The Reign


That day was the beginning of a new chapter in my life. The fear that had been gnawing at me since the police visit had only grown, especially when I realized Swapna knew about Mr. Singhania's death. But the most terrifying part wasn’t just that she knew—how did she know?

I couldn’t shake the unease as I sat down with Swapna that evening. I had to understand what had happened. “Swapna,” I began, trying to keep my voice calm, “how did you know about Mr. Singhania?”

She looked at me with those same innocent eyes, but there was something unsettling about her calmness. “You told me last night, Dad,” she said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “When I came home, you were crying. You told me everything—about Mr. Singhania, about your business.”

My heart sank as her words washed over me. The memory of last night was a blur, and I couldn’t recall what I had said. I had been too deep in my despair, too lost in the alcohol to remember. “And… how did you feel when I told you all that?” I asked, dreading her response.

Swapna’s expression didn’t change. She looked at me with a steady gaze, her voice unwavering. “Whatever you do, it won’t change my feelings towards you, Dad. You’re always the best, and this doesn’t change anything.”

I breathed a small sigh of relief, but her next words caught me off guard. “You’re sending me to Australia because you don’t want me to know about all this, aren’t you?”

Her insight stunned me, and I couldn’t deny the truth in her words. It was true; I wanted to protect her, to keep her away from the darkness of my world. But how could she see that so clearly?

I hesitated before asking the question that had been haunting me all day. “But Swapna… how did you know that Mr. Singhania was dead?”

She looked at me with a calmness that unnerved me. "Dad, there's something I need to tell you," she began, her tone steady. "My mom knew black magic. It was true that she killed my dad. I don’t know how, but I’ve inherited some of those abilities."

I stared at her, unable to process what she was saying. Was this my innocent daughter talking? The one who I thought I knew so well?

"That day when you took me to my mom's grave," she continued, her voice soft yet clear, "I saw my mom there. She told me that I must never leave you."

My breath caught in my throat. Swapna was speaking as if this were the most normal thing in the world. I wanted to dismiss it as a child’s imagination, but there was something in her eyes—something that told me she believed every word.

"Last night," she went on, "when you told me about Mr. Singhania and everything you’ve done… I wanted to change things. I wanted to help you. So, I called Mr. Singhania from your phone and made him take his life."

I could barely comprehend what she was saying. Black magic? Did that even exist? Was I really listening to my child confess to something so impossible, so terrifying? I felt a cold sweat break out across my forehead. "Swapna… what are you saying?" I whispered, more to myself than to her.

She looked at me with the same unwavering gaze. "I just wanted to protect you."

I was at a loss for words. This was beyond anything I could have imagined. The reality of my situation had just shifted into something far more complex, something far more terrifying. I wanted to ask her how she had done it, how any of this was possible, but the words wouldn’t come. The truth was, I was terrified—terrified of what I might hear, and of what my innocent daughter had become.

My thoughts raced, but my voice remained trapped in my throat. I could feel the fear showing in my eyes, betraying the turmoil inside me. Swapna must have noticed, because she quickly moved closer, wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug.

“Dad,” she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet urgency, “I’m not evil. I’m still your Swapna. I did this only for you. Please… don’t look at me like that.”

Her words were soft, but they cut through the fear that gripped me. I wanted to believe her, to see her as the same little girl I had always known. But the reality of what she had done, and the power she had somehow inherited, left me shaken to my core.

It was all too much to process. The fear, the uncertainty, the revelation of Swapna’s powers—it weighed heavily on my mind. I looked at her, trying to find the right words, but all I could manage was a simple, “This is a lot to take in, Swapna.”

Just then, my phone rang. It was my aunt. “Arjun,” she said, her voice tinged with pain, “I’m unable to move. Last night, I slipped and fell down the stairs. My leg is fractured.”

I quickly turned to Swapna, her innocent eyes watching me closely. “It’s okay, Aunt,” I said into the phone, forcing calm into my voice. “The situation here is under control for now. I’ll call you if I need anything. Take care of yourself.”

As I hung up, I couldn’t shake the nagging thought in my mind. I looked directly at Swapna and asked, “Did you do this?”

“Do what, Dad?” she asked, her expression innocent and confused.

“My aunt,” I said slowly, trying to gauge her reaction. “She slipped down the stairs and fractured her leg. Did you… did you do something?”

Swapna’s eyes widened, and she shook her head firmly. “I swear, Dad, I did nothing.”

Her denial was immediate, but I couldn’t help but wonder. The timing, the suddenness—it all felt too coincidental. Yet, there was no trace of deceit in her voice, nothing that suggested she was lying. I wanted to believe her, but the uncertainty gnawed at me.

