Chapter Text
When all was said and done, no one knew why it had happened.
Some, those who knew about Deepthi and her terrible fate, Daya himself among those, thought it had been her last words. A plea, a curse, something that the magic of Earth decided would not kill Daya, but teach him a difficult lesson.
Others, like constable Narayana Murthy, thought it had been one of the many fae and magic beings that lived in the mangrove that Daya had helped take from Venkat Rao, ready to get revenge for the man, due to what Daya had done.
Saanvi, once she found out the whole story about Daya’s past, thought it had been Daya himself, unknowingly begging the gods to show him the right path, not knowing that in Vizag? The gods usually answered with what you needed, not what you wanted.
Vennela, Saanvi’s fiancée, thought it had been Mother Saraswati, angry at how Daya had used music and arts to try to ruin his and Saanvi’s relationship, but he was too nice to say anything. Besides, Daya had admitted the truth early on, and even helped him get back with her. So in Veneela’s mind, all was forgiven.
Deepthi’s mother thought she had blessed Daya. But then, she never found out the real role Daya played in his daughter’s death so she always saw him as a good man who deserved a reward. She also never knew that, at least until the end, Daya never saw the situation as a blessing.
However, there was a certain blind grandmother who was a good friend with a sea spirit. An old lady who knew very well that the time between India and South Korea was not as different as her granddaughter had made to believe, and that certain men needed to be taken a few pegs down… well, she had her suspicions.
But Bhairava thought how it started really didn’t matter. What mattered was, of course, how it was going to end.
He was afraid it would end up with someone getting their heart broken.
* * *
Daya woke up with a headache the size of his whole body.
Now, that was not uncommon. No matter how much he told himself that he had to drink water as much as he drank alcohol when he partied, he always forgot at some point and thus, his hangovers were as epic as his drinking sprees. And here in Vizag, there was always a reason to celebrate.
“You even got naked, good,” he told himself as he touched his naked torso. He didn’t remember getting undressed when he got home… he didn’t even remember getting home, but there was cloth underneath him, and he was naked, so he figured at some point he had been able to get to his bed. Even if the surface under the cloth felt… hard.
He rolled over, waiting for the pain of falling from the bed to wake him up fully, but that never came. Instead, he found himself moving from the cloth to a wooden plank.
“Stupid Daya,” He told himself, as he grumbled opening his eyes. “Did you sleep in the floor again? It’s no good for your back!”
He managed to get to his feet and immediately regretted opening his eyes. The sun was high and bright and made him feel even worse. And somewhere, his cellphone was ringing louder than Daya had ever heard it.
Loud, and yet, muted. As if it was under something else.
“Makes no sense, shut up!” he yelled in the general direction of the sound, patting his waist where his pocket would be, had he been wearing his pants.
Or his gun.
Well, maybe it was a good thing that his gun was not there, because at the time, with his horrible headache that still seemed to keep vibrating through his body, he might end up shooting himself just to make it stop.
He walked two, five, six steps? He wasn’t sure. But suddenly the ground under his foot disappeared and he fell on water, so deep, Daya thought for sure it had to be the ocean until he took a mouthful and tasted the chlorine on it.
His pool? Now that made absolutely no sense. The tiles were bigger, bigger than his hand. Almost the size of his chest! And he barely managed to grasp the edge and pull himself up and out of the water, coughing and spitting.
At least, the impromptu bath had taken care of his hangover and his headache.
Not of the ringing phone.
“SHUT UP!” He yelled again in the direction of the sound and that’s when he paused to really look around him.
He blinked.
Then he slapped himself.
The view didn’t change, so he slapped himself again, and again. He slapped himself four or five times before accepting that yes, he was awake. What he was seeing was not a dream.
In front of him there was his shirt, the shirt that he knew he had used the day before, laying empty on the floor. Only it was a lot bigger than he remembered. Big enough to be a camping tent for him, no, a whole stadium. And it was not the only thing that was bigger. Now he realized he was in his backyard, where the pool was, only that he was a lot smaller than last time he had seen it. Calculating by the size of his shirt, he was now as tall as his neck had been thick.
He had shrunk. Somehow.
And there was no one whom would check on him.
“Fuck me!” He yelled to the empty shirt in front of him, looking past it to where his also empty pants were.
