by BS Murthy
'The thought that Rawat had sacrificed his flowery life for his motherland made the nation dearer to Sudha, nourishing which became the mission of her life. So she lent her heart and soul to Trishna's agenda, which made her the latter's trusted lieutenant. What's more, to the delight of the left-leaning and to the chagrin of the right-tilting, the elegant and articulate Sudha, who came to dominate the electronic media's stilted debates, became, as was said, a thorn in the flesh of the big-buck vultures. While Sudha gloated in the glare of the ensuing publicity, Trishna enlarged her overseas reach to rake in more Euros to expand her operations deep into the hinterland.'
By then, as most of the tables were occupied, thinking its better she moved out, she signaled the bearer to fetch the bill. As she reached for her handbag, to pull out the wallet, she was shocked to realize that she had been carrying the damned knife as an additional baggage. Having hurriedly stuffed the scarf and all into her handbag, as she waited for the bill, she looked around to see if she was attracting attention. Sensing that the guy had his eyes still fixed on her, she got a little scary; what if, by chance, he had seen us at the CST, and would resort to blackmailing me? Cursing Sudha all again, she wondered how to sneak out of the cafe without being stalked by him. As luck would have it, soon he made it to the loo, and thanking nature's call that came to her rescue, she rushed out to hire a cab to continue her journey in the tracks of the time passed by.
'As though to prove that 'good things don't last forever', destiny brought Sudha face to face with the ugly face of Trishna's hidden agenda. When she stumbled upon Trishna's secret closet, skeletons in their scores tumbled out to her shock. Sensing that under the guise of environmentalism, Trishna was at undermining the country's economic well-being, she couldn't help but juxtapose Rawat's supreme sacrifice to uphold that. First she thought of turning into a whistleblower but aware of the long list of 'who is who' among Trishna's backers, on second thought, she saw the futility of it all. Besides, she reckoned that Trishna would ensure that she is bumped off without a whimper to put a lid on it. As Sudha revealed no more, she herself thought of it no more.'
Stepping out of the cab en route, to ease her nerves, she shopped for a fag, which she puffed away in Sudha's trail.
'Obsessed with the idea of seeing Trishna's end, without anyone getting wise to it, she began plotting a perfect murder, the fad of many a murderer, made more difficult by cell-phone towers and CCTV cameras. However, equal to the challenge, she planned to the tee and killed Trishna with an antique knife with which Rawat, after exhausting his ammunition, slew the fifth fidayeen, for she felt that would be symbolic of his act. Though it was prudent to destroy the murder weapon, she wanted to hold onto it as long as she lived; but what if, by any outside chance, the police were to question her and search her premises as well? So, wanting her to whisk it away to safety, using someone's cell-phone, she made that call asking her to make it to the CST with a spare handbag.'
How shocked she was hearing the chilling account of the killing and how scary it felt holding that blood-stained knife, held in those hand gloves, which, somehow, she managed to wrap in the scarf that she wore then.
'Coinciding with her parents' planned pilgrimage to Badrinath, Sudha wanted to pay her homage to Rawat's soul with Trishna's blood. Having obtained a week's leave of absence to rest and recreate at Lonavala, two days back, she contrived to ensure one of her colleagues had seen her off at the CST. But for this cell-age that should have been a good enough alibi, and so, reaching Lonavala in three hours, she dropped her smart-phone at a street corner, and alerted Airtel to make it inoperative.
At the dead of night, last night, she sneaked out of her home with a pair of hand gloves and that knife, tucked under her reversible burka. Alighting at the CST before dawn, she walked her way to 'Trishna's Abode'; she avoided hiring a cab so as not to leave any trail for the police to track her down. Upon reaching the destination, she pressed the buzzer with glows on, and as the intended victim opened the door wide-eyed, she lost no time in slaying her with that knife. As Trishna lay dead, she left the place without raising an alarm, and wearing the burka by its reverse side on the way, she walked back to the CST, and having called her, waited there to entrust the incriminating stuff to her.'
Oh, how serene Sudha looked when they met and how animated she was in recounting the incident!
