Smiling Devil: Rage Chapter - 1

It was a chaotic scene at the police station. From outside, people desperately tried to break in, kicking at the locked door. Inside, people screamed in terror, scrambling to hide in any corner they could find. At the center of the station stood a young adult, Pravin Kumar, gripping a police baton.

He mercilessly beat a stranger, blood splattering across the floor and walls. His face was smeared with blood, his shirt stained crimson. The stranger lay motionless, clearly dead, yet Pravin continued his relentless assault.

Realizing the stranger was dead, Pravin stopped. He rose, his chest heaving, and roared in fury, “Hey, you bloody SI, where are you? Your death is in my hands alone!”

With that, Pravin stormed off, searching for the Sub-Inspector, leaving an air of mystery in his wake. What drove him to such brutal violence? Why was he in the police station? The questions hung heavy, unanswered. To unravel the truth, the scene shifts to the past.

In February, the early sunlight brought a refreshing feeling to the people of Mumbai. As the light fell gently, 25 year old Pravin jogged around the park, wearing earphones, a sleeveless t-shirt, track pants, and a smile on his face.

Pravin checked the time and saw it was 7:30. He quickly finished his jog and got ready. Later, he sat down for breakfast at a nearby restaurant, dressed in a neat green shirt and black pants.

As Pravin ate, a waiter accidentally dropped a glass of juice, spilling it on his pants. The waiter quickly apologized, stammering, “Sorry… sorry, sir. My mistake.” Pravin, with calm eyes, steady eyelids, and a smile, replied, “It’s okay. Just bring me a tissue.”

The waiter brought a tissue, and Pravin wiped the juice from his pants before resuming his breakfast. Later, as he approached the counter to pay his bill, the cashier said, “Sorry, Pravin, he’s a new boy. I apologize on his behalf. He might have ruined your pants.” With a smile, Pravin replied, “It’s okay. Mistakes happen.”

Later, Pravin boarded a train at Mahalaxmi railway station and disembarked at Andheri station. From there, he took the metro at Andheri metro station and alighted at Marol station, arriving at his office.

Pravin entered his office, a space filled with numerous computer setups on desks, each paired with a chair. He walked to his workstation, where his deskmate Abhinav greeted him, “Good morning, bro.” Pravin smiled and replied, “Good morning.”

As Pravin set down his bag, the office boy approached and said, “Pravin sir, the manager is calling you.” With a nod, Pravin replied, “Okay, I’ll be there.”

As the office boy walked away, Abhinav remarked, “Same drill today, huh?” Pravin smiled and replied, “Yeah, let’s see what he’s got for us today.”

A few moments later, inside the manager’s cabin, Pravin and his junior faced a scolding. The manager snapped, “What kind of senior developer are you? Didn’t you notice this bug before it went live?” Pravin replied calmly, “Sir, it was the QA team’s responsibility. They didn’t inform us about it.”

The manager retorted, “The QA team is next, but it’s your responsibility too. The website is down, and transactions are halted. Fix the bug now.” Pravin and his junior nodded in agreement.

As they left the manager’s cabin, Pravin’s junior, Siddesh, said, “Sorry, sir, it was my mistake.” Pravin smiled and replied, “It’s okay, I’ll handle it.”

Pravin returned to his workstation and settled into his chair. Abhinav asked, “So, is the issue a big one?” Eyes closed, Pravin replied, “It’s a small issue, but it needs to be fixed now. After a scolding like that, they expect a quick resolution.”

As Pravin finished speaking, Abhinav noticed someone entering the office. He grinned and said, “Pravin, don’t worry—your motivation just arrived.” Pravin opened his eyes and saw the love of his life.

Indumati entered the office, dressed in a yellow sudithar, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She exuded a calm presence, effortlessly balancing the rush of a Monday morning. As she passed, her eyes met Pravin’s, and she offered a small wave and a faint smile.

Pravin straightened in his chair, shrugging off the tension like dust. Abhinav nudged him playfully and teased, “See? Told you—instant energy boost.”

Pravin nodded and said, “Time to fix this bug.” He dove into his work with focus and swiftly resolved the issue.