His only reply was the constant ringing of his phone.
* * *
Narayana Murthy had always considered himself a blessed man. After all, he had a good wife who loved him, a young daughter who was as smart as she was beautiful, and the blessings of nature living in his garden, protecting his family for generations now. That belief had been strongly tested, however, when his new superior arrived on town.
S.I. Daya was everything a policeman shouldn’t be. Everything Narayana Murthy hated. Loud, corrupt and a drunkard.
And for some reason, the man had fixated on Murhty and forced him to be at his side at all times, even when he was committing crimes that Murthy disapproved of.
It was infuriating.
Not as much as the fact that he also used Murthy as his personal secretary and because of that, Murthy was always chasing the man. S.I. Daya seemed incapable of staying put in the station, even when he was supposed to be doing paperwork. At times, Murhty considered the idea of leashing Daya, especially when he found out that he had told that nice girl, Saanvi at the Blue Cross shelter, that he’d be a dog for his wife.
That morning in particular, S.I. Daya had told him to pick him up at 11:00 a.m, but no matter how much Murthy rang the bell or called the man’s phone, there was no sign of his superior officer. If it wasn’t because Murthy knew that S.I. Daya had no means of transportation outside the police car that Murthy was currently driving, he’d be sure the man had gone to a bar, or worse, to Waltair Vasu’s house.
If S.I. Daya was usually unbearable to work with, he was worse after spending just a few minutes with the crime boss.
“Sir!” Murthy yelled, as he was loathe to leave without making sure that S.I. Daya was not, in fact, drowned in his own drool. “Sir!”
Part of it was, of course, that he had been told since he was a child that everyone could change their ways, if they just had a chance to do so. One of his father’s favorite stories to tell Murthy had been of the feared conqueror Sher Khan, who had laid waste to most kingdoms in ancient India until he had invaded the kingdom of Udaigharh. There, he had been opposed not by an army of thousands, but by just one man, the warrior Kala Bhairava who was the bodyguard of Princess Mithravindha Devi of Udaigharh.
To protect his princess, Bhairava had fought a hundred men, without fear or hesitation. And his courage had enlightened Sher Khan’s heart, who fell to his knees in front of the young warrior.
From then on until his death? Sher Khan had become the most beloved emperor of the land, making sure there was no poverty or violence in his kingdom, not through fear, but through education, and peace.
While there was no historical evidence of it, Murthy’s father swore up and down that Sher Khan had finally died in what now was Vizag. And so, in his memory and honor, Murthy couldn’t just let himself abandon S.I. Daya to his vices.
Even if days like today? It was very tempting.
“SIR!” He yelled again and, upon having no answer, he went up the door and pushed it open. Just as he expected, S.I. Daya had not even locked it the night before. Which meant his superior officer was probably drunk either in his bedroom or on the floor in some room. Even more joy for the day for Murthy.
He entered Wailtar Vasu’s guest house -because this was not S.I. Daya’s, no matter what the man said- and started looking for his superior officer, trying to call the man’s phone a couple of times as he did so. It was then when he noticed it was ringing outside, in the yard where the pool was.
Sighing, he opened the door to the deck and stared. He could see the empty clothes that S.I. Daya had been wearing the day before, laid down as if to make a silhouette of where a body had fallen. And, not far from the edge of the pool, what seemed like a human naked doll.
A human naked doll that was waving at him, and yelling.
It too a moment for the sound to reach his ears, because the source was now smaller than usual, but when it did, Murthy knew exactly who that was.
“Murthy! Come here! I need help!” S.I. Daya was yelling, and jumping, and Murthy wanted to look anywhere but at his superior officer who was as naked as the day he had come to the world as the son of corruption.
“I can’t help you, sir,” Murthy said, but he did walk towards the now tiny officer, picking up a napkin on one of the pool tables to hand it to him so he could cover himself up a bit. “But I know who may be able to.”
He looked away while S.I. Daya fastened the napkin around his waist as a makeshift lungi, and then he picked him up and placed him on his shirt uniform pocket.
It was going to be a very, very long day.
* * *
Daya decided immediately that the worst part of his current situation was that he hated being manhandled. He was not a doll, and yet, Murthy had just picked him up like one and dropped him into his shirt pocket like nothing.
Daya hated being treated like nothing.
