Chapter 1: The Monster in Khaki Uniform
The fan in the police quarters struggled , churning thick, humid air heavy with the stench of stale country liquor and cheap incense. Even at six in the morning, Telangana heat turned my khaki uniform into a damp, itchy prison caked with fine red road dust.
I woke rock-hard and vicious. The working girl from the highway dhaba was still curled beside me on the creaking cot. I didn’t ask permission. I fisted her long hair, yanked her face down, and used her roughly until she gagged. When I finally came, I held her head down a few extra seconds, savoring her panic. Then I shoved her off. Tossed two crumpled hundred-rupee notes onto her tear-streaked face, and slapped her ass hard enough for the crack to echo off the walls.
“Get the fuck out before someone sees you, you cheap whore.”
Another worthless cunt used and thrown away. Just how I liked it. This shit never got old.
I showered under a rusty lukewarm trickle , shaved my heavy stubble until my jaw burned, and stepped out into the dusty lane. My bike roared to life, sending smoke as I tore toward the farming cluster on the edge of the development zone.
I was the law across six villages and the surrounding roads. Crime stayed low because no one dared file complaints. My real partner was the local MLA, Raghu Reddy — powerful, ruthless, and as corrupt as I was. His latest scheme was simple: seize all the land near the upcoming highway and build a fancy rest stop for travelers. Easy money.
The family was already waiting like lambs to the slaughter. The father, thin as a starved dog in his faded dress, stood with arms crossed. I planted my boots in the dirt and smiled.
“Still being stubborn, kaka? The papers are ready. Sign today or I swear on my mother’s grave I’ll make your life hell.”
He shook his head. “This is our home, saar… You should be helping people like us, not that greedy politician. We won’t sell. We’ll file a case.”
I stepped closer, voice dropping to a venomous hiss. “Accidents happen, kaka. One phone call and your son rots in lockup for that old buffalo theft case. Or maybe I remind everyone how your precious daughter refused my friend’s proposal last year. Nice wedding she planned, isnt’t it? Would be terrible if those old ‘character certificate’ complaints suddenly resurfaced. Her groom’s family might cancel everything when they hear she’s not… pure.”
His wife broke into broken sobs. The daughter — the same girl stared at the ground, shoulders shaking. The old man’s hands trembled so badly he could barely hold the pen. He signed.
Another plot swallowed. Easy.
From there I rode to the ancient Durga temple as evening aarti bells rang. Pandit Ramesh Rao froze mid-ritual when he saw me. His eyes burned with quiet loathing.
I had come ready to arrest him if needed, but then my gaze fell on his daughter Parvati. I was smitten at first sight — and instantly imagined breaking her.
I let my stare linger on her body, slow and violating.
“Vijay garu,” the priest said coldly. “This is a place of worship.”
“And Raghu Reddy says he has all the land papers. Soon this will be a parking lot,” I grinned, kicking a loose stone so hard it cracked against the temple wall. “Here’s a court order. Clear the land in thirty days or the government will demolish everything.”
The priest’s face twisted with fury. “Maa Durga has stood here for centuries—”
That was when Parvati stepped forward, eyes blazing. Breaking her was going to be delicious.
I switched tactics, playing the reluctant devotee. “I know this is the temple of Maa Durga. My hands are tied — I’m just a government employee, caught between the law and my devotion. My mother used to bring me here when I was three. I have fond memories. Let me try what I can do to help.”
I left with a solid plan to woo her and seize their land papers.
Two days later, I sent a constable to summon her alone to the station. She arrived stiff-backed, clutching a thick folder of old documents like a shield. Her simple cotton saree clung to her curves in the humid heat, but her face was stone.
“You wanted to see me, Inspector?” she said coldly. “To threaten me like you threatened my father?”
I stayed behind my desk, expression heavy with what I hoped looked like genuine regret. “Parvati garu… please sit.” I pushed a glass of cold water toward her. “I know what you think of me. Most of it is true. But this temple matter isn’t simple. Raghu Reddy has powerful friends in the ministry. The law is on his side. If I openly refuse, they’ll suspend me. My mother is old and sick… I’m all she has.”
