Chasing the sun SwaSan SS prologue pg 1 (5/7/17)

You may call it reincarnation, or the history repeating itself. There are some stories that are strikingly similar across the time. If you believe in love that is so strong, you may believe it is love's way of tying you up, with your soulmate for an eternity to come.

Chasing the Sun is not a reincarnation story, it is simply two love stories entwined together, one in the past and one in the present. It is Romance with a flavors of historical fiction and political espionage waved in.

At the end of day it is the story of two soulmates finding each other again and again.

I sincerely hope you will enjoy the prologue below.

Prologue

Threads that bind us

It is said that some lives are linked across time, connected by an ancient calling that echoes through ages; destiny.

Prince of Persia, the sands of time

The dark vermilion red sky shuddered as silver lightning struck. The dusk was fading to an ominous night and the clouds scattered away chased by the roaring winds. There were no stars to a company the ghostly pale crescent of moon snuggled cozily into the thick folds of plum color clouds. Against the horizon bleeding from the last rays of the sun stood a man astride on a muscular brown stallion. He was fair, too much so to be called healthy. His skin waxy white and eyes a cool gray of dirty snow. He had thick hair of black brown hints framing his face, a beard of the same color neatly trimmed to hide his chin and cheeks. The man was called Akif Faisal Khan.

In his cold eyes the vast cosmos above looked redder and the feeble sunset could not cast light into his orbs. They say a bleeding sunset foretold of bloodshed in the night that follow. Akif was no stranger to blood or the shedding of the same as for that matter. He was no great believer of fate either. Born as a son of a lower ranked general of the mughal army the fate did not have much to offer him. All that he has at the moment was what he dared to snatch from the claws of destiny. Not always by fair means either. For him another death one more betrayal did not matter much. Unless he was the one at the receiving end. Or so he thought.

In the valley below an array of soldiers were already engaged in battle. Akif observed them for a while, his stormy eyes did not linger on any figure for a long time. In skills and strength, their battalion matched those of the enemy's...however it was the strategy behind the attack which would yield them the victory. After all, the success of the show, did not lay in the hands of the puppets, but the puppeteer. There was no doubt how had the strings of fate at his disposal at that very minute.

Shading his eyes briefly with one of his hands, Akif glanced up at the sandy stone fortress rising over them, the setting sun shimmering through its many towers and guard posts. It looked as haunted as its gigantic shadow in the sand below. He wondered if the legendary walls knew it could hardly thwart the storm from approaching, the history from changing or the walls itself from falling under the vast spreading Mughal rule. The next minute he reprimanded himself for the worthlessly poetic thought and instead wondered whether the ruler of Chandranagar, still nestled in the safety the walls build by his forefathers lent him, felt the power exchanging hands.

A war cry from the valley below broke through his thoughts, darting his eyes back towards the fight. Then his eyes stopped their movement, staring fixedly at one fighter...a warrior Akif never tired of watching in battle. He watched as the man effortlessly handled the two long blades in his hands with the grace and lightness of steps of a dancer. He glided through the clouds of sand rising from his feet and cut through the men blocking his path, not even pausing to find his footing as he twirled and plunged his blade into the heart of his opponent.

The man dropped to his knees and fell over in to a lifeless heap on the dust. Pulling his blade out, the warrior stood motionless for a moment, his eyes undoubtedly sweeping the battle field, doing a mental calculation as he inhaled a deep breath and wiped a streak of blood off his brow with a careless flick of his wrist. From the indigo brushed horizon, the sun dipped lower into non being and the warrior took out a conch from his belt. The battling men around him hardly noticed his movements as he put it against his lips and blew thrice. Its clear and undisturbed notes rose from the center of the battleground and spread everywhere, echoing till the cosmos themselves.

