thoselazydays
It's a slow burn story.
In 1980s, when most boys his age chased dreams, Chinnaswamy, only sixteen, carried the burdens of an entire village.
He sold his ancestral lands - land that generations protected - to build rice mills, irrigation canals, and small workshops so the people around him would never sleep hungry again. Jobs appeared where poverty once lived. Families survived because of him.
To the villagers, he was not just a young man.
He was authority.
Respect followed him everywhere - but so did fear.
Because Chinnaswamy believed justice should be swift. Mercy, in his eyes, weakened order. Those who opposed him learned quickly that kindness and ruthlessness lived side by side within him.
Politics noticed him before he noticed politics.
When he entered public life, people voted not out of persuasion, but faith. He won easily. Yet governance was never his true goal.
What fascinated him was control - the doors power opened, the silence it commanded, and the way people bent without question.
And slowly, like feet sinking into unseen sand, ambition turned into greed.