The Tangled Webs We Weave

Chapter II

He was fourteen when he murdered a man twice his size using a sharp knife his father used to cut vegetables when making his favourite bhindi ki sabzi.

Among many fond memories he held of his father, his favorite one was the one where he used to peel potatoes, cut thin slices of carrots, and chop onions while making food for him using that sharp knife, he was never allowed to hold. He assumed his father was a chef and asked him once about it, but he returned that question with a sardonic laughter followed by an affectionate ruffling of his untamed hair.

Little did he know, the same knife he wasn't allowed to touch would become his first weapon to attack someone. It was huge for a 14-year-old Farhaad who could not even kill a spider given how scared he had been of spiders and mice.

It had been fifteen years since that incident, fifteen years of Shamsher Seth experiencing his rage, the fire of revenge burning in his eyes. When Farhaad held the knife in his hands and used all his strength to dig it into the flesh of that man, Seth was right there. Since then, he was taken under his protective cloak. He was told to be grateful after all; the man he succumbed to lethal injuries was Seth's right hand, the one whom he trusted with his life. Being under the shadow of Shamsher Seth was seemingly a luxury; that's what the people of Shamnagar thought.

But for him, it was a lifelong sentence that came with fighting people, coming home with multiple injuries, being unjust to innocent lives, and living a life without any purpose.

It was one of those days.

This time he was hit on his left leg, right above the ankle with a metal rod. It was better; last time it was his right arm, and he felt more useless than the rusty old wind chime hanging at the entrance of his room.

His wasn't a house. It was a rented one-room with an attached bathroom, basically a servant quarter with several others in line like that in a hostel. He was offered a separate place by his boss, but he refused. This was where he opened his eyes and saw his father nurturing him, singing him songs and cooking for him; there was no way he would leave this building or this room.

He struggled to make his way to the single bed, which he assumed must've belonged to his parents if he ever had a mother. It had gotten worse over the years; its wooden board jerked and the mattress creaked whenever you lay on it and changed position while sleeping.

He let out a silent cry when the pain shot through his limbs. A subtle glance at a half-broken mirror attached to the wall showed him his scarred face. Fresh scars with red blood running through it, a reminder he was victorious in today's expedition. He finally mustered the courage to make his way to the bathroom where a bucket full of water awaited him. Without changing his black vest and the dirty beige check shirt which was now torn from its sleeves, he poured the chilling water on his head and grunted in pain.

He had no idea for how long he had been in bed, the right leg hanging outside of the boundaries while the injured one rested vertically, his left hand clutched it tightly waiting for the numbness to take over. He continued staring at the ceiling above his head, the old fan that he hadn't turned on since the start of October, and he thought about cleaning the black dirt around its flaps one day.

The train of thoughts circling his mind went in a different direction taking him to the untouched dungeons of his past he wished to let go of, but they chased him like demons. It was hard coming out of those dungeons which is why he didn't realize the third knock on the door. There weren't many people who visited him. Among the handful of two, nobody bothered coming at this hour of the night and also never dared to knock more than twice.

He furrowed his brows and tottered towards the door, his muscles squirming at the pressure he had been exerting on his already tired body. Like always he did not open the door fully and only peeked to see who was this uninvited guest troubling him at this hour of night.