Ratna Chandu - For a Girl in a Star

For a Girl
in a Star

For a Girl
in a Star

Ratna Chandu

SriShti

P UBLI S HER S & D I S TRIBUTOR S

S RI S HTI P UBLI S HER S & D I S TRIBUTOR S

Registered Office : N-16, C.R. Park

New Delhi 110 019

Corporate Office : 212A, Peacock Lane

Shahpur Jat, New Delhi 110 049

First published by

Srishti Publishers & Distributors in 2018

Copyright Ratna Chandu, 2018

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This is a work of fiction. The characters, places, organisations and events described in this book are either a work of the authors imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, places, events, communities or organisations is purely coincidental.

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Publishers.

Printed and bound in India

Dedicated to my Dad a person with unflinching

loyalty, who lived all his life without fanfare,

taking care of my bed-ridden mother, and

dreamed secretly about his daughter to

reach the pinnacle of success, though

he never breathed a single word.

I hope youd be proud now.

To my gleeful mother, who loves me,

no matter what I do.

And last, but not the least, my husband,

without whom the words would have

died on the very first page.

U nlike the long list of acknowledgements, Id like to offer my devout thanks to the significant person behind this book, my husband Chandu. He has always been the backbone and the lynchpin for every word that went into this book. What could I say about his unfathomable faith in me and drive! Hes been lending his hand in every up and down, with an uncompromising stance to see this on a book shelf, all through. So, thank you my dear for having helped me recognize my hidden potential.

A special thanks to team Srishti Publishers and Arup Bose for giving me this opportunity.

I t was probably one of the darkest nights. The power in the entire north lane had been out for the last couple of hours. The streets witnessed a deadly silence like never before. The moon hid behind thick clouds, intensifying the eeriness, and the lane looked haunted.

A small house sat at the corner of the wickedly dark lane. Inside, a tall man stood in front of the table lit by a single candle. He clamped his hands over his chest, his eyes glued on a drawing, admiring its flawless lines, which could be seen below the object on top of it.

The guy bent a little forward to get a perfect view.

It was a drawing of two boys, probably in their teens, who sat on a low cliff facing a waterfall. The foaming waters were streaming down the huge mountain. Though the boys faces couldnt be seen, one could easily feel the laughter on their faces, their chins raised up in a warm chuckle. The drawing looked like a full moon. It was so vivid and real that it felt as if a long-lost moment had passed right in front your eyes. But a full moon had a dark side too, which only a few can see.

Suddenly, the guy was struck by strange nostalgia. In fact, whenever he saw any drawing, a similar emotion crawled in. Isnt drawing in his blood? He can depict any beauty and experience on a piece of paper. But this specific drawing can be drawn at any time just from memory. He himself does not know how many times he has drawn this, the guy thought, his chest filled with immense pride and appreciation.

Outside, the deadly silence was interrupted by howling winds all of a sudden. They blew harder and harder, signalling the approach of a monstrous storm, and the arrival of something terrible. As expected, huge raindrops began to fall, turning the roads into rivers of mud, which had been parched dry minutes before, just the way fate changed in the flick of a moment.

Just then, a fast-moving dilapidated van came to a screeching halt, squirting a stream of dirty water on both sides. It stopped right outside the small house. The door slid open. A bunch of men stepped out hurriedly, their faces covered with bandannas. They made their way straight to the house and marched in through the open door. There was no one around to see the horror of what one man was carrying in his hands. It was a butchers knife.

Inside the house, the guy could clearly hear the sound of footwear against the floor. But neither did he turn around to look, nor did he move an inch. Instead, he stood rooted in his place. Strangely, his eyes bore no sign of panic or fright, though a tear rolled down his cheek and fell on the drawing. The goons advanced closer to him. An average human being would jump to defend himself, but the guy stood there until it was too late, like he was anticipating their arrival.

Sooner, one of the goons approached him and gave a quick stab in his ribs. The razor-sharp knife smoothly sliced through his body, crushing thousands of nerve fibers. The other men stood back, all set to attack in case he made a counterattack.

But no! There was no retaliation from the guy yet.

He stood as if he had not taken a jab. But the pain was unbearable, making it impossible for him to breathe. Beads of blood sputtered down to the floor. And yet, he stood tall like an unflinching warrior, until another stab pierced his ribs. It was more forceful and intense than the previous one. Now, the guys body shook like the fluttering candlelight that sat on the table, one of his hands clamped over the bleeding ribs. His legs nearly buckled, trembling. When he couldnt stand anymore, he collapsed on the floor with a heavy thud, his face down. Soon, he felt his breath leave him slowly.

One of them came forward and recklessly pushed his foot at the lifeless body and snapped his head around and nodded at other men, signalling it was to time to leave. Soon they all left the house in rush before someone caught them.

The guy lay on the floor in the pool of his own blood, his limbs strewn across in an impossible manner, motionless, for a very long time. His body shook with a coughing pit and he knew he wasnt going to make it. But strangely, his lips were curved in a quirky, mysterious smile. Could someone really smile at their own death, even if they had anticipated it? If so, how on earth could one anticipate their own death?

Soon, the fluttering candle went off. The rain outside came to a halt and it was dark again like before. The guys eyelids began to droop until they stopped dead.

A few months back

It was a chilly morning in Bangalore. The temperatures had dropped drastically. Those were the days before the 1990s when only a few houses had fans. The cool air made the city feel as if it was air-conditioned under the open sky. The roads were empty. People were probably snuggling under thick blankets, snoring. The alarm rang in a cozy, small room for the second time. Avinash, who had lazily buried his head under a pile of two pillows, extended his hand to hit the snooze button and went back to sleeping. Grabbing those extra minutes of tempting sleep on dark mornings couldnt be replaced with any nectar. Damn! The entire city was doing that, he thought. Besides, he was never an early riser.