Chapter 1: Happy Faces
“The birth of a dreamer.”
June 6, 2003 – small Village
It was a calm, golden morning in the small village , nestled between green fields and dusty paths. The sun had just begun to rise, casting warm rays across tiled rooftops and coconut trees swaying gently in the breeze. Birds chirped cheerfully as if announcing something special.
Inside the modest government hospital at the edge of the village, the air was filled with quiet tension and soft murmurs. Nurses moved quickly, doctors gave instructions, and a hopeful man paced back and forth in the waiting area.
Dayalan, a government employee known for his honesty and bold nature, clutched his hands together. Though he appeared calm, his heart was racing. He wasn’t worried — he was emotional. After years of dreaming and prayers, the day had finally arrived. He was going to become a father.
Inside the delivery room, his wife Sathya lay on a narrow bed, her face pale from the pain but glowing with anticipation. Sathya was the kind of woman who always smiled softly, even in pain. A kind-hearted housewife, she had waited for this moment with quiet prayers whispered every evening near the oil lamp in their home.
Then suddenly — the sound that changed everything.
> “Waaa… waaa…”
A cry. A heartbeat. A beginning.
A nurse stepped out, smiling brightly, holding a tiny baby wrapped in a clean white towel.
> “Congratulations!” she said, looking at Dayalan.
“It’s a boy!”
For a moment, Dayalan stood frozen. His eyes filled with tears. The strong, proud man couldn’t stop the emotions flooding through him. He walked inside slowly, almost trembling, and saw his wife holding their son close to her chest.
Sathya looked up, her eyes filled with tears — but not from pain. These were tears of happiness, of love, of completion.
> “Our Rahul…” she whispered, smiling.
The baby’s fingers twitched slightly, and his tiny chest rose and fell as he breathed for the first time in a world that was already waiting for him with dreams. He was calm, peaceful — like the early morning that brought him into this world.
The room was quiet, yet overflowing with emotion.
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Back home later that evening, their small house was filled with light and joy. Relatives visited, neighbors brought fruits and milk, and the scent of jasmine and sandalwood filled the air. A small diya was lit near Lord Murugan’s photo, as Sathya placed a tiny flower garland in front of it.
> “Let him grow strong… let him be wise… and let him live with purpose,” she prayed softly.
Dayalan stood silently at the doorstep, watching the sky change colors. He looked at his son, now asleep in a small cloth cradle, and made a silent vow.
> “No matter what, I’ll raise him to be a good man. A man this village, this country… can be proud of.”
That day, in a quiet corner of Tamil Nadu, a dream was born — not yet seen, not yet spoken — but already written in the stars.
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