Chapter 9: The Forging of Steel
Time in prison didn't flow; it dripped. But Arjun didn't let it go to waste.
While the other boys aged, Arjun evolved.
The library gave him the mind. But he knew the mind was useless if the body was a glass vessel. He remembered the night on the stage, the kicks raining down on his ribs. He remembered how helpless he felt when the guards pinned him.
Never again.
Every morning, two hours before the whistle blew, Arjun was up.
The cell was too small for running, so he used gravity. Handstand push-ups against the cold wall. One-armed pull-ups on the iron bars of the ventilation shaft. Squats until his legs felt like jelly, then a hundred more.
He didn't want the bulky, slow muscles of a bodybuilder. He wanted the lean, coiled power of a cobra.
Shiva watched him from his mat, half-asleep.
"Why do you bother?" Shiva asked, yawning. "You have me. Anyone touches you, I break them."
Arjun finished his set, sweat dripping down his face. He stood up, wiping his forehead with his shirt. At seventeen, he had shot up in height. He was touching six feet now, towering over most of the inmates. His frame was filling out, his shoulders broadening, his skin losing the juvenile softness and hardening into a fair, polished bronze.
"A king who cannot hold his own sword is just a puppet, Shiva," Arjun said, his breathing controlled. "You are my general. But I am the King. If I can't kill a man with my own hands, I don't deserve to lead you."
Shiva grunted, rolling over. He knew Arjun was right. He had seen Arjun during their sparring sessions in the back of the yard. Arjun wasn't a brawler like Shiva. Shiva fought with rage; he wanted to hurt. Arjun fought with precision; he wanted to end it.
The test came three days before Arjun's eighteenth birthday.
A new transfer had arrived from the district jail. A nineteen-year-old named Bala. He was older, bigger, and had a reputation for stabbing a constable. He didn't like the fact that the Juvenile Home was run by a skinny rich kid and his silent bodyguard.
It happened in the shower block.
The water was running, creating a noisy, misty haze. Shiva had been called away by the Warden for labor duty. Arjun was alone, washing the grime off his arms.
Bala walked in with three of his crew. They blocked the exit.
"So you're the Boss?" Bala sneered, snapping a wet towel. "You look like a Bollywood actor. Pretty face. Soft hands."
Arjun didn't turn off the tap. He continued washing his face.
"Walk away, Bala," Arjun said calmly. His voice echoed off the tiled walls.
"Or what? Your dog Shiva isn't here to save you," Bala laughed, stepping closer. "Today, we change management. Hold him."
Two of Bala's goons lunged forward to grab Arjun's arms.
Arjun didn't panic. He didn't scream. He moved.
He ducked under the first grab, his movement fluid and fast. He grabbed the first attacker's wrist, twisted it against the joint until a sickening pop echoed in the shower, and drove his elbow into the boy's throat.
The boy gagged and collapsed, clutching his neck.
The second attacker swung a fist. Arjun didn't block it; he parried it, slapping the hand away and stepping into the guard. He drove his knee into the boy's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him, followed by a sharp palm strike to the nose. Blood sprayed. The boy went down.
It took three seconds. Two men were on the floor.
Bala stood frozen. He had expected a scuffle. He hadn't expected this. Arjun stood there, water dripping from his hair, his face completely expressionless. He didn't look angry. He looked bored.
"You... you..." Bala stammered, pulling a sharpened toothbrush shiv from his pocket.
Arjun sighed.
"You talk too much."
Bala screamed and charged. It was a sloppy, desperate attack.
Arjun sidestepped the thrust effortlessly. He caught Bala's arm, using the momentum to spin him around. He kicked the back of Bala's knee, forcing him down, and then wrapped his arm around Bala's neck in a chokehold.
He didn't squeeze. He just held him there, whispering in his ear.
"Shiva breaks bones because he likes the sound," Arjun whispered. "I break necks because it's quiet. Do you want me to be quiet, Bala?"
Bala dropped the shiv. He tapped Arjun's arm frantically, gasping for air.
"I... I give up... Boss..."
Arjun released him. Bala fell to the wet floor, coughing and retching.
Arjun picked up his soap and towel. He stepped over Bala's heaving body. He stopped at the door and looked back at the four broken boys.
"Next time," Arjun said, his voice smooth and cold, "don't bring three. Bring ten. This was just a warm-up."
He walked out, adjusting his wet hair.
Shiva met him in the corridor. He saw Arjun's bruised knuckles and the commotion in the shower block.
"Did I miss something?" Shiva asked.
"Just some housekeeping," Arjun said. "Let's go. I'm hungry."
May 2008.
Arjun stood at the gates of the Juvenile Observation Home. He was eighteen years old.
He wore the civilian clothes he had arrived in four years ago—the white shirt and trousers. They were tight now, straining against his chest and arms. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms that were corded with muscle.
He wasn't the lanky boy anymore. He was a man. He stood six-foot-one, his posture straight, his eyes sharp and intelligent. With his fair skin and intense gaze, he looked like a movie star who had taken a wrong turn into hell.
The Warden stood with a clipboard.
"Transfer order is signed," the Warden said, handing him a paper. "You are officially an adult. You are being moved to the Central Jail at Cherlapally to serve the remaining four years of your sentence."
The Warden looked at Arjun. He remembered the scared kid who came in. Now, he was looking at someone who terrified him.
"Good luck, Arjun. Central Jail isn't a playground. There are real killers there."
Arjun took the paper. He didn't smile.
"I know," Arjun said. "I'm looking forward to meeting them."
Shiva was standing next to him. Since Shiva was already eighteen, his transfer order had come through the same day. Arjun had arranged it—a little bribery with the accountant went a long way.
A police van waited outside. This time, it wasn't the small van. It was the armored bus used for high-risk prisoners.
Arjun walked out into the sunlight. He took a deep breath.
The Juvenile Home had been his school. He had learned psychology. He had learned the basics of law. He had learned that pain was temporary.
Now, he was going to university.
Central Jail was where the big players were. Gangsters. Smugglers. Politicians who got caught.
Arjun climbed into the bus, the chains on his wrists clinking. He sat by the window and looked at Shiva.
"Four years, Shiva," Arjun said. "We build the army inside. When we come out in 2012, Hyderabad won't know what hit it."
Shiva cracked his knuckles and grinned. "I'm ready."
As the bus pulled away, Arjun didn't look back at the Juvenile Home. He looked forward.
His eyes were cold, calm, and focused. The eyes of a businessman about to close the biggest deal of his life.
The world thought they had locked him away to rot. They were wrong. They had just put him in an incubator.
The monster was fully grown. Now, it just needed a kingdom.