The rain lashed at the streets of Delhi in a fury that appeared to have a sound, mocking the city’s rage and turning night into some sort of feral creature. A 27-year-old corporate worker called Gagan Sharma stepped out from his office’s taxi near Connaught Place with a heart heavier than the storm clouds gathering above. Nonstop meetings, soul-sucking deadlines and the oppressive tedium of a life he’d felt was like living in a cage. This was just some of the burdens on his psyche. The grind of his corporate job had worn away all the bright edges to his dreams, leaving behind a sucking maw of want for something more that meant something. Gagan was a die-hard Shiva bhakt (worshipper) and clung to his beliefs like a man caught in an undertow. He followed the Om Namah Shivay tattoo on his wrist, which represented a peeking light in his despair.

The roads were deserted, and the torrential rain made the neon lights of Connaught Place mere indistinct smudges of colour. Never mind that Gagan’s tie hung limply around his neck and he was soaked throughRead more. DJ Dave Ghazarian keeps his vinyl spinning Marine Aviation ExpandsUseless stuff to ponder: How cats see the world. With every step he took, he denied the life that had kept him locked up. Much as the downpour was bitter and biting, it failed to save his rage. He had long believed that Lord Shiva created as well as destroyed, brought meaning into chaos, but tonight he felt the belief to be a cruel joke. He was searching for a spark from a high, cruel joke. He was searching for a divine spark, and where did he find it? What happened to the way to something better?

His legs buckled, and he fell onto a damp bench at the side of the road. The rain seemed a curtain between him and hope as the world constricted about. Even as his fingers went numb in the chill, Gagan’s hand tightened on the simple-metal bracelet. 'I am confused, Mahadev,' he mumbled - the storm was so deafening that Chandan could hardly hear him. Give me a reason. Give me a reason to continue. His words had been the sigh of his heart, a prayer, an entreaty. He shut his eyes, trying to purify the hollowness within. He shut his eyes, and the rain came down on him.

The sky responded fiercely. Then, like a lance hurled from the gods, there came a sharp, bright bolt of lightning that stabbed through the darkness. It struck Gagan with a sickening CRACK that rang in his bones like the universe shattering. The bracelet exploded with golden light, and his back arched, every nerve on fire. Roxy drew a design on his vision in flaming Sanskrit, Om Namah Shivay. His imagination was stormed by images of Shiva's lion mount, Nandi, ploughing into the sky severally with eyes aflame with divine will and lowings that shook the earth. A flow of cosmic power, like creation and destruction entwining it, rushed through Gagan raw and wild. It was as if Shiva decided to bless Gagan intentionally, putting his hand down and unveiling his third eye.

Silence fell upon the world for a moment, as if lit from heaven. As if time yielded to the very deity running through his veins, the thunder ceased, and the rain remained still. Then darkness took him. The bracelet shone feebly on Gagan's wrist, the light a life raft in the storm, and he slumped, speechless. He was sitting by the roadside on a bench, not moving, but a mysterious warmth emanated from his body when a gang of autowalas decided to brave the flood. They rushed him to a nearby hospital with a mixture of stunned reverence, as if they intuited that something extraordinary had taken place.

Gagan was unconscious in the hospital room’s sterile white, his consciousness fluctuating between the mortal world and a divine elsewhere. Unknown to the doctors who monitored his vitals, the bracelet worked its magic. His wetsuit began to transform, the fabric glistening and altering into a superhero costume appropriate for a champion chosen by Shiva. The ensemble was a divine piece of art: a sleek, midnight blue bodysuit that hugged his body, silver embellishments gleaming along its front, stars dancing across the black like glints of moonlight upon the holy Ganges. His cape fluttered behind him, a cape bearing the impression of Nandi in mid charge and glowing celestial on its edges under the slightest hint of an illumination. The golden bull's head emblem on his chest also emitted that same energy as the bracelet and radiated an imposing atmosphere. It's "Om Namah Shivay" engraved with shining runes; the bracelet had transformed into a gauntlet-like strip that was a constant reminder of his heavenly affinity.

Gagan woke with a clarity he had not known possible. Everywhere that the hospital lights were made was different and colourful like a symphony. He could hear a patient’s heartbeat in the next room, the drip of an IV and the whispers of nurses down the hall. He examined his wrist, the gauntlet glowing dimly, and frowned in realisation. This was no coincidence. This was fate. Infused by Nandi's holy soul, the bracelet became host to Shiva's touch, which was the power of the lightning, and granted Gagan three god-like powers:

Earthen Echo:  It was as if Nandi's ears heard with his, as he caught the faint throb of heartbeats and could hear across miles, picking out whispers and feeling vibrations in the earth.

