“What excuse this time? What possible reason can you give for not succeeding, Jayant?” His father stood before him within his father's office, his own sacred kukri mounted on the wall behind his desk as the sun filtered through the tall window. As a child, Jayant would sneak in to play with the knife, mimicking the time when he would himself become a Gurkha warrior.


It was not today.


His father looked at him with the same lingering gaze he had given him everytime he failed.


It was fast becoming a common occurrence.


Somewhere inside, Jayant really wanted to shove the Kukri down his father's throat.