew.
“If you are watching this…”
He paused painfully.
“…then I failed to come back.”
Thunder rolled somewhere above the monastery.
Joga lowered his eyes briefly before continuing.
“I spent most of my life believing attachment was weakness.”
A faint bitter smile touched his swollen mouth.
“The forest teaches survival. Not love.”
He breathed carefully through the pain.
“But then you arrived.”
His eyes softened slightly.
“You looked at wounded animals the same way I did.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
“And for the first time… I stopped feeling alone.”
Tears burned unexpectedly behind his eyes.
He hated that.
Hated emotional helplessness.
Yet he continued anyway.
“If I die here, promise me something.”
His breathing became uneven.
“Do not let hatred consume you the way it consumed me.”
Rain battered the monastery windows harder outside.
“You once asked me what the forest sounds like when nobody is afraid anymore.”
A small exhausted smile appeared.
“It sounds like peace.”
Blood dripped slowly down his arm onto the floor.
“And you…”
His voice nearly failed then.
“…you were the closest thing to peace I ever found.”
Silence filled the chamber afterward.
Joga looked directly into the camera one final time.
All defenses gone now.
No mystery.
No emotional walls.
Only truth.
“I love you, Bhaag Kaur.”
The words escaped softly.
Honestly.
Like a final prayer.
Then suddenly—
alarms exploded violently across the monastery.
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