Flight of the Bull: Imagine tearing through the sky at Mach 5, wind screaming past, and Nandi just bulldozing the air like physics is his personal chew toy. The dude doesn’t just fly...he basically tells gravity and common sense to sit down and shut up.

Strength of Devotion: Thanks to his hardcore loyalty to Shiva, seriously, nobody’s ever doubted this guy’s dedication. Nandi’s got strength that’s just nuts. He can haul stuff nobody else could budge, shrug off hits that’d snap a lesser soul in half, and just keeps powering through like the universe forgot to give him a breaking point.

Gagan wasn’t just some regular dude anymore. Nope. Shiva handpicked him...Nandi’s chosen, or something wild like that. Suddenly, he’s supposed to be the protector, the light in all this mess, the guy who’s supposed to patch stuff up when things go sideways. Pretty heavy, right? But, honestly, he had no clue what he was meant to do. Like, how do you even juggle Excel spreadsheets and divine missions? It’s not like there’s an app for that. Every time he tried to ignore it, that bracelet on his wrist would give a little throb, as if to say, “Yo, figure it out.”

A City in Need

The office? Total glass-and-steel graveyard. Gagan’s back at his desk, practically swimming in spreadsheets, looking about as lively as a Monday morning. That gauntlet on his wrist? Looks like he picked it up at Dilli Haat, but underneath the shirt and tie, dude’s rocking a full-on superhero getup. While everyone else is whining about KPIs and deadlines, Gagan’s all tuned in with his Nandi's Hearing...yeah, that’s a thing...picking up the latest hot chai spill: trouble brewing in Chandni Chowk. Midnight market’s turning into a circus. Cops? Useless. Smugglers running wild, shops missing merchandise, and vendors whispering about “ghosts” like it's a Bollywood thriller. Meanwhile, holy idols...Durga, Krishna, Shiva...getting their nightly prayers. Gagan’s heart, which basically beats to a Shiva playlist, thumps: “Your move, king.”

He taps his wrist, ducks into an alley, and throws down an Om Namah Shivay like it’s his own superhero catchphrase. Gauntlet pops off, suit glitches in, and suddenly the guy’s cape is billowing and his bull insignia is lit up like Diwali. He crouches, then boom...shoots off over Delhi at Mach 5, turning the city lights into a neon smear. Nandi’s Hearing is dialled in, catching every shout, every sizzling lantern, every whiff of spice chaos in Chandni Chowk.

Market below is a full-on riot. He lands rooftop, listening hard...coins clinking, footsteps, the classic market haggling...until a weird thump sets off his Spidey senses. Down an alley, some shady business: crates getting shuffled, voices mumbling about a “boss” and a “shipment.” Smugglers, obviously. But there’s something off...a static hum, like someone left a Bluetooth speaker underwater. The crates? They’re glitching, not even real. His ears zero in on a hidden device, masking the goods.

Gauntlet’s basically yelling, “Let’s go!” Gagan mutters a quick prayer to Shiva and steps into the light. His “Stop” drops like a mic. The smugglers freeze, one tries to play tough with a knife...“Who are you supposed to be?” Gagan’s like, nice try. He snatches the knife, no big deal.

Then it’s showtime. Gagan goes full Flight of the Bull...think Air Jordan but with more divine energy...taking out thugs like they’re buffering YouTube videos. Scar-face, the boss, grins and cranks up the machine. Suddenly, those “crates” are just empty boxes...total illusion. But Gagan’s already locked in on the black box, crushes it with his Strength of Devotion, and zips through the alley so fast he’s basically a rumour.

Under the moon, the sacred idols glow with a genuine light. Gagan’s boiling inside, but his faith keeps him locked in. Scar-face tries to get cute with a gun...nope. Gagan’s faster, pins him down, gauntlet flaring like a warning sign. “Who’s behind this?” he demands. “Shadow Syndicate,” Scar-face coughs up. “They’re everywhere. Good luck, hero.”

He leaves the cops a gift-wrapped package...smugglers tied in market ropes, sacred idols right there, anonymous tips sent off. Delhi’s city lights are vibing under him as he takes off into the sky. Shiva’s MVP, the Nandi-Blessed Hero, off the clock. But the name...Shadow Syndicate...keeps echoing. That’s a problem for future Gagan.

He ditches the suit at home, gauntlet back, pretending it’s just a bracelet. Corporate grind’s waiting in the morning. But inside? The fire’s blazing. For now, Chandni Chowk is chill. But the next big mess? It’s out there, and the Syndicate’s plotting.

Seriously, what’s the Shadow Syndicate got up their sleeve next? And Gagan, still figuring out his powers, is going to have to level up fast if he wants to keep up with Delhi’s underground. My money’s on things getting absolutely wild.