Later, during lunch, Pravin, Abhinav, Indu, and a few other colleagues gathered in the cafeteria. They sat together, enjoying their meals while exchanging lighthearted banter and casual conversations.

As the group chatted, one of the colleagues, Mathew, smirked and said, “Every day the manager calls Pravin into his office. He’s totally the manager’s wife.” The table erupted in laughter, but Pravin stayed quiet, his expression unreadable.

Noticing Pravin’s silence, Mathew quickly added with a grin, “Hey, Pravin, it was just a joke. Don’t take it seriously.” Pravin gave a simple smile and replied calmly, “You go ahead.” Abhinav chuckled and said, “See, that’s what I like about him—he never lets anger or tension get to him.” Everyone around the table nodded in agreement, acknowledging the quiet strength behind Pravin’s demeanor.

Later, Indu approached Pravin with a query about the code. “So, just passing the parameters are enough?” she asked. “Yes,” Pravin replied simply. A small smile crossed Indu’s face, “Thank you, Pravin, for helping me out despite your hectic workload.”

Pravin gave a gentle smile and said, “It’s okay.” Indu nodded appreciatively before heading back to her desk. A moment later, Abhinav walked over to Pravin, “You’ve noticed, right? She always comes to you with her doubts. You’re the only one she asks. I think it’s time you tell her how you feel.” Pravin’s smile lingered as he replied softly, “I will tell her.”

Later that night, Pravin arrived home. He stepped inside with a quiet smile, set his bag down by the door, and made his way to the kitchen. Reaching for the clay pot, he poured himself a glass of water, the cool sip washing away the day’s fatigue.

As Pravin finished the last sip of water, the smile faded from his face. His eyes narrowed, hardening with a flash of anger. Without a word, he unbuttoned his shirt, tossed it carelessly into a corner, and strode into the living hall.

In the living hall, Pravin faced the punching bag, his fists hammering into it with unrelenting fury. With every strike, he muttered through clenched teeth, “That careless waiter—couldn’t even look me in the eye after ruining my expensive pants. That manager—always ready to scold me, never a word of respect. And Mathew… that damn Mathew, running his mouth, insulting me right in front of Indu.” His voice grew harsher with each blow, anger spilling out in rhythm with his punches.

Each thought fueled his blows, the bag swaying violently as he poured all his frustration, anger, and humiliation into every strike. At last, the calm smile he wore through the day was stripped away, revealing the storm he had been holding inside.

Later, Pravin sat in front of the television, watching a film drenched in violence. On the screen, the protagonist tore through his enemies, fists landing with merciless force. Pravin’s posture was rigid, his jaw tight, as he silently worked a hand grip strengthener, his fingers clenching in rhythm with the brutal blows unfolding on screen.

That night, Pravin lay on his bed, anger still burning in his eyes. In his mind, he saw himself striking each one of them—the waiter, the manager, Mathew—beating them down until they could no longer stand. The images played over and over, fueling his rage until exhaustion finally pulled him under. With those dark thoughts lingering, he drifted into sleep.

This was Pravin’s life—wearing a smile for the world to see, while in the solitude of his home he unleashed the anger he kept buried within. This was how he survived. This was how he lived.

As Pravin’s days dragged on in the same monotonous routine, one day arrived that would change everything. It was the second week of March, a day that began like any other—ordinary, unremarkable. Pravin boarded the metro during peak hours, the compartments crammed with weary commuters. Bodies pressed against one another, the air thick with heat and impatience. There was hardly any room to breathe, let alone move.

At that moment, a man standing behind Pravin said, “Bro, my stop is coming.” Pravin tried to shift, attempting to make space for him, but the crowd was packed too tightly. The man grew restless, pushing against the bodies around him, trying to force a way through. His efforts failed. By the time the doors closed, his station had slipped past—his train missed.

The man’s face twisted with anger. Without warning, he slapped Pravin hard across the cheek. “Because of you, bastard, I missed my stop!” he shouted.

Pravin’s hand shot up instinctively to strike back, but the man caught his wrist mid-air and slapped him again, harder this time. “You bastard—how dare you raise your hand at me!” his voice thundered over the hum of the metro.