Taking his own conch, Akif made the return signal, blowing it twice before his eyes reclaimed the vision of fighting Chandranagar men. They paid no attention to the lament of them conchs in the wind, dismissing it in front of the clear victory that they assumed was approaching, after all only a few more Mughal warriors were left fighting in the valley, surrounded by thrice their number of Chandranagar soldiers. Akif could almost read the end in those people's eyes, but they could not read the message in the wind, could not sense the end approaching behind them.

There was a reason why history was always written by the victors, it was them who had the ink of fate in their hands.

That night, Akif Faisal Khan would be writing history, altering the path of countless lives. With a terrible war cry he rode to battle, behind him wave after wave of Mughal army followed, their cries echoing his, their numbers hundred folds more than the remaining Chandranagar forces.

The sun vanished from the western skies and the fortress of Chandranagar sank into the shadows not only of doubts but of defeat and fear. The night spoke of a new fate's beginning.

**

India, 2017

The skyline was darkening, as stroke after stroke of deep blue implanted themselves on the horizon. From where he stood, Durga Prasad Maheshwari could not see the sun anymore. But the city laid many floors beneath him. From his high rise building the people in the streets below looked utterly insignificant dots in a worn off map. But, he sighed. Soon the dots won't be that insignificant, in fact each of them would hold a power over him and his fate...no matter how fleeting that would be. He did not like it, not even a bit.

Folding his arms he turned away from the glass wall of his conference room and faced the others sitting around the polished tabled, pouring over folders, typing into keyboards, or answering calls. They all looked busy, he was almost non existent to them. For a moment he observed without interrupting, his eyes taking time to asses features of each of his employees. Durga Prasad had that gift, he could read faces, better than anyone else at his job and he knew exactly what was going behind those pleasant masks they wore. The situation wasn't favorable to them, especially after the stunt his youngest had pulled in front of the media the other night.

Slowly he took a sip of water and cleared his throat. Every head in the room rose to meet his eyes, their works momentarily forgotten. He was in no hurry. Gradually he sipped some more water and sat the glass down, fixed it's lid and clasped his hands together.

"What are the figures? He asked in a pleasantly composed tone.

It was the head of his PR department that replied to the query. The short haired woman, checked her ipad for one last time and pushed her glasses up on her nose, before speaking.

"At the moment, the predicted numbers state a marginal win for Mrs. Bose sir. It's unsurprising really after her speech at the charity event the other night...the odds are favorable towards her. At this rate...we can't really afford any more losses or...

Durga Prasad held out a hand, gesturing her to fall silent. She did, almost swallowing the rest of her speech. He smiled at her, compassionately, understandingly and nodded.

"As we knew, she has capitalized on our shortcomings.

The group listened, without a word of interruption.

"Then we have to do the same right? There was a wise man, who said once, know you friends closely, know your enemies better. It's their weaknesses that sharpen our swords, their strengths that cut us down in turn.

A paper falling from someone's hand made a lot of noise as it hit the marble floor. No body moved to pick it up, Durga Prasad sipped some more water.

"What are our status regarding mission Andromeda?

The PR head cleared her throat and he looked at her hopefully.

"We have confirmed the location of the target sir, all our heroes are in position.

"In other words, summarized Durga Prasad. "We have our eye on her?

"We do, the woman nodded with a faint smile. "We're simply waiting for your command.

For a moment Durga Prasad closed his eyes. He loved being in control, the feeling of power surging through his veins made him more alert to his surroundings. He calculated the possibilities with a razor sharp accuracy and contemplated his next move. "If you say so sir, our men can...

"No, he cut in, as pleasantly as before. "Not our men. Mrs. Bose should not know we're closing in on her soft spot. This task requires an expert. We have only one shot at this and our decades of work depends on that one shot. Then it should be Arjun who takes it right, not some regular archer. He rested his palms on the polished surface of the table and leaned on, intently watching everyone gathered around him. "Call SK, tell him to cut his vacation short. Tell him it's time to return home.

**

Open to your thoughts as always, please do forgive me for taking so much time to post this.

Thanks for reading!

Love,

Sakura