Deal with the Devil

Chapter 2 - The Machiavellian Visionary

Delhi, 2021

The setting sun painted the skyline in hues of orange and purple, its last rays glinting off the glass facade of the tech park.

Rajiv Kumar stood motionless in his corner office, gazing out at the bustling city below. At 38, he was already being hailed as one of India's brightest young entrepreneurs. His startup, focused on optimizing urban spaces using AI, had secured another round of funding from global investors and was touted to reach unicorn status.

To the outside world, Rajiv was living the dream. But as he stood there, watching the day fade into the night, he felt the familiar weight of imposter syndrome settling on his shoulders.

He thought back to his childhood in a small town in Bihar. The memory of his father's defeated eyes still haunted him - eyes that spoke of unfulfilled wishes and dreams deferred due to financial constraints and caste dynamics.

They were practically thrown out of their village after Rajiv befriended the priest's son after their regular swimming sessions at the river.

Rajiv had vowed never to see that look again, to live that life of constant want of getting to the top.

"Passion," he muttered to himself, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. That's what he told everyone that drove him - a burning desire to make urban living spaces more efficient, the roads safer, and neighborhoods crime-free.

It was a noble goal, one that made for great press releases and inspiring talks at college campuses. But deep down, Rajiv knew the truth.

He wasn't driven by passion. He was driven by hunger - a primal, all-consuming need to escape the generational stigma and poverty.

His ambition was wrapped in the glossy paper of idealism, but at its core, it was no different from the desperation of the beggar on the street, craving a full meal before another night on the cold pavement.

Rajiv turned from the window, his eyes falling on the vision board hanging on his office wall. It was filled with quotes about changing the world and making a difference.

Sometimes, he almost believed them himself...

But his real goals were much simpler, much more selfish.

He wanted to drive back to his village in an expensive car and be garlanded on a dias at the same school, in front of the same 'high class' priests who threw them out of the village.

He got several invites in the past, more from his village and district. But he ignored all those, till now.

He was months away from his dream life — when he could tell his father they had 'finally arrived' and would never have to worry about his caste (or money) again.

A notification pinged on his phone - another email from the investors. They were pushing for faster growth, for more aggressive expansion.

Rajiv sighed, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. The game was far from over. He still had a long way to go before he could even think about that triumphant return home.

He wasn't a visionary. He wasn't a world-changer. He was just another beggar in a suit, using his words and ideas to make others sympathize, to make them open their wallets and fund his escape from poverty.

As he settled back into his ergonomic chair, Rajiv allowed himself a small, rueful smile. Tomorrow, he'd don his mask of passionate entrepreneur once more. He'd inspire his team, charm potential clients, and continue to build his house of cards higher and higher.

But for now, in the growing darkness of his office, he allowed himself to be who he really was - not a startup wunderkind, not a tech visionary, but simply Rajiv Kumar, a boy from Bihar who was desperate to prove his worth in a world that had always told him he had none.

Little did Rajiv know that halfway across the world, in Moscow, decisions had already been made that would soon collide with his carefully constructed world, shaking the foundations of the podium he built for himself.