I let my voice drop, raw and honest-sounding. “Your father’s pain, your pain… it reminded me of my mother. She is fierce and principled, just like you. Every time I look at you, I see her strength.”
After nearly forty minutes of careful lies mixed with half-truths, stories about my mother, and promises of quiet help.
We interacted for the next month,I slowly won her trust, finally she gave me her entire land records.I was able to impress her and revelaed my feelings towards her. How I want to marry her and settle down in Shankarpally and will be handling all the temple activities.
That evening I messaged her: Documents look promising. Come to the old inspection bungalow near the temple at 8 PM. I’ve prepared a note for the commissioner. Tell no one.
She came.
The bungalow was dimly lit with an oil lamp. I wore a plain white shirt, no uniform, no gun. A simple meal of rice and dal waited. I looked exhausted but determined.
I showed her fake annotated papers that appeared to support her case. Then I confessed carefully chosen truths mixed with lies — how the system had corrupted me, how helping her felt like redemption. Every time she softened, I compared her to my mother.
At one point I took her hand gently. “You’re the first person in years who makes me feel ashamed of who I’ve become… and hopeful that I can still change.”
When I leaned in and kissed her, she froze. But years of knowing I was dangerous warred with the vulnerable man I pretended to be. I moved slowly, whispering against her lips, “You’re so pure, Parvati. So strong. I don’t deserve even this moment.”
She resisted longer than most, trembling, whispering “We shouldn’t…” but the mix of exhaustion, fear for her father, and my skilled manipulation finally broke her. I laid her on the old wooden table, pushed her saree up her thighs, and entered her. Slowly at first, then harder, savoring every reluctant moan.
My phone, hidden in the shirt draped over the chair, captured everything.
I kept every file. She never saw them again.
The next day I went to the priest’s house and showed him the video.
What happened next still haunts me.
The priest’s face drained of blood. His breathing turned ragged. Then something unnatural took hold — his eyes rolled back, foam forming at the corners of his mouth. A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows. Distant temple bells rang wildly though the air was still.
A voice far deeper and ancient than his own thundered from his throat.
“Vijay… you fake devotee!”
The curse that followed was merciless and vivid. It promised to rip the manhood from my body, turn my balls into a bleeding womb, force breasts from my chest, flood me with monthly blood, and make me feel every rape and humiliation I had ever inflicted — a thousand times over.
“From this moment, Vijay the monster dies. Uma the woman is born. Feel every shame. This is My judgment!”
Blood sprayed from the priest’s mouth, splattering across my face. He collapsed, convulsing violently.
The doctors called it a heart attack. He fell into a deep coma before the ambulance even reached Hyderabad.
I stood outside the hospital that evening, lighting a cigarette with trembling fingers. For the first time in years, real fear settled deep in my gut.
I laughed anyway. Harsh. Forced.
Superstitious old bastard. Nothing a real man couldn’t handle.
That night I played the video again, stroking myself as I watched Parvati’s reluctant pleasure. “Stupid bitch,” I muttered. “Now I own both her and her father.”
But as I tried to sleep, a strange, warm tingling began low in my belly — faint, but wrong.
Like something inside me had already started to rot.
Parvati sat alone in the temple quarters that same night, the video still burning behind her eyes.
“How could I have believed him?” she whispered to the flickering lamp. Anger and shame warred inside her. She had wanted to protect Baba, had let Vijay’s soft words and fake vulnerability crack her defenses. Now her body carried the monster’s child, and her father lay in a coma.
Yet something else stirred — a quiet, terrifying curiosity. In the video, even through her fear, there had been a moment her body responded. She hated herself for it. “Maa Durga… make him suffer as I suffer. But if this curse is real… let him understand what he stole from me.”
She wiped angry tears and began drafting the court injunction with renewed fire. Vijay thought he owned her. She would make sure the temple survived — and if the Goddess answered her prayer, she would watch the monster break.
Back in the present, Parvati’s fingers tightened on my back. The oil lamp flickered lower.
I swallowed hard and kept going.
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