Pravin stood frozen, his head hanging low, shame burning through him. Murmurs rippled through the compartment until several passengers raised their voices in his defence, scolding the man for his behaviour. Overwhelmed by the sudden backlash, the man’s anger faltered, and he fell into a tense silence.

Amidst the commotion, the train screeched to a halt at Pravin’s stop. Without lifting his head, he pushed his way through the crowd and stepped onto the platform. Just before leaving, however, his eyes flicked upward—catching a final glimpse of the man who had slapped him. That image seared itself into his mind.

In complete silence, Pravin reached the office, set his belongings on his desk, and walked straight to the washroom. He gripped the sink, leaning forward as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes burned with anger. “Why didn’t you fight back? Why did you hold yourself back?” he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice barely more than a growl.

As Pravin stepped out of the washroom, the office boy approached him. “Sir, the manager is calling you,” he said politely. Like every other day, Pravin entered the manager’s cabin—only to be met with another barrage of scolding over a work issue. The words hammered down on him, the same routine, the same cycle of blame.

But Pravin’s mind was elsewhere, trapped in a loop he couldn’t escape. No matter how much the manager’s words poured over him, his thoughts kept circling back to that slap—the sting on his cheek, the humiliation in front of strangers. Everything around him blurred, but that moment remained sharp, replaying again and again in his head.

The whole day, Pravin moved through his tasks mechanically—his body at work, but his soul elsewhere. Every laugh that echoed in the office felt sharper in his ears, every glance in his direction felt pointed. To him, it was as if the world was mocking him, reminding him of that slap he couldn’t erase.

Noticing the change in him, Abhinav asked, “Why are you so quiet today?” Pravin forced a faint smile and replied, “Nothing… just trying to stay focused on work.”

The entire day passed with Pravin keeping to himself, his silence heavier than usual. When work finally ended, he gathered his things without a word and made his way to the metro, ready to return home.

As he approached the metro, Pravin’s steps slowed. His heart hesitated, a knot tightening in his chest at the thought of stepping inside.

Instead, he turned away and boarded a bus. The ride was long and crowded, but he kept his head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor, unwilling to meet the gaze of anyone around him.

After some time, Pravin reached the local railway station. As he made his way toward the train, his mind began to twist the world around him. The sound of laughter from strangers seemed directed at him, the murmur of conversations felt like whispers about his shame. Each step grew heavier, stirring a restless imbalance inside him that he could no longer silence.

Just then, a voice cut through the chaos of the station. Pravin froze, his ears straining to catch it. He turned, scanning the restless crowd. By chance—or fate—it was him.

The same man who had slapped him on the metro, now shouting angrily at someone, “Don’t you have any sense?” His words rang out above the noise of the station, pulling Pravin’s memory and rage back into sharp focus.

The moment Pravin’s eyes fell on him, a flood of emotions surged through his mind—anger, humiliation, and shame colliding all at once. His chest tightened as the memory of the slap burned fresh. He watched closely, noticing the man making his way toward the Harbour Line train platform.

The rage within Pravin swelled, his thoughts clashing violently inside him. A voice deep within urged him to strike back, to make the man pay. He tried to steady himself, to suppress the fire, but the battle was already lost.

Anger tightened its grip. His feet, almost on their own, turned away from the Western Line platform. Step by step, he followed the man toward the Harbour Line platform.

Pravin trailed after him in silence, his steps measured, his breathing controlled. He kept a distance of about twenty feet—close enough to keep the man in sight, yet far enough to melt into the crowd unnoticed. Each stride carried the weight of his rage, tightening his focus on the figure ahead.

The moment Pravin saw the man step onto the train, he followed, slipping inside just as the doors closed. He kept his distance, positioning himself where he could watch without drawing attention. The man, oblivious, spoke loudly on his phone, his voice cutting through the clamor of the compartment. Pravin’s eyes never left him.’

After some time, the train pulled into Panvel. The man stepped off casually, still busy with his phone. Pravin followed close behind, slipping into the crowd. To avoid suspicion, he pulled out his own phone, pretending to scroll, his eyes fixed on the man just a few steps ahead.

