Chapter 4 – The First Risk...
The morning sun rose pale and tired, just like the town. Sanjay sat on the narrow doorstep of his house, his knees drawn up to his chest, staring at the handful of coins spread out on the ground before him. Thirty-six rupees. His whole fortune. His whole life.
He had tried selling pens, tried shouting in the market, tried smiling until his cheeks hurt—but the world had laughed. And yet, something inside him refused to die.
That something spoke to him now, as if whispering in his ear:
“If you don’t take a risk, you’ll remain here forever.”
But Sanjay knew thirty-six rupees wasn’t enough. He needed more.
That evening, he sat with his mother in the kitchen, watching her knead the dough. The firelight flickered across her tired face.
“Amma,” he said quietly, “I need money. Just a little. I want to try again.”
She paused, her hands sinking into the flour. “Money?” She laughed bitterly. “Sanjay, where will I get money? I can barely buy flour.”
Sanjay swallowed hard. “What if I ask Uncle Ravi? He has a stall in the bigger market. Maybe he will lend me.”
His mother looked up sharply. “Borrowing is dangerous, Sanjay. If you cannot pay back—”
“I will pay back,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I promise.”
Her eyes searched his face for a long moment. Then she sighed. “If your heart is set on this, then go. But remember—if you fall, it will hurt.”
The next day, Sanjay walked to the larger market two miles away. His uncle Ravi owned a small shop of cloth scraps. Ravi was a heavy man with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
“Money?” Ravi repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What will a boy like you do with money?”
“I want to buy pens and notebooks from the wholesale market,” Sanjay explained, his hands clenched to keep them from shaking. “I will sell them to students. Everyone needs pens.”
Ravi chuckled. “And if no one buys?”
“Then I will stand in the street until they do,” Sanjay replied.
The older man studied him, amused and curious. Finally, he reached into his drawer and pulled out a crumpled ten-rupee note. “Here. This is all I’ll risk on you. Don’t come crying when you fail.”
Sanjay took the note with both hands, as though it were gold. “Thank you, Uncle. You won’t regret it.”
With his savings and Ravi’s money, Sanjay walked into the wholesale shop. For the first time in his life, he felt like a businessman. The shopkeeper barely glanced at him, but Sanjay didn’t care. He bought a bundle of cheap pens, a stack of thin notebooks, and carried them home in a cloth sack.
That night, he couldn’t sleep. He arranged the pens in neat rows, stacked the notebooks carefully, and imagined himself calling out to crowds, imagined coins filling his pocket. His sister Meera woke up and saw him.
“What are you doing, Bhai?” she asked sleepily.
Sanjay smiled. “I’m building our future.”
The next morning, Sanjay found a spot near the school gates. As children streamed out, he shouted in his clearest voice:
“Good pens! Strong notebooks! Cheap price!”
At first, they ignored him. But then a boy stopped, picked up a notebook, and paid. The first coin dropped into Sanjay’s hand, warm and real. His heart leapt.
One by one, more students came. Some mocked, some bargained, but a few bought. By the afternoon, Sanjay had sold half his stock. His pocket jingled with coins.
He ran home in the evening, breathless. His mother looked up in shock as he poured the coins onto the floor.
“See, Amma?” he cried. “It worked! I told you it would!”
Her eyes widened, then softened. She touched the coins as though they were something holy. “My son… maybe you are different.”
But not everyone was pleased.
Two older boys who sold fruit near the school cornered Sanjay the next day. “You’re taking our space,” one of them sneered. “Move your stall somewhere else.”
“This is a free street,” Sanjay argued. His voice shook, but his eyes did not.
They shoved him, scattering his notebooks onto the dirt. Laughter echoed as students walked by.
Sanjay bent down, picked up the books, and said nothing. But inside, a storm raged. He had taken his first risk, and though the world still mocked, he had tasted something new—victory.
And once a man tastes victory, even a drop, he will never be satisfied with failure again.
✨ End of Chapter 4 ✨
