Pavan believed knowledge was power. And he believed he had more of it than anyone else.
A PhD holder from a top Indian university, Pavan had built his entire public identity on one mission—exposing fake godmen. Babas, sadhus, pastors, maulavis—anyone who claimed miracles or divine powers instantly became a suspect in his eyes.
What began as social service soon turned into obsession. He ran a popular online channel where he uploaded sting operations. Hidden cameras, fake devotion, loaded questions. He would pretend to be a desperate believer, lure them into making supernatural claims, and then break them apart with logic and law.
Some were jailed. Some disappeared overnight. Some begged him not to upload the footage.
Every exposure inflated his ego. He no longer saw humans—only frauds.
“ Faith is just ignorance dressed as hope, ” he once said in an interview, smiling.
That smile never left his face.
One day on a trip to a northern state of India, Pavan took a detour early one morning. The air was thin and cold. Pine trees stood like silent witnesses. Near a quiet lake, under a wide old tree, he noticed a man sitting cross-legged.
A sadhu.
No crowd. No disciples. No ash marks, no loud clothes, no dramatic posture.
Just a simple saffron cloth and closed eyes.
There was something strange about him—not scary, not holy—just different. As if the space around him was heavier.
Pavan smirked.
Perfect, he thought. A nobody. Easy target.
He adjusted the hidden camera in his jacket and walked forward.
“ Baba… meri kuch takleefein hain. ” His voice was sweet, but arrogance leaked through every word.
“ Aap agar sach mein gyani ho toh meri madad karo. ”
The sadhu did not respond.
Pavan tried again, louder this time.
“Baba… aapke gyaan ka kya fayda? Ya aap bhi baaki sab jaise dhongi ho? Agar sach mein sadhu ho, toh madad karke dikhao.”
Slowly, the sadhu opened his eyes.
They were calm. Too calm.
“ Bol. Kya chahiye tuze? ”
Pavan smiled. The recording was perfect.
“ Meri teen samasya hai, baba. ” He pretended to bow.
“Pehli—mere upar bahut karza hai. Financial condition bahut kharab hai. Kab sudhregi? ”
The sadhu looked at him carefully.
“ Main unhi samasyaon ka uttar deta hoon jo asal mein hoti hain? ”
Pavan frowned.
“ Main jhooth kyun bolunga? Agar jawab nahi hai toh saaf bolo. ”
“Theek hai. Tumhari arthik sthiti sudharne mein paanch saal lagenge. Paise bachane honge. Zyada kaam karna hoga. Mehnat ke bina kuch nahi milega.”
Pavan laughed.
“ Yeh toh koi bhi bol sakta hai, baba! Isme chamatkar kahan hai? ”
“ Sach ko chamatkar ki zarurat nahi hoti. ”
The sadhu replied softly. That answer irritated Pavan. He moved to the next trap.
“ Mujhe diabetes aur BP hai. Kya main kabhi theek ho paunga? ”
The sadhu’s tone changed slightly.
“ Maine kaha tha—jhoothi baatein mat lao .”
“ Aap mujhe jhootha keh rahe ho? Jawab do! ”
A pause. Then—
“Yeh dono bimariyan tumhe zindagi bhar rahengi. Dawa ke sahare jeena padega. Lekin ek rasta hai. Koi ek shanivaar mujhe yaha aake dhoondhna. Tab bataunga.”
Pavan rolled his eyes.
“Drama achha karte ho baba, par koi baat nahi. Aakhri sawal.”
He leaned closer.
“ Meri shaadi kab hogi? ”
Inside, he was laughing. He had been married for six years. His wife, Nandita, often appeared in his vlogs.
The sadhu smiled.
“ Tumhe zindagi bhar akele rehna hai. Tumhare jeevan mein koi saathi nahi hai. ”
Pavan froze for a second—then smiled wider.
Caught you.
“ Baba, ab maza dekhiye. Apka bhanda fodunga me ”
He turned and walked away.
That evening, at the hotel reception—
“Sir, your payment is pending.”
Pavan frowned. His manager always handled this.
He gave his credit card.
Declined .
He gave another card.
Declined .
Annoyed, he paid with cash, luckily he had enough. Then went upstairs thinking why card declined.
In his room, he opened his banking app to check what was wrong.
First Credit card—maxed out.
Second card—maxed out.
Savings account—negative balance.
Investments—zero.
His breath shortened, All of his net worth was gone. His negative balance was more than any assets he ever had.
This is a glitch, he told himself. Hands were shaking, he wanted to call his wife. Opened phone dailer.
Her number wasn’t saved.
Confused, he dialed it from memory.
“ The number you are trying to call does not exist ” Said a robitic voice.
His vision blurred. What the hell was happening. Heart pounding. Head spinning.
He wanted to get some help. He ran out of the room. Fell in the corridor outside the hotel room.
everything went black as he closed the eyes.
When Pavan woke up, white light burned his eyes. His mother was crying besides him. His sister held his hand. He was in a hospital room on a patient bed.
The doctor spoke gravely.
“BP and sugar dono bahot badh gaya tha, time pe leke aae warna kuch bhi ho sakta tha.”
The doctor turned to Pavan.
“Agar tumhe BP aur Sugar hai to uske medicine kyon nai liye?”
Pavan whispered, terrified—
“ prrr muze to nahi hai ye kch… ”
He looked at his sister.
“Nandita?”
She stared at him.
“Kaun?”
“My wife, Nandita.”
She shook her head.
“Bhai… kya bol rahe ho. Tumhari shadi kaha hui hai…”
Something inside Pavan broke, He was speechless.
It is said Pavan now wanders alone. No hidden cameras, No arrogance. Every Saturday, he goes back to that lake. Searching for the sadhu.
Not to expose, But to understand.