"Papa, oh papa, tell me a tale from your younger days, please? I don't want to sleep so soon."
"Fine, but only one, ok? No more than that, afterwards you will fall asleep, no buts. Promise?"
"Yes. Yes. I promise!"
"Fuu... Alright, sometimes I wonder, will my tales affect your future?...Nah, I am worrying too much, now a days."
The voice of the loving father paused for a few minutes, and then he started his short tale, which unknowingly would serve as a factor in making the child's future alongside the heavenly gods—who control destiny and fate.
"It was, 20th June, my birthday. Mother and father both had gone to bring me something, a surprise gift, sort of thing. I was all alone in my home, and was feeling bored, so I decided to go to the local railway.
The station was packed with hawkers and passengers, and on the side that I was in, was a hawker brewing Chai (Milk-Tea). I knew him, he treated me like a son, and my gang was all there casual and joking with each other, all while sipping from their own glasses.
I went to them, and they all smiled once they saw me, greeting me and the old man quickly passed me a free glass of Chai, even when I insisted on paying.
But then as we were talking, two men came, my acquaintances.
Rather one of them was the man who introduced me to your mother, though he wanted my help, because he wanted to seduce her but that failed quite badly. Hehe. Ironic.
Anyways, I could see he was heavily drunk, early morning which was not at all common for him. Then almost suddenly, he swore at me, abusing my family and then the two quickly ran off on their respective bikes.
At that moment, I was about to do something which would ruin a family, my anger was poisoning my calculative mind. Questions could wait, it was time for actions!
My gang who was also there, were angered as well, they couldn't see anyone insult me. I was called as Pale Ghost, because of milkish skin at that time, during my time as the right hand man of Vijay Sheikh.
Even the hawkers around who loved me were pretty pissed.
If the two had lingered just for a bit longer, they would have been crucified, haha....
Then....."
The father suddenly paused, and the young child listening attentively furrowed his brows, wondering why his father had stopped his tale.
But then he looked at the clock, quickly figuring the reason behind his father's actions, it was time for bed.
"Aww.... But I wanted to know what happened after!"
"Don't worry, you will, but not today. It's way past your bed time."
The young child pouted a bit but didn't rebel, as he was tucked in and closed his eyes to fall asleep. But his mind was somewhere else.
"One day..... One day, I too will achieve power, just like father once had in those tales of his younger days. Only power grants comfort and adventures, nothing else...
But how will I achieve power?"
The dark brown eyes soon opened, as the dream or rather memories stopped rolling, and a sigh left the viewer—the young man.
"The answer is hell lot of money, my innocent younger self." He thought with a tired chuckle leaving his throat, as he swung his long legs over the other side of the bed, stepping down on the tiles of the white floor. Walking up to the mirror adjusted to the black wardrobe, he took a good look at his visage and sighed, running his hands through the strands of his black mane which descended down till his shoulders covered by a loose white shirt.
"Should I cut it or let it grow a little bit more?" The young man hummed to himself, but then decided not to cut his hair, and placed his hand upon his chin, rotating his face and observing it from various angles reflected by the mirror.
He was handsome, that's for sure, with sharp angular features that gave him a dignified aura and a body that seemed to make him look like a heavyweight boxer or some kind of broad muscular wrestler. He was highly conscious about his looks and body, as he checked himself a couple of times, and nodded with pride clear.
"Still looking good, Shaurya." He muttered underneath his breath and pointed his finger-gun at the mirror, then he turned away and walked over to the bedside table, chugging water from the black bottle placed upon it.
Some droplets trickled down from the side of his lips which he quickly wiped with the back of his fair veiny palm and took a breath, wiping the dirt away from the side of his half lidded eyes.
He turned his gaze towards the round clock—a green border covered it and the black Roman numerals were small, yet could be seen clearly on the white surface. The time was noted to be 08:42 AM, it was quite early for someone like him, who had a messy sleep-cycle.
But today was a special day,
It was the birthday of his mate, his best friend, Aditya Raha. He wasn't going to miss it by being late, no fucking way. Arriving before time was a way to show your loyalty and love. It was a form of respect, that elderly people knew quite well about.
He had learnt this lesson from his mother, she was quite a good lady, ok maybe she had a bit of anger issues but most of the time she was alright.
He opened the doors of his bedroom, stepping out into the upper hall and went downstairs, where breakfast was being prepared. Shaurya lived in a three storey building, where the third floor served both as a terrace—allowing one to enjoy fresh air and as an storage room—where most of the heirlooms which had no day-to-day use were kept, because of sentimental and traditional value.
Situated at the couch in front of the news bearing TV, was his father Rathore, and cooking the breakfast in the open kitchen with headphones in her ears, was his mother Durga (named after the Hindu Goddess, the consort of Lord Shiva. His grandparents were greatly devoted to their religion. His love for Lord Shiva came from their tales only.)