'Handling the handbag that she gave her, Sudha said that after alighting the train at Lonavala, she could take a detour to exit the station before which she would transfer the burka into it for its suitable disposal thereafter, and that should bring the perfect murder to its legal closure.'
'It could as well have been/ she thought, and after reflecting for a while, she picked up her iPhone, to compose a message to Sudha for record, as anyway, her smart-phone was inoperative still.
'Won't my action amount to betrayal of trust?' she thought pausing to press the 'send' button. 'Could be, but law doesn't have riders to it when it comes to complying with it. But had Sudha
kept it all to herself, maybe for all that, she could have got away with it? Well, that is life in spite of law, and law regardless of love. But is it not ironical that she had acentuated mine own sense of duteousness, which would eventually undo her and me too thereby.'
Sending the message, 'We both lose as law overwhelmed my love - Ramya', she headed for Fort House Police Station.
Chetan Bhagat's prompt [*]
Story 3 - "?"
I observed him carefully as he walked to the door. I knew that time was running out but suppressed the urge to check my watch. I took a deep breath and started counting in reverse under my breath. "Ten, nine, eight, seven..." [*]
When he slammed the door, wasn't it like I came out of trance, stuck at 'four'? I might've paused, lost to his mesmeric gait; how else he could've slipped out in three secs. Don't I love his gait more than his manner, captivating though it is; he knows that as well, and yet he walked out on me. Isn't it like deserting a companion amidst a desert? Worse it is, ditching the mate in the heat of the act?
How I rushed out craving to catch a glimpse of him, maybe for the last time, and how distressed I was at not finding him? Maybe, his eagerness to exit from my life outstripped my urge to espy his gait. Standing at the gate, didn't I feel like I was stranded in life? Oh, how things had come to this pass with him? Slowly, how the irony of my situation began to dawn upon me? That's even in my state of dejection! Didn't I feel amused that the effect of my fascination should've become the cause of my disappointment? If only I was not lost to myself admiring his gait, wouldn't I have prevailed upon him not to desert me? Could I have? Maybe, but it was philosophy that had offered its hand to me. If not, how I would've been able to drag myself into the emptiness of my home for introspection. That I was drained out to sink into the sofa was another matter.
Whoever thought that our love match could become a mismatch? Is it really so? Am I not embracing hypocrisy to camouflage my idiocies? What am I to gain by a false sense of sympathy? It's time I learnt a few lessons in psychology as well. Won't that help me in understanding the realities of life? No denying but where am I to begin with? Am I to first climb the heady highs of romance or descend the marital slopes of discord? What if I swallow the sour before savoring the sweet? That's fine if the show is on; now that its curtains down, better I alter the menu. Better still, why not I am a little ingenious to alternate; won't that help me keep the focus even.
As Shruti was wont to sing paeans about Rahul, how I used to mock her that by showering praises on her cousin, she was bound to bankrupt her beau! Jokes apart, while his persona in her album enamored my heart, hadn't her ballads on him became music to my ears? What
about her dramatic announced of his impending migration to the U.S., didn't I sense my heart skipping a beat as if to begin my life afresh? Unable to hold the burden of excitement, couldn't it have spilled some of it onto my face for her to grasp. Was it not her turn to tease me by saying sorry for making me lose my heart to
an exaggeration? What a heady feeling before an impending rendezvous.
When he waved his arrival to her O'Hare, didn't he love-gait straight into my heart! As if guided by my enamored eyes, as he advanced towards me like a robot, was it not like a dream coming true? Oh, how I was impelled to grab his hand with both hands even as he was tentative in extending it to me! Was it not love at first sight? Did he lose any time to propose dating? Did I miss a date ever? Is there anything to better that in all fiction? They are not my words but of Shruti's! Wonder how nascent love can make life so exciting! Won't it in return seek copulation for its own fulfillment? Alas, why on its path of fruition, love has to contend with cultural hindrances? Won't our culture hamper lovers' route to the altar with caste hurdles besides status barriers. But then, living in the West, we could go west, and that's what we did, didn't we?
