It was raining outside. The rain fell faster and heavier. There were flashes of lightning and peals of thunder.

On the wet branches of the thick flame trees, helpless birds slept motionless. Their soft little feathers bristled in the cold morning wind.

I was awake at that odd hour. I had not slept the previous night, the previous week and the previous fortnight. Yet, I was awake.

It appeared as if the heaven had descended on the earth. On that graceful morning, there was a problem.

I did not have money.

Without money, my business was like a river that can never find its sea.

* * * *

My computer shop was a small business with a respectable turnover. But, the neck to neck competition, from the small guys in the town and the big boys on the web, forced me to work on a wafer thin margin.

I made a profit that was just enough for a decent living. I was single and lived in a small rented apartment. I owned a white Honda Accord that was ten years old.

The possibilities of driving a Mercedes Benz off the showroom, enjoying a holiday with a family and buying a big waterfront house always seemed to be remote.

I worked hard – harder than you think. I always woke up with thoughts on expanding my business and slept with new plans to grow more.

However, on that particular rainy day, I was on the verge of losing even the small things I possessed. It was not my fault.

I sold to StarTech, an old client, computers for $50,000 on fifteen days term. It was a big deal for me. Orders worth $150,000 from new clients were in the pipeline.

I happily awaited StarTech payment to pay off my suppliers and creditors. That was a business routine.

That routine was broken on the blessed fifteenth day when StarTech telephoned me to discuss a small issue.

A small issue!

As their bank would give them a loan only after sixty days, they could pay me only then. If I preferred, I could take my computers back.

Take my computers back and do what? Of course, Mrs. Anna Singers, the polite accountant of StarTech, profusely apologized and promised many great future deals.

Then, hell broke.

My checks were returned unpaid.

Success was a private affair; failure was a public funeral. Suddenly, everyone in the town knew my little story. So, supplies did not arrive. Customers used the choicest epithets against me for not delivering their computers.

My banker threatened to close my account if there was one more returned check.

Creditors wanted their money back within a week. ‘You promised to pay on demand. Didn’t you?’

I borrowed from whomever I could. High interest did not ring a bell. It was a matter of honor. Wasn’t it?

When I could not borrow a cent, I sold whatever I could. That left me with a few chairs, a dining table, a bed and my good old car.

I tried to sell them too. There were no buyers.

My key supplier sent a big van that weekend with three Mike Tysons and took away all his goods. The big brothers assured me when they left, "Don’t worry, buddy, we’ll deliver them back at our cost when you pay the bills." I thanked them and then did not have one good, or bad, reason to go to my empty shop.

Within a fortnight, I became an untouchable, a hunted animal and a fugitive nowhere to go.

I feared the telephone. At times, I answered in a false voice and assured the caller it was a wrong call.

The doorbell became an alarm bell. I would switch off the lights to make it appear that I was not at home. Unfortunately, the bill collectors were not fools. I hated their sagely advice and veiled threats.

I avoided friends, especially girlfriends.

I made many calculations and projections, day in and day out, that would confuse Albert Einstein.

Finally, I figured out that if I managed to raise $30,000 within three days, I could restore my old life and old habits back to normal. $30,000 would be sufficient to reopen the shop and bag the orders in the pipeline.

Time would rub out the bad scars.

There were only two possibilities. Either the air should lay the dollars on my head or the water tap should spit the amount out into my bucket.

Thus, I was awake and alone on that graceful morning with dejection and depression.

* * * *