Bombay Romance ♡ COMPLETED

Prologue [ i ] ■

1964.

Rural Pathankot, Punjab State.

'Amar puttar?'

There is no reply.

'Amar?' his mother kneels, bending to look at the dark, dingy place beneath the stairs. The concrete staircase sits at the corner of the large rectangular aangan in their lime-plastered house. An arched collonade wraps around the aangan. Creepers with dark green leaves and tiny yellow flowers snake around the round pillars, almost reaching up to the small jaali windows on the upper floor.

'I won't come out,' a little boy's voice emerges from the dark innards.

This is a surprise for his mother, as it is just half past six in the evening. Little Amarnath, or Amar as everybody fondly calls him never stays at home. He, along with his elder brother, after chugging down a huge glass of thick buffalo milk at five 'o clock every day, would bolt out of the house to play with their friends. They only return for dinner, usually Makki di Roti with Dal Makhani, or Sarson ka saag.

'Come here puttar,' she coaxes her nine-year-old to into abandoning his hiding place. He walks out of it only after ten more minutes of gentle persuasion. They settle down on the cool stairs. Little Amar leans against the metal railing, looking sullen. He sniffs into his pale blue oversized hand-down shirt. It is worn out, and so is his dark green shorts.

'What happened?' she asks gently. Little Amar throws his head onto his mother's lap.

'Maa, will you play with me?'

His mother sighs. She misses the days when she could play with her son.

'I can't puttar. Your little brother or sister will get hurt.' She places his small hand on her belly.

'But they won't let me be police' his voice wobbles. He is referring to the game of chor-police, where the person playing police has to catch the others, or the thieves, who would hide themselves. This game would be played in multiple locations; the vast stretches of Sarson and channa fields, the precincts of the old ruined house near the government school, the thick patch of neem trees across the road, and sometimes, just the narrow lanes of rural Pathankot, with houses on both sides.

'Why not?' she strokes his messy hair.

'Because I catch everyone within one minute. So I always win.'

'Everyone?'

'Yes, all five of them,' little Amar's eyes glow assertively. 'In one minute only. Sometimes less than one minute'

His mother seems considerably proud at this revelation. She straightens her shoulders. 'Then you should become a real police officaar when you grow up.'

Little Amar looks up at her with curious glazed eyes.

'Real police?' he repeats, a strange energy engulfing him just by uttering those words. 'Mainu??'

'Haan, bilkul! Then you can catch all the real bad people. They will start shivering at your sight. They will shiver at the very mention of your name!'

Little Amar imagines this, and it feels surreal. It seems nothing less than a fantasy to the young boy.

'You will get that crisp khaki uniform, a hat, and a badge with your name craved on it,' she continues.

'And a gun?' he asks.

'Yes. A gun. Real one,' his mother says quickly. 'If you shoot, bullets will go dishoom, dishoom!'

'Dishoom, dishoom, dishoom!!' little Amar mimics the firing action, and runs around the aangan happily.

His mother smiles. Nine years back, when Amarnath was born, the astrologer had looked at his horoscope with a fair sense of astonishment, and said,

"Waah! This child shows many signs of Lord Shiva ... the destroyer of evil. He has Gajakesari yog after he turns thirty .... he will be absolutely courageous, highly loved, and respected by thousands, no ... by lakhs of people. But ... anger; same as Lord Shiva again. You know what happens when Shivji opens his third eye? Destruction. But, be beware.....in this process, this boy might get into serious trouble. Only his wife, she should have signs of Goddess Parvati in her horoscope, mind you, can save him."

It seems to be true, his mother thinks now. He's never afraid of anything. Thunder, snakes, darkness.....nothing.

Thus, it only made sense for her, and her husband to name their secondborn as Amarnath; another name for Lord Shiva, the supreme Hindu god of immeasurable power, energy, and destruction.

But it must be admitted that he is a little scared of his father. Little Amar and his brother would cower a little, hiding behind her long-flowing dupatta whenever their father yelled at them.

Recently, little Amar has formulated this new dangerous game of climbing the large Peepal tree on the village outskirts, waiting for a goods truck to pass by, and jumping onto its roof just as it nears him.

As if this wasn't enough, after a few meters, he would jump again, rather audaciously this time, and catch the lowest branch of the neem tree, and hang from it like a monkey. A truck driver thought it was a monkey a few times, and then, had realized the truth a few days back. He had stopped the vehicle, and had given Amarnath a nasty swat on the head.

But little Amar has no plans of stopping this game. His friends are trying it out too, and their mothers are complaining. But all he says is, 'Aree, don't worry! When I'm there, no one on my side gets hurt!'

'Puttar, listen' she calls out to him now. He doesn't listen. She calls out again, a little louder this time, and he runs up to her, panting.

'When you become an officaar, only the bad ones should be scared of you. Not good people.'

Amar's wide smile dissolves as he listens with rapt attention. His eyes still twinkle.

'Because it is your duty to help them. Always. Protect them and their hearts will always beat for you.'

'Sacchi, Maa?'

'Haan. You understood what I said?'

Little Amar nods obediently.

His mother smiles. 'Now go and play with your friends like a good boy.'

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Hello readers!

That was the first part of the prologue. It was a small part about little Amarnath. Do shower your love and support:))

Please vote ⭐ for the chapter! Happy reading!!