As days passed, my relationship with Swapna became increasingly strained. The recent events—Mr. Singhania’s death, my aunt’s accident—had planted seeds of doubt in my mind. I found myself growing more skeptical of Swapna’s powers, unsure of what to believe. This unease created a distance between us, one that Swapna clearly noticed. She seemed hurt by the change in me, her usual brightness dimming as she sensed my growing caution. Despite the guilt I felt, I couldn’t bring myself to act as if everything was normal.

Then came a call from Kiran, a police officer I’d crossed paths with before. His tone was calm, yet there was an edge to it that caught my attention. He asked to meet privately at a coffee shop. While I wasn’t terrified like I had been with Mr. Singhania, I don't know why and at the same time, I couldn’t deny a flicker of nerves as I agreed to the meeting.

At the coffee shop, Kiran was already waiting, seated in a quiet corner. He looked up as I approached, nodding in acknowledgment. As I sat down, he pushed a file across the table toward me.

“This was found in the backyard of Mr. Singhania’s house,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’m not entirely sure what’s in it, but I have a strong feeling it’s connected to you.”

My heart rate quickened slightly as I opened the file and skimmed through the contents. The documents were ambiguous but troubling. While they didn’t outright expose me, there wasn’t enough to suggest connections that, but in the wrong hands, could lead to my downfall.

Kiran leaned forward, his gaze fixed on mine. “I’ve taken a big risk keeping this from the others. If you want to keep it that way, I need Rs. 5 crores. Otherwise, I’ll hand it over to Mr. Singhania’s colleagues, and you can imagine what happens next.”

I looked up from the file, meeting Kiran’s eyes. He wasn’t bluffing, but he wasn’t overly aggressive either. It was a calculated move on his part, one that he believed would work in his favor. I considered the situation. The file wasn’t enough to destroy me, but it was dangerous enough to be a serious problem if someone else knew what Singhania knew.

“I’ll need some time,” I replied, keeping my voice measured.

Kiran nodded, seemingly satisfied with my response. “You’ve got a week. After that, I can’t make any promises.”

As I left the coffee shop, my mind was swirling with thoughts of Kiran’s blackmail and the potential fallout. But as I mulled it over, my thoughts quickly shifted to Swapna. Perhaps the reason I hadn’t panicked as I had with Singhania was because of her. A part of me needed to know if what she had claimed was real. Did she really possess those powers, or was it all in her imagination?

That evening, I found Swapna in her room. She was sitting quietly, and as I entered, she immediately lowered her head. The distance between us weighed heavily on both of us, and I could see the sadness in her eyes—mirroring my own.

“Swapna,” I began, my voice softer than it had been in days, “I know this gap between us has been hard on you. It’s been hard on me too. It’s just… difficult for me to accept everything you’ve told me. Now, I’m starting to think that maybe you’re just imagining these things.”

She looked up at me, her expression a mix of hurt and determination. “No, Dad,” she said quietly.

I paused, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt. “Okay then,” I continued, “can you do it again? Show me?”

Swapna hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her face. “Will you be like you were before? Will we be happy again, if I do that?”

Her words cut through me, revealing just how much my distance had affected her. Without thinking, I quickly responded, “Yes, we’ll be like before. I promise.”

Swapna didn’t press me for details. She didn’t ask why it was necessary or what exactly I intended. Instead, she simply looked at me and asked, “Do you have the number?”

I hesitated, feeling a mix of relief and dread. I didn’t fully understand how she did what she claimed, but I knew I didn’t want any more police officers showing up at my door. “I have the number,” I admitted, “but we can’t call him from my phone. It has to look like an accident. And there’s a file… it can’t be found by anyone else.”

She absorbed my words, her expression unreadable. After a brief pause, she nodded and said, “Let’s go for a ride.”

We drove in silence, the air thick with unspoken tension. Eventually, she asked me to stop at a phone booth on a quiet, deserted street. I pulled over, parking the car just a few feet away from the booth.

“Give me the number,” she said, holding out her hand. I hesitated for a moment before reciting it to her. She nodded and instructed me to stay in the car.

I watched as she walked into the booth, the glass walls offering a clear view of her small figure inside. She picked up the receiver and began dialing, her movements deliberate and calm. As I watched, I realized she wasn’t speaking in any discernible way—no conversation, no words, just… sounds, almost like a low hum or murmur.

The whole thing lasted only 34 seconds. I stared at her through the glass, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. She hung up the phone and walked back to the car, her expression as calm as when she had left.

She got into the car without a word, and I started the engine, the silence between us heavy with tension and unspoken questions. I didn’t know what to say, and she didn’t offer any explanations. Whatever had just happened in that phone booth, it left me with more questions than answers.

“That’s it? There’s nothing else you need to do?” I asked, trying to make sense of the brief encounter in the phone booth.