How adamant were our parents to tie us in a nuptial knot. Didn't his mom say she would rather starve but not break bread with low caste lass? How did my dad dismiss my choice of a highcaste lowness; didn't I tell him not to be mean being rich. But how naive was Rahul about his mom's turnaround? That's in spite of my telling him that the waiting game suited her and not us. Didn't we waste one youthful year for nothing! Wasn't that enough for us to go west, but how ill at ease he was when I moved into his flat. Wasn't he shocked as I broke the news back home? Well, it worked with my dad but Rahul's mom was made of a sterner stuff, and that called for one-upmanship, didn't it? What was my threat to display-ad our live-in in the Indian press but just that? Yet credit the scandal in the offing for turning that bully into a billie. Was it really so, as she had the last laugh, won't it seem in hindsight that it's a tactical retreat on her part.
What a wedding it was though? A designer wedding it was, all said so, didn't they? Wouldn't have dad splashed half his black money on it, but did I suffer from any qualms about it then? Having been a beneficiary all along, what's the point in my becoming a moralist now? Maybe, the wounds of life open our minds to its profligacy; could be, but does a grand wedding guarantee a lasting marriage? No way, as it appears. Of what avail was that fanfare of a marriage for Rahul's mom could readily fray at its rough edges? Why blame her when my own attitude, or lack of it, was the cause of my undoing? Oh, how I took Rahul for granted? Well, I was even callous to his needs? Wasn't that enough to let her take the wind out of our marital sails?
How she began scripting the plot of my downfall even before we settled down in Seattle. What for her unending tele-talks with him, feigning depression, that too at our bedtime. Wouldn't have that whore known that sex is ninety-percent mental? How the devil planned to fail our
sex-life as a prelude to wrecking our marriage! Weren't her life-long sacrifices for him and his disregard for her undivided attention the recurring themes of her emotional blackmail? What cunning to pepper her talks with how she loved me being his beloved? Oh, how all that infused a guilt feeling in him leading to a sense of alienation from me?
What about dad, didn't he willy-nilly strain our tenuous union; how he used to pester Rahul to invest in India's booming real estate? Wasn't his offer to advance monies meant to preempt any excuses? How Rahul could've refused that without raising my hackles? What an irony that the acceptance entailed a price to be paid! Won't decency demand that I should own what was bought, at least till he repaid the loan. What else he could've done than to let dad have his way? Why did dad go on an acquisition spree that tended to squeeze our resources? Was he eager to uplift his son-in-law's status in his own circles or did he intend to secure my financial future post-divorce, or worse, was it him aim to preempt Rahul from providing to his parents? Isn't it stupid in every way, well, but he did dig the grave for that bitch to bury our marriage, so it seems.
If only Rahul hadn't asked the devil to come and sup with us in the U.S. Being a mom-boy how could he have negated her request to rest and recreate in his shade? Though my sixth sense warned me of the impending trouble, could I have put my foot down without looking cussed? How fatal it proved to be as the whore poisoned his mind and undermined my love! How she took him under her spell to sound the death knell for our marriage! Oh, the way she weaned him away from me, lo, did the bitch master black magic to become a witch as well! Why didn't Shruti tell me about his mom-sickness, shouldn't she have, being frank and forthright althrough? Maybe, it was my fate that faltered her at full disclosure, where it really mattered.
Am I not into a blaming game? How does it help me in anyway? Why not I better selfintrospect? It's as if I perched my life on a hollow branch, didn't I? Weren't my spending sprees getting on his strain nerves? How can I put it on papa for letting me become a spendthrift? Shouldn't I have adapted myself to my new situation, and even behaved better. But what about dad's indents for settling the outstanding, wonder how Rahul didn't call it quits much before! Why did I limit my alacrity only to the bedroom? When it came to the kitchen, wasn't I plain lazy? How does it help blaming mom for pampering me? Didn't I know Rahul loves all those spicy Andhra recipes? Yet I left him to fend for himself with his self-prepared stuff or McDonald's hamburgers! Didn't I know he cooks for nuts? Was it any justification that I wasn't particular about the food I eat? What else it was but sheer callousness? That too, when he was so caring to cater to all my needs, why not I admit my fancies? Why did I let my lethargy become the Achilles heel of our marriage for that witch to push through 'doubts of duty' into Rahul's mind? How she took over the kitchen as a prelude to leading him out of my home, and life as well!
