The answer to the caller's question — "Who is the god?" — came from the most unlikely source: Aarav's wife.
Simran called on a Saturday morning. She and Rhea were still in Lucknow. The conversation started the way their conversations always started lately — with the mechanical exchange of practical information. Rhea's school needed a permission slip signed. The electricity bill was due. The landlord had asked about the leaking tap.
Then Simran said something that stopped Aarav mid-sentence.
"Rhea's been asking about your work. She wants to know what you're investigating. I told her Daddy catches bad people, and she said, 'But what if the bad person thinks they're good? Like the raja in the story who thought he was saving the kingdom but was actually the demon?'"
"Which story?"
"Some Amar Chitra Katha comic she's been reading. About a king who performed a nine-night sacrifice to summon divine power, but the sacrifice required nine perfect offerings, and when it was complete, the king would become —"
"Immortal," Aarav said.
"What?"
"The Navaratri framework. Nine nights, nine forms of the goddess, nine offerings for completion. If the ritual is completed — if all nine seats are filled — the architect of the ritual achieves a state of transcendence. In traditional theology, that's spiritual liberation. But if you're building your own theology —"
"Aarav, you're doing that thing where you talk to yourself out loud."
"Sorry. Simran — I have to go. Kiss Rhea for me. Tell her she's brilliant."
"She knows she's brilliant. She's eight."
He hung up and called Sahil. "The god is the father. Dr. Arun Saxena believes that completing the nine-offering cycle will achieve something for him personally. Not metaphorically — literally. He believes the ritual works."
"That's consistent with a delusional system that's been reinforced over decades," Sahil said. "If he started in 1997 and has been collecting women in cycles — groups of nine — then each completed cycle reinforces his belief. The women don't die. They're 'elevated.' In his mind, he's not hurting them. He's saving them."
"And his children?"
"Raised in the system. Raghav manages the logistics — the database, the selection, the physical infrastructure. Nitin was the tech arm until he was killed, probably for trying to leave or for threatening to expose the operation. And Aditi — the psychologist daughter — provides the intellectual architecture. She translates her father's delusions into a framework that makes them feel systematic, coherent, scientific."
"A family business."
"The darkest kind. And the most resilient. Cult operations run by families last longer than any other kind because the trust is structural. You can't turn a son against a father who's been his god since birth."
But someone had turned. Nitin — the dead brother. He'd been killed three months ago, and the timing coincided with the start of the current wave. Had Nitin tried to stop it? Had he threatened to go public? Was his death the trigger that set off the accelerated timeline?
Aarav pulled the Hapur police report on Nitin's body. Cause of death: blunt force trauma. Found in an agricultural field, decomposed. No witnesses. No suspects. Filed as an unidentified body for weeks until Raghav — who'd filed the missing person report — provided dental records.
Raghav had filed the missing person report. Raghav, who likely knew exactly where his brother was. Because Raghav, or someone in the family, had put him there.
The sixth call came at 4 AM Sunday morning. Aarav was sitting in his car outside the Mehrauli farmhouse, watching the lights through the stone walls, trying to see through thirty years of carefully maintained darkness.
Nine taps. Then:
