The Quantum Mantra

by Henri-Paul Bour

Pascal had never felt such a dreadful sensation of despair and failure. Mayumi was gone, into the hands of scary individuals. To make things worse, he could do nothing. Nobody could be trusted really and MI6 seemed to be playing a mysterious game.

  There was nothing more important at this point than for him to find her.

  His sense of hopelessness was taking its toll. His emotions were now taking him beyond his power to react. He had to admit that he was possessed by passion and love, and absorbed in sentiments too strong to be exhausted. The sentimental edifice he had built was shattered at the very moment he started to develop that vibrant harmony with her.

  He felt defeated for hours and just laid on his bed; he considered drinking himself into oblivion. He tried to sleep. It was late already and he hadn’t had dinner. Just thinking about food gave him nausea. He forced himself to practice Deep Relaxation, the breathing technique of the Samathi, but no practice worked. The clock was ticking slowly and obsessive and recurrent images of the recent events invaded his memory.

  It wasn’t until the early hours that he fell into a listless sleep.

  Was this dream a gift from his despair? The universal law was again moving his fate. Negative feelings were feeding positive energy under the form of a clairvoyant dream.

  The beautiful face of Imae, the woman of the past, was looking at him. She turned back to stare and her face suddenly changed. It was the face of Mayumi, her big beautiful eyes held misery. She was tied with her arms pulled around her back and handcuffed. She was balancing dangerously on the top of a high mountain and Pascal felt dizzy.

  Next she was at the top of a building surrounded by the deafening sound of a propeller. A radio clattered... Voices from dark, menacing men shouted an unintelligible language.... Far below an enormous bay of rough seas encircled many high buildings in a haze like a shroud. The pilot had black sunglasses reflecting the scenery as they landed on the building.

  One man was waiting on the helipad, motionless and oblivious of the strong wind.

  Through Mayumi’s perception Pascal felt she was staring at a cobra, hypnotized.

  Pascal could make out the man’s personality. He was a stocky young Indian of medium complexion. As he approached his face became distorted in an expression of hate and anger. In the hurling of the tempest he could hear a repeated, hammering sound: Harappan, Harappan, Harappan……

  Pascal woke up with a strong headache. It was 6 a.m. The nightmare had just connected him with a sad truth!

  The hotel room was silent and faintly lit by a dimmed bedside lamp. Pascal lay on his bed still fully dressed, immobile, too anxious and depressed to move, yet at the same time he was afraid to go back to sleep.

  Confusing feelings were mixing up in his mind. He was stunned and devastated by that connection with Mayumi. The images were haunting him, playing back in sequence on and on and increasing his remorse at being unable to set her free.

  Suddenly, he felt reckless. He was too awfully afraid for her safety. Unconsciously, he stood up and opened the double-glass window, listening to the awaking murmur of the big city: the buses, and in the distance, rhythmic music in the park. It was probably some fanatics practicing early aerobics.

  The trees just in front of his window were starting to take shape from darkness and he saw the luxury of this location: a natural landscape right in the middle of chic London. The smell of fish and chips from a nearby breakfast stand invaded the room. Disgusted, he started to shut the window when something strange kept his attention.

  Some men were playing cards with the light on in a van that was stationed in front of the hotel. Was it a British custom to play cards outside during in the wee hours?

  He watched as two more men left his hotel and slid the van door open. Was it a kind of surveillance shift? He hid behind the curtain and watched in the semi-darkness. In a reflex move before they entered the van, both men glanced up at his room. It was enough for him to conclude that he was a captive of MI6.

  He had to leave fast! Nothing was really important apart from his desperate wish to save Mayumi, and he knew that Mayumi would be sacrificed by MI6.

  Still under the strain of his recent vision and feeling helpless, he started to cry.

  If, as the Australian Aborigines believed, their dreams opened to another reality, to a parallel world that was the real world, then this was a grim reality.

  His vision was a signal, at least; he had to translate it right now!

  The word Harappan continuously hammered in his head. What did it mean?

  He opened his laptop and typed ‘harapan’ and spent a long time with incoherent answers. He then typed ‘harappan’ and bingo!

  Harappan: Bronze-Age civilization 3,000 years B.C from the Indus Valley, India.

  Below it read in small characters: Name of the tower built in Mumbai by the richest man in India, Tycoon Arun Kumar, for his family. The man owns everything, including a fundamental research centre that works on new String Theory applications…. His building has its own air traffic controller, two helipads…

  Images rolled through Pascal’s mind: the Big Group, the BRIC, Mumbai Research Centre, Mohit, Arun Kumar... here was synchronicity again; chance didn’t exist!

  Time was too short to consider if Pascal’s communication with Mayumi was a type of telepathy, information traveling faster than light or an unconscious access to twin particles in a world where present, past and future were one.

  It didn’t matter anyway; he knew Mayumi was detained in Mumbai and he had to leave, but first he had to understand the whole picture. He called Mohit, his friend in Mumbai.

  “Do you remember what I told you in Bangkok about Arun Kumar and Arocha, his private assistant? Arocha trained an army of cruel mercenaries who had been recruited into the infamous ‘Cast of Executioners’ from the Mumbai slums.