Swapna shrugged slightly. “I think it’ll work out,” she said, her tone casual, almost as if she were talking about something as simple as homework.

When we returned home, she went straight to her room and fell asleep. I, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the unease that had settled over me. I kept waiting for something—news, a phone call, anything that would confirm or deny what she had done. But as the hours ticked by, nothing happened. By the evening, I started to convince myself that it was all just in my head, that perhaps Swapna’s powers were nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

Feeling a pang of guilt, I decided to take Swapna out for snacks, hoping to make up for the distance that had grown between us. We ended up at a roadside stall, enjoying some chaat as the evening breeze blew through the streets.

Just as I began to relax, a loud crash shattered the calm. A truck had collided with a scooter right in front of us. Instinctively, I rushed forward with the rest of the onlookers to see what had happened, and then I saw him—Kiran, the police officer who had blackmailed me, lying motionless on the ground.

If anyone else had been in my situation, they would have been shocked, horrified, desperate to get away from all of this. But I am not like anyone else. Instead of fear or panic, my mind raced through thousands of thoughts, each more extreme than the last. The possibilities, the power, the control—it was all rushing through my head like a storm.

As I stood there, staring at Kiran's lifeless body, I found myself laughing. A quiet, almost incredulous laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep within me. I turned to look at Swapna, who was still enjoying her chaat from a distance, seemingly unfazed by the chaos unfolding around us. When she saw me looking, she smiled back, a simple, innocent smile.

In that moment, the distance between us evaporated. Whatever doubts or fears I had were swallowed up by the thrill of what had just happened. I realized then that this was my new reality, and I wasn’t afraid of it. Instead, I was exhilarated by the possibilities it opened up.

*****

Have you ever seen “Death Note”, a japanese anime series. The story revolves around a character named Yagami Light, a brilliant student who finds a mysterious notebook with a terrifying power. The notebook, known as the Death Note, gives him the ability to kill anyone simply by writing their name in it—as long as he knows their face. At first, Light uses the Death Note with what he believes are noble intentions. He starts by eliminating criminals, thinking he’s delivering justice and purging the world of its evils. In his mind, he’s creating a utopia, a perfect world where he reigns as a god of justice.

But as time goes on, that power starts to corrupt him. What begins as a mission to cleanse the world quickly spirals into something much darker. Light becomes obsessed with his own power, using the Death Note not just to rid the world of the guilty, but to remove anyone who dares to stand in his way. His sense of justice warps into a dangerous, god-like delusion.

But I was not like Yagami Light. I wasn’t driven by some grand, misguided notion of justice, nor did I have any illusions about creating a better world. I wasn’t interested in purging society of its evils or playing the role of a twisted savior. No, my motivations were far simpler and much more selfish. I was here for myself, and only for myself. Every decision I made, every step I took, was about securing what I wanted, no matter the cost.

In that moment, as I realized the power that Swapna held, I understood that she was my own version of the Death Note. But unlike Light, I had no grand vision, no higher purpose. Swapna wasn’t a tool to reshape the world; she was a means to an end—my end. With her by my side, I had the power to eliminate anyone who stood in my way, to clear the path for my ambitions without leaving a trace. It wasn’t about justice or morality; it was about power, control, and the ruthless pursuit of my own desires.

For a year, we embarked on a journey that was paved with more killings than I had ever imagined. The devil inside me, which I had kept in check for so long, was now in full swing. My business expanded into every industry, breaking barriers that once seemed impossible to cross. I became unstoppable.

Obstacles that would have deterred anyone else were nothing but minor inconveniences to me. Every single one of them was eliminated—quietly, efficiently, and without a trace. But no one knew it was me. I operated in the shadows, with Swapna as the instrument of my will.

Sometimes, I craved something more than just a simple death. For certain people, those who had crossed me in ways I couldn’t forgive, I wanted cruelty. I wanted them to suffer, to experience a fate that mirrored the anger and disdain I held for them. And so, I asked Swapna for more.

At first, she was unsure, hesitant about pushing her abilities further. But I insisted, urging her to try. The thrill of power had taken hold of me, and I needed to see it manifest in the most brutal ways. I had someone specific in mind—Mr. Lal Singh, a man who had not only opposed me but had humiliated me publicly. I couldn’t let that slide. I didn’t just want him dead; I wanted him to die in front of me, and I wanted it to be horrific.

I told Swapna exactly what I wanted. "I want him thrown under a lorry," I said, my voice cold and precise. "And I want his skull to be ripped apart. I need to see it happen."

She looked at me, her eyes filled with uncertainty, but she nodded. There was no turning back.