Murthy had assured him he had someone who could help his situation, and Daya just hoped it wouldn’t be an old wrinkly witch. But anyone who would get him back to his normal size would be good.
He managed to climb out of Murthy’s pocket, at least enough so he could see where they were going. While he knew Murthy didn’t think much of him, Daya had gotten a pretty good grasp of Vizak’s layout. He knew they were not going to the beach, but to the more urban spread. To the poor side of town, to be precise.
Great. The image of an old witch rattling a drum at him and claiming he had angered the gods or the wood spirits or the water spirits or the fish spirits or even the music spirits came back to his mind and he groaned.
There were a lot of spirits he might have angered just last night. Thing was, he didn’t think he had done anything worse than other days, and he had never woken up to a tenth of his original size.
They stopped at a house that, from Daya’s limited point of view, had seen better days. It was big, and the garden was very carefully tended, just like all gardens he had seen in Vizag, but the walls needed paint, and the furniture was so old, Daya was sure he’d break it if he sat on it, even at his current size.
He knew that the garden being kept was because people in Vizag believed that faeries lived in the plants. Saanvi had told him about it, when she explained why she didn’t eat any animal product because she respected the spirits of the sea and woods too much. However, in all the time he had been there, Daya hadn’t seen a single one. He knew they existed, as there were too many stories about them for the fae to be fake, but in his whole life, he had never seen one. Not in Hyderabad, nor in Vizag.
And besides, if Faes were as strict as the gods, wouldn’t they punish the evil doers all the time? Someone like Waltair would never be allowed to have so much power if faeries really cared for what mankind did, right?
Murthy stopped in front of a huge tree, that looked older than the house itself, and was rooted near the pool of the garden, with some of its roots growing into it. This made Daya groan. If the “help” was praying to a faery? Now Daya knew he was doomed to stay small until he found real help. And he wasn’t going to find it on Murthy’s pocket!
As soon as Murthy kneeled, just as Daya suspected he was going to do, he restarted his attempts to get out of the pocket completely. Even if he had to run for a day or two? He’d be able to get to Waltair’s house. Perhaps the boss would have a better idea.
“Oh, warrior who crushes our enemies, mightiest of the mighty, Kala Bhairava, I ask for your presence please.” Murthy said, and Daya groaned as he rolled his eyes. That sounded so pompous and annoying. Like one of those heroes in old movies who thought they were better than anyone. Not that this Kala Bhairava was going to reply to Murthy. Faeries didn’t care for humans.
He redoubled his efforts and managed to get one leg over Murthy’s pocket and was working on the other when suddenly, a new voice was heard and Daya couldn’t help but look up.
“Murthy Garu, you know you only need to call my name and I will be here for you,” the voice said.
Daya stood there, petrified as he saw the owner of the voice, which was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life.
The creature’s skin was brown as caramel, sun kissed and shimmering with white and violet glitter. He looked male, but still was more beautiful than any woman that Daya had ever seen, with long hair reaching his shoulders, also shimmering with the sun, covered in tiny flower buds.
Suddenly, in Daya’s mind, Saanvi became just a child’s cassette player. This Kala Bhairava? Was a home entertainment system, full stereo, THX.
He was so entranced by the man’s gorgeous face, his well-kept beard, and his pretty features, that it took him a second for him to notice that his eyes were obviously not human. They were brown, yes, but he could see flecks of purple and violet all over them. And there was no white on them. His full eyes were just brown orbs, like jewels in his face, framed by the longest, fuller eyelashes Daya had ever seen.
Not only that, but his head was crowned with a funny pair of antennae, that branched into three on the top.
And of course, now that Daya was paying attention, the huge violet wings on his back were impossible to miss.
A faery. A true faery, so gorgeous that Daya felt his heart leap in his chest, and suddenly, he lost his step and fell out of Murthy’s chest, yelling a curse as he did. He hoped Murhty would catch him, but instead, he felt two arms around him, holding him and lifting him to a nearby surface, where he helped him to steady on his feet.
“Hello,” The gorgeous man said. “I’m Bharaiva, this tree's faery… and you are?”
“Da…Daya…” Daya stuttered, for the first time having no words ready, nothing to say. All he wanted was for this beautiful creature to keep looking at him.
And for the first time since he woke up that morning, suddenly his new size didn’t seem that bad.
