Book 1 of Revenge Series 🎀
(On hold) for a month
Evan Malhotra with his mother Evara Gomes was stuck in a cell, they were locked there for 3 years. Evara didn't take any risk to escape as Evan was 1 month old when they were bought here.
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Evan was barely conscious when the motorboat drifted out into the deep ocean. His mother’s final words echoed in his mind, a mix of determination and grief clouding his thoughts. The sun was rising, casting a golden hue across the water and signaling the start of a new day, and potentially a new life.
Evan had never been so scared and alone in his life. His clothes were soaked and tattered, and he was exhausted from rowing for what felt like hours. The cold and fatigue were overwhelming, but he knew he had to survive for his mother’s sake. He stumbled out of the boat, collapsing onto the deck, barely able to keep his eyes open.
A group of fishermen, who had set out early that morning, noticed a small boat drifting aimlessly in the distance. They approached cautiously, their curiosity piqued by the sight. As they got closer, they saw the boy lying motionless on the deck.
One of the older fishermen, a man named Biju, leaned over the side of their boat to get a better look. “There’s a boy here! He’s barely alive,” Biju shouted to his companions. They quickly brought Evan onto their boat, his body cold and weak.
“He’s in bad shape. We need to get him back to shore, fast,” Biju said, his voice filled with urgency. The fishermen worked together to navigate their boat back to the village, their thoughts heavy with concern for the boy they had just rescued.
The village was small and bustling with early morning activities. The fishermen’s wives were already preparing breakfast, children were playing, and the elderly were sitting in the shade, watching the day unfold. When the boat arrived with Evan, it drew immediate attention.
Biju’s wife, Parvati, was a kind-hearted woman who immediately took charge. “Bring him inside, quickly!” she commanded, her voice brooking no argument. They laid Evan on a mat in their modest home, and she began tending to his wounds with a practiced hand.
Word of the mysterious boy who had washed ashore spread quickly through the village. Among those who heard the news were an elderly couple, the Smiths, who were visiting the village for their vacation. They were wealthy and respected, with their children grown and settled in America. Mrs. Smith was a kind, maternal woman who had always longed for more children, while Mr. Smith was a stern but fair man with a soft spot for children.
When they arrived at Biju’s home, they found Parvati feeding a now slightly recovered Evan some warm broth. The boy’s eyes were wide and frightened, but there was a resilience in them that caught Mrs. Smith’s attention.
“What’s your name, son?” she asked gently.
Evan hesitated, remembering his mother’s words. “Ritik… Ritik Malhotra,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
The Smiths spent the next few days visiting Evan, learning what little they could about his story. Evan, adhering to his mother’s warning, claimed he could not remember his past. He described waking up alone on the boat, without any recollection of how he got there. The Smiths, sensing his reluctance to discuss his past, did not press further. They saw a quiet strength in him and decided he needed a stable home and a chance for a fresh start.
“We could give him a good home, a good education,” Mrs. Smith said to her husband one evening. “Our children are grown and far away. This boy needs us, and we can give him a future.”
Mr. Smith nodded thoughtfully. “He does seem like a good boy. And we do have the means to provide for him. But are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes,” she replied firmly. “I feel it in my heart. He’s meant to be with us.”
The adoption process was swift, thanks to the Smiths' influence and resources. Evan, now officially Ritik, moved to Kolkata with them. The transition was overwhelming for him. The bustling city was a stark contrast to the quiet, oppressive prison and even the peaceful village where he had briefly stayed.
The Smiths’ home was a sprawling mansion in a quiet, upscale neighborhood. It was unlike anything Evan had ever seen. His room was large and comfortable, filled with books and toys that he had never dreamed of having.
Adjusting to his new life was challenging. The Smiths enrolled Evan in one of the best schools in Kolkata. It was a prestigious institution with a rigorous curriculum. On his first day, Mrs. Smith walked him to the gate, reassuring him with a warm smile.
“You’ll do great, Ritik. Just be yourself,” she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
School was both a refuge and a challenge for Evan. He was behind in his studies, having missed years of formal education, but he was determined to catch up. His teachers were impressed by his dedication, and he quickly became known as a hardworking student.
At home, the Smiths treated Evan with kindness and patience. Mrs. Smith spent hours helping him with his homework, teaching him to read and write in English and Bengali. Mr. Smith, though stern, was proud of Evan’s progress and often took him to his study to teach him about history and politics.
Despite their differences, Evan began to feel a sense of belonging. He started calling the Smiths “Maa” and “Baba,” and they, in turn, treated him like their own son. The trauma of his past began to fade, replaced by new, happier memories.
However, the shadows of his past still lingered. Evan often had nightmares about the prison, the guards, and the general.