As Pravin trailed him, he saw the man suddenly turn into a narrow alleyway. A flicker of suspicion stirred in Pravin’s mind—had the man realized he was being followed? The thought tightened his chest, but the fire of revenge burned hotter than doubt. Steeling himself, he pressed on, his steps quickening as he entered the alley.

But Pravin’s suspicion proved wrong. The man hadn’t noticed him—he had only stepped into a small liquor shop. Pravin stopped at the corner, waiting silently. Minutes later, the man emerged with a bottle in hand, unaware of the shadow trailing him. Without a word, Pravin resumed the pursuit, the distance between them narrowing and stretching like a silent thread.

The man veered away from the main road, slipping into a dim shortcut, his phone pressed to his ear. His voice carried through the narrow path, loud and careless, each word sharp enough for Pravin to catch even from twenty feet behind. Every step Pravin took echoed in his own head, his focus locked on the man’s oblivious back.

It was 9:00 PM, and the shortcut had grown eerily deserted—no footsteps but theirs. The two moved across a narrow bridge, the stench of sewer water rising from the dark stream far below. The man, still oblivious, spoke into his phone with arrogant pride.

“Who can lay a hand on us? Our caste people are born with anger,” he boasted loudly. “It’s in our blood.” Pravin’s fists clenched at his sides, every word striking like fuel to the fire already burning inside him.

The man’s laughter echoed against the emptiness of the bridge, crude and careless. “Today, a guy didn’t give me way in the metro. I gave him two slaps,” he bragged, his voice carrying in the still night. “That bastard went silent like a scared cat. He deserved it. You better show your wife this. I’ll talk to you later.”

He chuckled again, snapping his phone shut. The sound lingered in the silence like a taunt. From a few steps behind, Pravin’s blood boiled. Every detail matched—the arrogance, the cruelty, the utter lack of remorse. He was certain now. This was the man.

Hearing those words echo in the empty night, Pravin’s chest tightened. Rage surged through him, drowning out reason, filling every corner of his mind with a single burning desire—revenge. His eyes darted across the deserted bridge, desperate, searching.

Then he saw it—a rusted steel rod lying half-buried in the dirt at the roadside. For a moment, his breath caught. His hand trembled as he bent to pick it up. The cold metal pressed into his palm, heavy, real, dangerous.

The man walked a few steps ahead, humming, completely unaware. Pravin’s heart pounded like a drum, each beat louder than the last. His grip on the rod tightened. Every muscle in his body leaned forward. This was the moment.

He quickly swung the steel rod and struck the man on the head. The man stumbled, lost his balance, and toppled toward the edge of the bridge. At the last moment, he caught the railing, hanging on desperately. Confused and terrified, he couldn’t understand what was happening.

As he looked up, he saw Pravin standing over him. Shocked, he gasped, “Hey! What are you doing? Why did you hit me? Don’t do this!” Pravin stood silent, his face cold and unreadable.

The man pleaded, “Whatever happened this morning, we can talk it out. Help me—I’m going to fall!” Pravin’s mind flashed back to the morning’s events. A cold realization settled within him—there was no place left for kindness toward this man.

Pravin struck the man’s fingers hard with the steel rod. The man screamed, “Aaaaahhhh!” but still clung to the edge of the bridge. “Please… don’t let me fall. I have a family,” he begged.

Pravin didn’t listen. He struck the man again on the head. The blow loosened his grip, and he slipped from the railing, crashing into the filthy sewer water below with a hollow splash. His scream was swallowed by the stench and the rushing current.

The man thrashed helplessly against the filthy current, his arms flailing as the sewer dragged him deeper into its foul embrace. His cries of “Help… Help me!” were quickly drowned by the rushing water. From above, Pravin only watched, a cold, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

Suddenly, Pravin snapped out of his rage. The reality of what he had done struck him like a blow to the chest. His breath quickened, heart hammering against his ribs. In panic, he flung the steel rod into the dark shadows of the corner and stumbled away, each step heavier with fear.