Mohith and Chaya (Chapter 1-2)

Chapter 1

As the thump of the windshield vipers battled the howling tropical storm, the raw power of the V6 engine prevailed as it penetrated the thick blanket of tropical rain. The narrow winding road was taking the silver Porsche Boxter uphill. Mohith could barely see the road as he opened the window and gazed out to locate the slippery edge. At over one hundred kilometers an hour the only thing a soaked and insanely drunk Mohith could make out was the angry body of water gushing in a muddy chocolate a hundred feet down the steep and jagged slope. Fascinated and yet uninitiated, he floored the Porsche and cornered like an expert. Even under the influence of alcohol, Mohith was known to be an excellent driver for he had lived and loved cars ever since he had stopped riding the baby seat of his father's Ford.

The cold rain started to clear Mohith's head. Even through the darkness and the downpour he could now see the road clearly. He had been preparing for this dreaded moment for the past week and now it was here. He had rehearsed it so many times in his mind that he knew exactly what was going to happen in the next few seconds of his life. Now he just had to live it. He shifted the synchromesh gearbox into fifth and floored the throttle. The small sports car screamed as it ripped through the water and sped forward. Like a silver arrow it gleamed in the lightning and shone its xenon head lamps on a half broken roadside safety fence which gleamed in a luminescent white and red to signal the edge of the road and the gates of hell. Seeing the fence straight ahead, Mohith shifted into sixth. He could hear his wounded heart beating rapidly and slowing down to a calm relaxed rhythm. The rain drops hit the windshield and splattered into smaller droplets before being escorted rudely off the glass by the swish of the viper blades. The speedometer paused as if time itself had frozen and finally, after ten long and painful years, Mohith was at peace with himself. He could hear his own thoughts and his own voice as he sang his favorite song. Finally he had gotten over her. Finally he was free.

The car was doing over 200 kilometers an hour and was headed steadfast to the fence.

"This is it" said Mohith in a low chilly tone. Yet one could hear happiness, contempt and even enthusiasm in his words. He laughed whole heartedly after a long decade and realized that it didn't hurt to do so anymore.

"Please god..., have mercy on this poor soul.

A confused laugh followed.

There is no god and I'm going straight to hell for what I am about to do..."

A sinister laugh and a loud blast echoed through the cold monsoon night as the car rammed through the fence and leaped off the edge of the cliff into the bloody jaws of death an eternity below.

Chapter 2

The phone rang. The sun was just breaking through the heavens and the room was still quite dark. It rang again, waking up a sobering Mohith Prasad. He knew it could be only one of two people. His Mother or his Fiancée. Mohith rushed to the telephone that was placed two steps away from the cozy bed.

It was a small room in a high-rise building. Carpeted floors, as usual, to keep the feet insulated from the penetrating cold. Modestly furnished with a small stool, reading table, reading lamp and Mohith's favorite, the small mini-bar tucked into a nice opening under the ironing table.

The cold shot through his skin like hypodermic needles. Mohith had never experienced any thing like it all his life. Mohith came from a modern Indian family. He had lived the whole twenty-two years of his life under the protection of his loving parents. Bangalore, a capitol city belonging to the state of Karnataka, was Mohith's birthplace and his hometown. Contrary to the image brought forth by the mentioning of India, Bangalore was quite a cosmopolitan city. It was once the "Information Technology Hub" of Asia and a place filled with people who loved McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Coca-Cola and Microsoft.  

There was some thing uniquely American or Western about Bangalore. It was a place where guys hung out in "Hip" outfits and girls in kinky mini skirts. In essence Bangalore was more American than Indian and yet somehow through the endless parties and the nightlife, a sense of ones own always prevailed. They never forgot who they were and where they came from.