Suramya

Prologue Part 2- Evara.

The world is divided into two types of people– angels, and shit-heads. Then what the hell am I? Because I distinctly remember that a few days ago when I helped an elderly woman climb up the stairs in the temple, she told me 'god bless you, dear child, you're an angel.' and not just an hour ago, my aunt said 'You absolute idiot. Why did I ever take you in?' after I brought her a few rotten tomatoes instead of fresh ones from the market.

And that's why I would like to add one more to the division. The shit-angels. The ones who do good things using their stupid ideas and somehow manage to succeed with sheer dumb luck.

I trip over a rock and let out a small "ow shit hell" and frantically shake my hands to clean them off. I turn around quickly to see if the cowherd has caught up with me. He hasn't. But that doesn't mean that he's not chasing after me with a giant stick in his hand and I could not get caught at any costs because a month of punishment from my aunt doesn't sound that good.

Apparently, I had this crazy idea of freeing all of his cows, who were literally the cutest creatures I've seen in my life. I was going to free them all but only managed to do so with 2 of them as he caught me doing it. Can't help it. They were all looking at me with those puppy eyes. Or...cow eyes- whatever.

I run to the closest building I could find which, of course, was the oldest building on the street. Talk about creepy.

I hide behind a huge pillar and peek out carefully. He's gone. Phew.

I run back out of the creepy old building and start making my way home. It was a very long day indeed.

So, I'm Evara. I'll save you from the long-ass backstory and cut it short. Dead parents, died in a car accident, aunt had to take me in, doesn't really like me that much, kinda thinks of me as a burden, but oh well I don't care unless I get my food and chai(1).

I don't have an uncle, my aunt never married and my parents died when I was 3 so I don't really know anything about them.

The only thing I do know is that lately, my aunt's been... frankly, a bitch. I mean she always was a bitch but now she's even more of a bitch so that makes her a bitchy bitch now.

She mentally abuses me. I guess you could say that but I just wander around and only go to home at night to sleep and eat.
Mumbai is my home. My Jaan. I was born here (as per my aunt), and I grew up here– in the little fields of mangoes where I used to steal mangoes from Kaka Todvale's field and her wife used to run after me. I grew up here– every Sunday afternoon where I would sit on the coast of Mithi river and listen to Kaka Jagdish practising his flute pipes, many times even dose off while the tune played in the background. I grew up here– on the staircase outside the temple, where there would be hundreds of street-living people, and Shanta didi who used to teach me everything I know about till today because I hadn't gone to school in my childhood and refused to be left uneducated. I grew up here- under the humid and wild days of summer, the cloudy and grey skies of monsoon, and the dry and windy days of winter. It's what my life has been for 16 years.

It's honestly how I've lived. I've made impulsive decisions sometimes too, like leaving home with a bag full of necessary supplies. I returned every time within an hour. I know, do all the 'tsk tsk tsk' you want to but I usually make most of my decisions in the spur of a moment or just heightened adrenaline. It's a problem I gotta fix. But right now that's nothing to worry about.
I turn around a corner and stop dead in my tracks, when a quite familiar man with a very familiar stick grins at me menacingly standing in front of me. He patted his palm with the stick and I curse myself in the back of my head for doing everything I did in my life that led to this very moment. He narrows his eyes dangerously and then says–