A/N: If you like the story, rember to give a review. It'll motivate to continue with sa passion ✌️😁
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The fa was a golden cage.
Rocky couldn't even walk down to the local Chhaka (street) for a plate of Dahibara Aludum without a small riot breaking out.
People didn't just want a photo.
They wanted to touch his hand, as if the luck of the Mumbai Indians might rub off on them.
The "Common Man" had turned him into a monunt.
He had to wear a hoodie and sunglasses just to breathe the Cuttack air, but even then, his gait, that confident, his stride, gave him away.
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It was only after the heavy iron gates of his ho were locked and the neighborhood fans had finally dispersed that Rocky could truly settle.
The house slled of mustard oil and fried Badi.
Inside, the world of 40,000-seat stadiums felt like a dream.
Grandma Rita sat on the floor, sorting through dried marigold seeds for her garden.
She looked up at him, her eyes were sharp despite the age catching upto her.
"You look like a thief in that hoodie, Rudra," she teased, though her voice was soft.
"In your own city, you're hiding your face."
Rocky sat cross-legged beside her, the silk saree he'd brought her still draped over the back of the sofa, unused.
"It's different now, Grandma. Everyone wants a piece of the 'IPL Star.' They don't see Rudra anymore."
Grandma Rita stopped her work.
She reached out and took his hand, her skin like parchnt against his calloused palms.
"Let them have their star," she whispered.
"But you rember where you started. I still rember the night I found you near the doorstep. It was a cold wind that year. You were just a bundle, crying louder than the street dogs."
Rocky fell silent.
He had heard fragnts of this story, but tonight, it felt different.
"It was the 11th of March," she began, her eyes misting over with the mory.
"The air wasn't like this. It was heavy, charged with sothing you could feel in your bones. It was the night before Shivratri. While the whole of Cuttack was preparing to stay awake for the Great Night of Shiva, I found you right there, huddled near the doorstep like a secret the universe wasn't ready to keep."
"The temple bells were beginning to ring for the evening preps," she whispered.
"The world was waiting for Mahadev to wake, and there you were, a tiny thing with lungs like a lion. I knew then. You weren't just a child. You were a gift from Mahadev himself.... That's why you have that fire in you. It's the Tandava spirit."
She pointed a shaking finger toward the brass idol of Shiva in the corner, where a small oil lamp flickered.
"Listen to , Rudra. All these 'Ricky' people and 'John' people... they teach you how to hit a ball. But they don't teach you how to carry the soul," she said firmly.
She reached out, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw, her expression turning stern.
"They cannot give you what you were born with. You were born under the shadow of the Trishul. That fire in your eyes when you play? That isn't from training. That is the spark of that night."
She leaned in, her gaze was intense.
"Stay committed to the Puja Path, Rudra... Don't let the glare of those stadium lights make you blind to the light of the diya. Money cos like the tide and goes like the tide, but the spiritual belief... that is what keeps a man standing when the storm hits. Every Monday, before you touch that leather ball, you bow your head to Him. You offer the milk. You rember that you are a servant of the Almighty before you are a master of the crease."
"I understand, Grandma," Rocky said softly, reaching out to touch her feet.
"Good," she grunted, patting his head with a hand that felt like ho, though her eyes were wet.
"Tomorrow is Monday. You will go to the temple before you go to that stadium. No cricket until you've offered the milk. You were born under the shadow of the Trident, Rudra. Rember that when you're standing in those big cities. The ball is just a ga... The spirit is the real match."
Rocky nodded, looking at the flickering lamp.
"Now go. Eat your Pakhala. Even a gift from Mahadev needs to fill his stomach."
As he walked toward the kitchen, Rocky looked back at the small Shiva lingam in the shrine.
For the first ti, the attributes didn't feel like a superpower or a training byproduct.
It felt like a mandate, a gift from Mahadev himself.
He realized that while the mysterious system (gift from God) had given him "Ponting's template", Grandma Rita was the one keeping his soul from drifting away in the storm of fa.
He wasn't just a cricketer.
He was a boy with a destiny that started on a doorstep on a cold March night.
He wasn't just playing for Mumbai or for Odisha.
He was playing with a fire that had been lit on a cold doorstep on the 11th of March, just as the bells of Shivratri began to toll.
.
.
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(A/N: Think of it... That his original world was an illusion in this novel. He was the sa person but in there he went through different path, parallel world theory, so consider him a lucky guy who has awakened his mories. The system's role was to give a gift and have him awaken his mory. Tho he got those future mories, it's only upto 2023. His actions will change things so don't worry. He won't be involved in anything crazy or create a business empire like other books. Just buying shares and getting rich, enjoying life and chasing his dream. I know what I'm writing ✌️)
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