And then, it happened. Just like I had imagined. We were in the car, not far from his office. I watched as Lal Singh stepped out onto the street, oblivious to the fate that awaited him. In a matter of seconds, a speeding lorry came out of nowhere, striking him with a force that was almost too much to comprehend. His body crumpled under the impact, and his skull… his skull was ripped apart, just as I had envisioned.

The sound, the sight, the sheer brutality of it all—it was exactly what I had wanted. The blood splattered across the pavement and it all played out in front of me like a gruesome performance.

And I felt a sick satisfaction. There was no regret, no second-guessing—only the grim realization that I had the power to make even my darkest thoughts a reality. Swapna had made it happen, and in that moment, I knew there were no limits to what we could do.

I wasn’t just using Swapna’s abilities; I was indulging in them, pushing the limits of what we could achieve together. The line between necessity and pleasure blurred, and I found myself crossing it more often than I’d care to admit.

Swapna never asked me why I wanted these people to die. She was always ready, always willing to do whatever I asked of her. It was as if she trusted me completely, believed that whatever I wanted, whatever I decided, was justified. There was a disturbing simplicity to it all. No moral dilemmas, no second-guessing—just a pure, unquestioning loyalty. She became the perfect tool, executing my will without hesitation or remorse. In her eyes, I was still the father she adored.

One day, I set my sights on Mr. Prakash, a billionaire who had become an obstacle in my plans. Unmarried and with no family to inherit his vast estate, he was surrounded only by his loyal followers. I had already acquired 15% of the company’s shares and had a few board members in my favor. But when it came time to vote on my becoming one of the directors, Mr. Prakash’s influence shut me out. His single word had enough weight to turn the rest of the board against me.

Furious, I shared my frustrations with Swapna. "I want him gone," I told her. "But not yet. We can't rush this. By next month, I want him dead." Swapna nodded as she always did, without hesitation or question.

But things took an unexpected turn the following week when Mr. Prakash invited me to his home. It caught me off guard; I hadn’t expected such an invitation from a man I was plotting against. When I arrived, I found him to be surprisingly humble—a trait I hadn’t associated with a man of his stature. His words carried the same weight as my father’s once had, and I found myself admiring his demeanor, even though I had planned his death.

As we talked, I asked him something that had been on my mind. “Why do you keep earning, especially since you don’t have a family? Who are you doing this for?”

He smiled, and without answering immediately, led me to a large building adjacent to his home. Inside, there were over 500 children. “These are my children,” he said with a quiet pride. “They’re the reason I keep going, the reason I continue to earn. I’ve dedicated my life to securing their futures and for others like them who have no homes.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, I was speechless. Then, as if sensing my surprise, he added, “I want you to look after them when I’m gone. I’ve heard about you raising the daughter of your maid, and that struck me. I once thought of you as just another lucky businessman, but knowing that you’ve taken her in as your own... I believe you may be the right person to carry on this legacy."

His request left me conflicted. On one hand, I had admired the man for his compassion, and on the other, I had already plotted his demise. Hearing him speak about these children with such warmth stirred something inside me.

I didn’t say anything in response. Sensing my silence, Mr. Prakash looked at me with understanding and said, "I know I’m asking a lot from you, but I believe you’re the right person for this."

I left his place without uttering a word. A strange feeling of guilt was weighing on me—something I hadn’t expected to feel. I didn’t even know I was capable of it. Maybe it was because I saw a bit of my father in him, or perhaps it was the sight of those children. The way he was shaping their futures, giving them a chance at a better life, struck a chord deep within me.
As soon as I got home, I went straight to Swapna's room and told her everything. She listened quietly, then looked at me with those sharp, perceptive eyes. "But you wanted his death, right?" she asked.

I quickly responded, "No, I don’t want him to die."

She tilted her head slightly, confused. "Why not? He’s the only obstacle you have. If you became a director in the company, you could be the CEO by next year."

Her words were true, and I was impressed by how much she had learned over the years. Her understanding of power and ambition was beyond her years, yet it was unsettling at the same time.

"He loves children," I told her. "He’s raising 500 kids, just like you. I’ve never met anyone like him. So please, let him be."

Swapna’s expression shifted to one of disappointment as she responded, "You should always be on top, no matter how good others are. That’s the last thing you wanted, isn’t it? I don’t tolerate anyone coming in your way."

Her words were sharp, and for a moment, I saw a flash of something in her that unsettled me—a determination that bordered on obsession. I realized she was getting out of control, and I needed to rein her in.

I spoke to her more harshly than I intended, "When I tell you not to do something, you have to listen to me. Do you understand?"

There was a flicker of anger in my voice that I hadn’t meant to show. Swapna’s shoulders slumped slightly as she replied, "Ok, Dad." But even as she said it, I could see the disappointment in her eyes, a quiet sadness that I knew was directed at me.

© The Usual Guy