The campaign bus rumbled through the dusty outskirts of the town, its loudspeakers blaring party slogans that mixed with the heat of the afternoon. Aradhna sat near the front at first, clipboard in her lap, trying to look useful as the “coordinator” they had assigned her that morning. She was twenty-three, new to the party work, still believing the speeches about change and empowerment. The junior MLA, Sharma ji, had smiled when he told her the role. “Tum bus pe raho, sab arrange karna. Voters se baat karna.” (You stay on the bus, arrange everything. Talk to the voters.)

She nodded, eager. The bus driver, a thick-set man named Ramesh with oil-stained hands, barely looked at her. The two security men, both in plain clothes with bulges under their shirts, sat in the middle seats. One was older, grey at the temples, called by everyone simply Bhaiya. The other was younger, lean, with a constant smirk—Suresh.