"Jagannath Mohapatra," ACP Jai Sahu submitted his report to his senior. "He has come out to be the prime smuggler of jaggery in the Cuttack region, sir."

Commissioner Naik waved his fingers over his bald head for once and said, "I'm more invested in the smugglers connected with the exports from the Paradeep Port."

Sahu, maintaining his respectful stance in front of his senior, stated, "Our team hasn't yet reached that piece of information, sir. All we know till now is that gud is smuggled somehow amidst the iron ore exports from Paradeep. The syndicate follows a clever protocol that is still away from our knowledge. The lead exporter is said to be given the alias Alpen."

"Sounds like a post," Naik demanded, "I want that you take this Alpen as the prime focus of your investigation."

"Our team believes we'll get more information very soon," Sahu's next words were.

Naik, with a sigh, stood up from his chair and walked till the window of his office. "My boy, I'm impressed by the pace of your work."

By his tone, it was hard for Sahu to deduce whether it was a serious remark or casual sarcasm. Sahu preferred to believe it was the former one.

"You know why I've got you posted back here, just for the sake of this case?" Naik turned to him, "It's not at all like I could get no better cop for this. The thing is that out of all those who make up my list, you're the only one with no family. I hope you understand."

Sahu had no response to this.

Naik walked up till his desk's drawer and fished out an envelope from it. He handed it to Sahu. "If we ever get someone from the syndicate, we simply get them barred for a few years and take away their trade or travel licence. But this... this is what they do when they get someone from the police." He handed the envelope to Sahu.

Sahu, with his senior's order, pulled the seal of the envelope out and gently pulled out the few black-and-white photographs from it. He gazed at the top-most photo which made his pupil expand widely. The photograph showed a policeman tied to a pillar with his eyes dug out and scalp hair seemingly ripped off. The second photo was of another officer laid dead on a car with around forty-to-fifty knives of different sizes stabbed on his chest. The third photograph showed a naked man being beaten brutally by a masked gang with barbed sticks. The last photograph was of a lady officer. Jai Sahu pressed his eye-lids inwards as he had not the courage to have even a glance of it.

Naik gave out a long sigh. "These bastards think that laws are something that they ought not to consider they must abide to. You are given this case and you'd soon become their prime target. All I can wish for is to not have your photograph in this envelope soon." He patted on the gleaming badges on Sahu's shoulder and made his exit from the office.

Sahu had never ever invited such a comment from a senior. He had his eye-brows deeply crossed. He had to cope with the intensity of the saga of blood and bullets that was soon about to get unfolded.

Soorya Nath Mohapatra stood motionless at the open door of the room where the old man lying dead on the floor. He simply did not know how to react to something that he had never expected or prepared himself to come across. He just stood still. There were some hopes which helped him hide the fact from him. He knew his father was soon about to pull his body up to greet his child. But there was some reasoning calculating on in his conscience which brought up the sense of fear that he might be wrong. The lifeless eyes of Jagannath Mohapatra were staring straight at Soorya, as if they wanted to confront him with lovely gazes, but were unable to. Soorya still did not know how to respond to this stimulus. Before he could learn how, the butt of a rifle was smashed on the back of his head from somewhere and then all he knew was silence.

"Boss, the seat for the Cuttack line is vacant now," spoke up a masked henchman to his master.

The master – the Alpen – responded with the sneeriest smile he could give, "Reins must always be in someone's hand... Let's celebrate the dawn of my hold." With this, he smashed the hammer he was holding on the fore-head of the police officer lying unconsciously next to him.

[1983]

"The Sun never tells us it's with us," Jagannath Mohapatra said to his eight-year-old son, Soorya, "it's its presence which makes us believe that. It does not matter whether we feel anything for the Sun; it will always shower its warmth for our good. In the same way, never feel like you'll ever be vulnerable when you see me around."

[PRESENT DAY; 2 JANUARY, 1998]

It took more time for his vision to come back than it took to faint away. Soorya forced his eye-lids upward to let the enraged fluid flow out. It was not the first time he was weeping. But indeed, this time was different. The Sun was not around to give him warmth. This time, he felt vulnerable.

Even before he could get complete consciousness, he realised that he was tied to a rusty iron pillar. He soon heard a chink of a knife. He turned towards the menacing sound and found a perspiring man in a banyan with a butcher's knife in his hand.

"Haaagh!" Soorya screamed; not in fear, but in rage.

"It's about time, Soorya," came a hoarse voice from a shady corner of the room. The man behind the voice stepped ahead to become visible under the yellow light thrown by a bulb right above him. His cheeks were roughly wrinkled and hair was thin and grey. "It's high-time you join the syndicate. Your father never wanted you to do so, but the old man's gone now, and we terribly need people like you in our service."

"What did you do to my father?" Soorya wheezed in temper

The old man in the room's corner sighed and looked down at his shoes before looking up at Soorya again, "I won't say we did not wish to kill him, but the death he gave himself was his choice. He had become a bug in our syndicate, but somehow, we don't expect that from you."

Soorya was still trying to avoid realising the fact that his father was dead. "He is not dead, I know." Tears dominated his eyes again.

The old man had an irritated sigh before speaking ahead. "My name is Gaja Unnat Das, the manager of G.U.D. enterprises and the hench-leader of the Odia line of smuggling. I assure that your father's body will be respectfully cremated."

"Haaagh!" Soorya cried again, and unsuccessfully tried to pull himself up.

The man beside Soorya charged towards his neck with his butcher's knife like a ferocious tiger.

"Hold!" shouted the old man.

The butcher stopped with his knife just half-an-inch away from Soorya's neck.

"I know you would need some days to move off this grief," Das said, stepping towards Soorya. "I'll let you go back to your village for once before you join the syndicate. If your village gets even a word on your father's death from you, you'll see your village in flames. And if you do not respond to our offer within three weeks in our desired way, then your village will again suffer through that very fate."

Soorya could do nothing but glare. One could see fear, rage and sorrow all at once in his eyes. Before he could get enough time to get his eyes down from the glaring state, someone from behind knocked the butt of a rifle hard against the back of his head and everything went black again.

Gaja Unnat Das was, in some ways, more helpless than before. The Cuttack line had the most intense network of suppliers and transporters. Given this fact, the manager of this line welcomed a lot of fortune. Das always used to decide wisely for the line's head. But Soorya was someone who he had only heard about. Soorya's appointment had to be quick, as Das was aware of the war that was soon about to unfold within the syndicate. All that Das did not know was that Soorya was soon about to make the syndicate's way for the most terrifying smuggling trail in history, but in cost of his throne.

Besides this, a letter was still waiting for Soorya Nath Mohapatra.