Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),
Hi! I'm Knight Hardy here on a mission to ensure that all works on YWS has at least two reviews. You will probably never see this but....Imma do this anyway.
First Impression: Well the stories here don't seem to be connected. That's the biggest issue that I noted right away. Other than that there were some pretty good bits. Let's get into those now.
Anyway let's get right to it,
They knew him as Khan all along the street. From where the people had obtained this intelligence, they themselves did not know, but it was quite clear no further intelligence was coming from that source or any other. All they saw was a man cycling through the busy markets, his set face as impassive as if he were dreaming, every morning, every day of the year. As if to emphasize his mysterious aura, all he ever wore was a long black cloak, one that could not be procured in those parts. This was Khan. All who had seen his face and not been killed or turned to stone by his gaze said that Khan always had a dreamy look. But dream he never did. That was another common knowledge about him.
That's a pretty darn good opening that you've got right there. Definitely describes quit the protagonist to start off with.
Salim Ansari was an average boy. His teachers said so, his reports cards agreed vehemently. He dreamt of scoring goals and of becoming the school hero, but his activities on match-days were restricted to twiddling thumbs and trying to catch the coach’s attention from the sidelines. It was said around school that a girl had once asked him to be her ‘man’, but Salim had rejected the proposal altogether. He said he had nothing to talk about with girls anyhow most of the time; and if it was a girl he was supposed to cry over and compliment on her looks every five minutes, he’d die sooner than sit beside her in class.
Well you go you there...another pretty intriguing introduction you have although the two introductions in a row don't quite sound the best here.
But Salim’s future was clearer to him than anyone else in his class. He was already making plans to join the country’s defence academy when others were juggling between doctors and engineers. As if for some early training, Salim was always there wherever there was a fight. He never picked up fights, for the simple reason that it was not something within his abilities. But whenever an impromptu wrestling contest began, Salim jumped in. He never took sides, he did not fight to win, he fought because he loved it. He loved it when a fist came crashing down on his jaw, he loved it when the crimson fluid spurted out of his nose, but he loved it most when in reply he could slam himself against the ribs of his opponent, knowing he would never have to do it again for a long time to that particular opponent.
Okay we're doing a lot of telling here...might be just a little too much by this point. Introductions are fun but they need to be on the shorter side if you're going to be telling a story.
I was first taken aback when I saw a sign on a door saying ‘Ansari and Khan Trading Company’. The ‘Ansa’ bit had faded away, as if to say Ansari had only been a former partner in the distant past. As an afterthought, the sign told me to please leave my shoes outside. Firstly, a sign in perfectly correct English in those parts was a rare sight. Secondly, it was to my thinking that a door-sign as inconspicuous as that was highly unsuitable as beckoner to the room where it was decided who would live…and who would not.
That sounds like a lovely room that I would love to visit.
Next morning, Salim went to school, only to find it closed. He felt disappointed. The only way he could learn of the ongoing India-Australia cricket match was from the school gatekeeper’s radio. Morosely, he was walking back with his hands in his pockets, head set deeply between his shoulders, kicking along a stone, when he heard a shout, “Look, there’s the Ansari boy”. Salim raised his head and was surprised to see a Hindu boy of his class to be the owner of the voice. The boy knew Salim, he saw him everyday in school, but never had he referred to Salim as ‘the Ansari boy’. And then Salim’s sight was caught by a crowd behind the boy, a crowd with sticks, swords and other sharp instruments he had not lived enough days to know the names of. Even at a distance, he could see the hate in the eyes of a man in the front row with a sheaf in his upraised hand---those eyed were to haunt him for the rest of his life. At that moment he suddenly realized he had to run. And run he did. He ran like he never had before. As he dropped his schoolbag in the rush, it was as if he was leaving behind in that mad run more than his schoolbag---he was leaving behind all his adolescent ideals. Much like his ideals, his bag lay on the road for a long time in tatters, destroyed by the oncoming vengeful feet.
Oooh that is a wonderful start to what seems like it could be a great bit of action. The one issue there is that the paragraph is a bit too long. I feel like this could be very easily broken into two especially somewhere near the words Ansari boy and things would be much better off that way.
My mali had warned me of Khan, saying he looked like King Kong and had hands that could crush a man’s head in two seconds. At first sight itself, all my apprehensions about the legend vanished. The black cloak was off, to reveal a spotless white kurta. The cloak had obviously been for the purpose of discouraging non-serious clients like me, and had evidently succeeded. The physically imposing but strangely amiable man behind the lone desk in the room looked no different from any oily hotel receptionist. When he stood up to greet me, he rose in a fashion as If he were ashamed of his physicality in my presence.
Oooh I love that reveal.
Salim had run as fast as he could where his house stood, butchered bodies of his family members lying silent testimony to the fact that the house had been inhabitable only an hour ago. After that he ran even faster. He saw men from whom he had bought vegetables and fish, those whom he had asked to keep the change sometimes proudly, baying for his blood. But Salim, having the advantage of absolute knowledge of the geography of the place, soon escaped his pursuers. He always had known he was stronger and cleverer than most men; he just never had had to use himself before. It was said later that Salim had fought three men together and defeated them on that day. He had fought them all singly, in truth. He had always taught himself never to be a bull. He never declined a fight---but he always decided the time and the place. ALWAYS.
Aww...I would have loved to see a description of that fight. The imagery as he ran was pretty good although I felt like it was a little lacking in emotion when he saw his dead family members.
His answer took me aback somewhat, but I had learnt from the short encounter Khan was a singular person, all the time being one of us. If one wanted orthodox answers, he was not the man you would want to go to.
As I walked out the door, I looked back at the man. He had already busied himself in some papers---God knew of what. And I reflected that this was a man who ran the world, and instantly I wished I had known him better.
And as with a self-conscious grin and shrug, I climbed down the stairs, I realized this was how he ran things---never with a gun, but with a polite smile. This was the legend of Khan.
The absence of dialogue tags earlier was a little troubling but I think that ending was a pretty good one.
Aaaaand that's it for this one.
Overall: Overall this was a pretty nicely done story barring the occasional nitpick. The stories after a few reads just don't seem connected and I'm wondering which story you are trying to tell. Other than that, not much else to say.
As always remember to take what you think was helpful and forget the rest.
Stay Safe
Harry
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