  His mob virtually killed my father when he tried to defend me against their criminal ways. They tried to ruin my promising new business in the computer industry. My old man dared to complain and talked directly to Arocha, damn his soul. That day, Arocha’s bodyguards beat my father so badly that he never recovered from his injuries and died one year later from the wounds. I never expressed my anger and sadness and didn’t revenge right away, but I knew it would be a matter of time.

  Thank you Pascal, for giving me that chance! The time has come. Once again, I think your vision may turn out to be right. Let me investigate and I’ll call you back.”

  Pascal was getting more and more nervous and paced back and forth. If Arun Kumar was the brains trust behind the Cosmos operation, he had to go to Mumbai immediately.

  He forced himself to calm down by practicing Hatha breathing: One, two, three... inhale deeply… four, exhale.

  He was still breathing heavily when his phone rang.

  An excited Mohit raved, “You were right Pascal. It’s unbelievable! I just learnt that Arun Kumar is sponsoring a secret project at his Fundamental Research Center here in Mumbai, and it seems he is investing a big part of his fortune. My people also told me that many officials from Russia and China often visit his premises. But there is a total black out on the project; nobody knows what they are cooking.”

  It was definitely time to go to Mumbai, and intuitively, Pascal was more concerned about Arocha than Arun Kumar. He knew he had to go there and meet Kumar face to face, but he felt Arocha was the problem.

  It was risky to get close to Kumar without being caught by Arocha’s ruthless people. Manoeuvring would be difficult because the man was very well protected and always untouchable. Supposing he could get close to him, he still had to make sure it would not put Mayumi into a dangerous position. The people surrounding him were brutal and would not hesitate to kill Mayumi.

  Pascal also needed Arun Kumar to believe him, which could be a very difficult task indeed. As Mohit had already told him that the tycoon was reputed to be secluded, unwilling to socialise and was surrounded by a strict security system set by Arocha himself to protect him and his many operat
ions. Only his family had easy access. Little by little, Kumar had let his competent assistant manage everything independently, and particularly the project. How could he listen to and trust Pascal?

  Mohit explained that Arocha’s security system was too well structured to let them antagonise him directly. They should use surprise and an astute way to get around Arocha and meet Kumar before his assistant got suspicious.

  Pascal returned his focus back to his room and he concentrated on the action.

  A plan was taking shape in his head. A remote, unconscious pattern was already giving the orders to his tense mind in a mental process neurologists would call ‘motion potential sequence’: decisions being made by the mind before the consciousness would even know.

  He called Mohit back and together they hatched an idea.

  Pascal confirmed with the hotel’s reception that he wanted to keep his room booking for three more nights, and asked not be disturbed under any circumstances. He said he wasn’t feeling well and wanted to fast and stay in bed. The British taxpayers would be happy to share the room expenses without expensive food and the Cosmos people would appreciate having him stay in bed at their disposal.

  Pascal had now to get out of the hotel without being noticed. The most difficult challenge was to get rid of the party spying in front of the hotel. He had to find a diversion and escape through the rear door that was usually reserved for employees. Were they watching there also?

  He wasn’t sure, so decided he may need to improvise later.

  He slid his room window open and let the freezing wind blow in. As he looked downstairs at the van, a large delivery truck arrived at full speed.

  An unimaginable chance happened; the driver missed the turn and smashed into the van with a deafening noise. In seconds, everyone in the lobby went out to see the accident.

  Was it an accident?

  It was time for Pascal to move. Grabbing his backpack, he ran down the stairs and darted to the service entrance. Opening the back door, he peeped outside. Someone was there; obviously an undercover agent. After waiting a few minutes he reopened the door. The man was still there and didn’t look at all like an employee.

  What was he to do? The man would stop him for sure, and even if he used his martial training the man would call the alert, and nobody must know he had left.

  At this very moment he remembered himself as a child playing in the schoolyard with his mates at a silly and dangerous game: hypnosis! He had been very skilful and had effective results. His school mates were impressed at his strong gift to convince the other children and induce them into a slightly conscious state of mind by obeying to his authoritative voice.

  He looked back at the man who had his back to the exit. Pascal jumped on him and executed a lethal strangulation move. Of course, in order to only hypnotise and not kill his opponent he had to push softly on his jugular and let him go into a hypnotic state. Keeping the head of the fat and sweating young man in a tight embrace, he whispered in his ear with strong intent: ‘Everything is quiet, quiet, quiet...”

  In a few seconds the man was half asleep, but he would wake up in no time, oblivious of what happened. Pascal laid him on the floor and skipped out, running into the dark lane. The young man was lucky; he would wake up unharmed and use his fat as a cushion.

  At twelve o clock the same morning he was already on an Indian Airlines flight to the Shatuvaji Shivaji airport in Mumbai. Tonight he would see Mohit, and the big ‘party’ would be tomorrow.

  PART III : INDIA

  SEASON 1: MUMBAI.

  “There are only two tragedies in life:

  One is not getting what one wants,

  and the other to get it”