"Good morning mom, good morning dad." Shaurya spoke out with a light smile on his countenance, as the distracted gaze of his good looking parents shifted to him. Genetics, as they say.
Rathore gave a bright smile, once the voice of his dear son reached his ears, and got up from the expensive upholstery. The couch made Shaurya remember of a time before everything got well, a time of peril, that still seemed to stick to his memories like a bloody leech. The memories of the past still filled him, and such a small success, it served no good to him.
He would need to find a way to make more money and power than even his own father, but for now he needed to await for the perfect time.
For even a hitman had to be patient for his hunt to go right. Impatience would only lead to losses and he, no longer, wanted to lose to anyone or anything in his life.
"Good morning, my boy. You're up early? Anything special occurring today or is it just a new routine?" The father asked lifting his fair countenance a bit to glance at his eyes, his deep voice was filled with immense positivity and a touch of hidden loss, and his calloused hands soon fell upon his taller son's broad shoulders. Rathore was strong, extremely so, even with the slight belly he developed at the current moment.
Shaurya chuckled, all while observing the wrinkles on the face of his father, it was born not due to age but due to facing the blunt trauma of life's hardship and tons of betrayals from those considered own. "Not routine, papa. Just a special day as you guessed. You know Raha, yeah my best bud, it is his birthday today. The excitement of the party he will be throwing, kept me up all night." He told his father, with a chuckle, and his mother came from the kitchen placing the breakfast platter down on the black table with a glass surface and metal linings.
"What are you two talking about, hm? Also good morning, my son." Durga told the two, removing the green earphones away from her ears and tucked it in the single pocket of her long white apron. She stretched her slightly pale and veiny hands—sore from cooking, and turned to both of them, looking at them with curiosity in her gaze.
Her brown hair was tied neatly in a bun, and her lean figure made her look sophisticated accentuated by her choice of clothes—expensive and highly dignified.
A motherly aura oozed out of her in waves, as she placed a hand on her hip and awaited the response of either her son or her husband.
"Nothing, maa, father was just asking the reason behind my sudden awakening. He was confused and all, because I usually don't wake up early." Shaurya told her, as he sat down on the rectangular table by pulling the wooden chair adjacent to it, in total there were four sides and four chairs.
Occupying the left side was Shaurya, the right was his dad and the bottom side was occupied by his mother. Upon the glass surface, was placed silver colored bowls engraved with designs of flowers and birds filled with cereals and all that. Healthy stuff.
After the breakfast was done and the bowls were taken away to be washed, he stood up from the chair and patted the front of his jeans, then he went to the bathroom to complete his daily cleansing.
Few minutes later,
Droplets trickled down the chiselled body of Shaurya as he got out of the bathroom with a white fluffy towel tightly wrapped around his waist, his parents didn't notice him for they were too busy watching the TV, and he quickly went upstairs, back to his bedroom to get changed and leave early.
He opened his wardrobe with a tug, taking out some comfortable yet stylish clothes—a black jacket with a skull insignia on his breast pocket, a tight plain white shirt that would emphasize his build, and some loose blue jeans.
Perfect for today!
Shaurya placed his towel on the bed, slipped on the clothes one by one, fixing the collar and the sleeves, then stretched a bit to feel if there was any problem in movement or not. There was not.
He went towards the mirror and checked himself out, humming in approval. Then he checked the time and decided it was time to leave.
"Right now, he is probably alone, with his parents being in work and his other friends will only come during midnight when the party will start. So that gives me time to take him out and enjoy some time with him." Shaurya thought, rushing downstairs and bidding his parents goodbye, all while he carried the plastic bag stuffed with his friend's gifts for today.
He exited through the entrance door—red and durable to withstand high amounts of force, closing it behind and his eyes went towards the bike parked near the front door, that was gifted to him when he achieved his driver's license.
The Yamaha R15 V4. A beast (at least to him) which granted him freedom, and also gave him a high mileage, allowing him to enjoy long rides on empty roads. A completely red body and the wheels were black. He didn't have any add-ons or any special design, all because he loved the original look of his ride.
Shaurya attached the plastic bag to the left handle bar and swung one leg over the plastic body, adjusting his sitting position for comfort and stability. He shoved the ignition key and twisted it, starting the motorcycle. Then he placed his white helmet over his head, fixing the strap to better fit.
With practiced ease, he shifted to the first gear and moved the bike from it's parking into the road filled with traffic—average experience in his country, twisting the throttle and he bent his torso slightly forward.
As the bike took off, with only one destination, Aditya Raha's house.
----
But he wasn't prepared for the arriving storm that would roll into his life once again....