Okay guys like I promised, am here with my very first ShIrag FF. A bit before I get on with it...I am not going to make this a version of the original plot but its will complement it in an way. So here we go...
To get that adrenaline kicked in I am posting a piece of my FF as an introduction. Do 'Like' it if you really like it and post your comments.
Entry#352
It feels strange. To come here and start a life after so many abnormal days. I see faces around me, all smiling, laughing and talking. Girls are different. They seem...well...normal. It is certainly a big city. People come here to achieve things and make a name for them. And here I am...covering my name and faking a new identity. An identity I know will not last long. Until Murli dada tells me it's time to move again.
This is the 5th city I have moved into since my life began. I can't really say I miss my parents; it's been a very long time since they died...well killed really. I never saw his face but I'll always remember his harsh rough voice. Baba said, "when the time is right..." . But really when is the time ever right? Every time I think maybe this is the last time I'll ever move, dada tells me otherwise. I never had a permanent friend in my whole life. New faces asking about myself. The same answer always "Shakti Rai. Brought up by my uncle in Dehra Dun." My uncle is really my baba, the person who saved me when I almost died.
My parents never really had any relatives. Even if they did, I never met them. I was 4 and a half years when I saw them being shot on the heads by a few people. They looked like they were trained militant but I was immature. I was scared and I was alone. They say that when you think you have no one, you are wrong. You will always have God. But that night, at the police station, when I was alone, amidst strangers, it felt as if God himself had abandoned me and left me at my own mercy. That was when Murli da first reached out to me and took me to the incarnation of God-my baba.
And now, it is time for me to save him. Like he saved me. Murli dada promised me that the kids won't be hurt. He swore on his life and our baba that they'll be treated well. But I feel weird. Everytime I pass a newsstand or an electronics' shop with those giant screen televisions, I see and hear the same bloody news-how 4 kids, aged somewhere between 16-18 were kidnapped by some unknown goons near Leh and were held hostage. No ransom demands what so ever till now. But the Government is expecting something big in return. Mothers crying at the cameras and requesting whoever is on the other side to return their children to them, fathers running around-all are making me nauseous. No one knows where the kids are, no one knows why they have been abducted, no one knows what the goons want in return. No one but me. Ofcourse, it was me who designed the plan for Murli dada in the first place. Anything for baba's freedom is what I reminded myself.
I won't say I am proud of what I did. No! I am not. But sometimes you have to do things you are not proud of. Why do people kill? Steal? Rape? And later regret? What is the point of regretting if you have done something willingly? What's done is done. Now I have to wait for dada's signal to make my next move. Which is why I have come to Delhi. Which is why I have left my old life at Shimla and moved to the Capital to settle down. But now, I will breathe. Just for a little while.
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