Would it have been any different had we been living in India? Without any dollars to exchange, how could have dad pestered Rahul to invest? Given the taboo, where was the question of my
man getting into the kitchen for it would have shamed us both? Wouldn't I have taken to the Indian ways of a working wife? Probably, besides, isn't the air over there more conducive for couples to cling on to each other regardless, though I hear it's steadily getting worse on that count? Whatever, with our flanks covered somehow, wouldn't have that devil stayed put in her place? Surely she would have, and it could've been a different story to write home about; well, it's neither here or there.
Why suddenly this nauseating feeling? Why couldn't it be morning sickness? When did I last have my periods? Whatever was the turmoil, how could I've missed the count? Oh, how he loves children; surely more than any man I've ever known. How thrilled he would have been at the prospect of my carrying. With the sprouting of his seed right within me, wouldn't have his love for me had had a rebirth? How eager was he initially to tend me when I'm in the family way. Haven't I overheard the bitch branding me barren to her son that was as she gave me enough hints that she was glad I didn't bear to pollute her high clan with my low blood? Wouldn't she have played upon his craving for an offspring to nudge him into a fresh nuptial? Surely she would have for that could be her game plan.
Now that so much psychic muck had flowed under our marital bridge, could his child in me make him change his mind? But then, who knows what fate has in the offing, and a trial too costs nothing. Why not I ring him up, no. I'll personally tell him so that I could sink into his arms.
Sprung from the sofa, I dashed to the door, counting aloud, "One, two, three, four."
Asivin Sanghi's prompt [*]
Story 4 - Cupid's Clue
What the hell is going on between my husband and that bitch?1 Maya's patience was at its lowest ebb and she was ready to burst.
Sanjay knew that she was serious. 'Look, Maya. There is nothing going on between the two of them. Just a little bit of healthy flirting. I'd say.'
"Flirting? Healthy flirting? Really Sanjay . . ." she rolled her eyes in disgust. "That's what you men call it? There is nothing healthy about flirting, Sanjay, not for a married man.
Healthy flirting is a term introduced by perverted men who want to lend legitimacy to their extramarital dalliances. Flirting invariably has a sexual connotation to it." She got up from her seat and walked around the room gesticulating and muttering
something to herself. Suddenly she stopped, turned back, looked at Sanjay and asked, "Did my husband sleep with her? You are his friend. Did he ever tell you anything about it?" [*]
"What if Chaya lets Suresh sleep with her and if she does not?" he said tentatively.
"Won't it make a fucking difference for me," she said unequivocally.
"Would it be possible for Suresh to sleep with her unless she grants him the final favour?" "What makes you think that the bitch won't let him screw her?"
"Why not recall what Sathyam told his seducer friend Prasad in Benign Flame that you only gave me to read, sorry I haven't returned it as I want to read it all again, 'money and looks are okay to an extent to lure women, but better realize it's the luck that enables one to lay them. Why, you can't screw even a whore if you're not destined to have her, your visit to the brothel would have coincided with her periods, and the next time you're eager, she could have shifted out of the town itself'."
"Could be, but you know that bitch was ever after him."
"I also know Suresh always preferred you over her."
"Gone are those days my dear, these days he is over the seven-year itch and that bitch could be taking advantage of that. In spite of your friendly blinkers, you couldn't have failed to see their wayward ways."
"Look Maya, I was only trying to play it down to cool things for you."
"Thanks for not wanting to fish in the troubled waters of an old flame."
"That makes me recall Chaya's words at your wedding."
"I know that bitch has a gift of gab, what did she say?"
"Bereft of money love is but a hackneyed expression."
"Maybe Cupid is a lesser god than Mammon."
"Yet they collude to consign some to the doghouse of life."
