The Quantum Mantra

by Henri-Paul Bour

Pascal knew his attempt to meet Sheela in front of the railway station was risky and probably not a good idea. But what choice did he have? He knew he was not yet prepared to convince Arun Kumar. He could have shown the evidence they already had, but Mohit hadn’t cracked the encryption yet. He knew Arocha was a real genius of technology and Master of Illusion.

  And there was no doubt that from Arun Kumar’s perspective that whatever story Pascal told without any tangible proof, Arocha’s story would sound more credible because he was his assistant. He was also from the Brahman caste even though he was from a poor family. And importantly, Kumar had trusted Arocha for years.

  The problem now was even worse; he was detained in a car and had no hope of being rescued. Pascal knew it wasn’t the right time to try to escape, so he had no alternative but to wait.

  He knew they would probably try to kill him later, so he had to wait for the right opportunity to fight and make his escape.

  His first priority was Mayumi. Sheela told her on the phone that she had her released and he thought about her all the time, which was taking its toll on his vital energy.

  What could she do without opposing Arocha? He had to concentrate; his priority was to find a way to escape. As the prospect of getting back to Mayumi seemed further away, Pascal became more anxious.

  What was Mohit doing? Was he following and ready to make a move? He couldn’t know, as they were taken by surprise this time. But he had to pretend he was feeling relaxed.

  Even at this early hour the traffic was jammed near the station and the limousine had to join in the deafening honking to make its way through the crowd.

  Of course, Pascal’s two old ‘buddies’ were taking advantage of this; they were exultant, taunting him:

  “Hey fag, we swore to screw you up. Do you remember? Your time has come sweetie; we can’t wait to caress you in the way you deserve as soon as we arrive at our destination. Don’t call your mother and cry,” they laughed, shouting vulgar exclamations.

  It was a happy time for the Russian giant.

  “Ia teba unichtozu, slovoch! (I got you, bastard!)”

  This time they had tied Pascal’s ankles and wrists very tightly; the nylon rope caused a sharp sting of pain with every movement. The Caucasian teased him as he pushed a dirty piece of cloth into his mouth.

  “Hey baby, how do you like the fragrance of my handkerchief? Do you need breast-feeding instead?” he asked as he pointed to his genitals.

  The Russian took part in the game.

  “Don’t worry Honey; we’ll show you how we took good care of your sweet fiancée. In case you didn’t know, she is now in the hands of our friends, the Mumbai Police. We are going to pick her up at the police station. She has already ‘loved’ both us, don’t you know?”

  Pascal was sandwiched between their heavy, sweating bodies and he was an easy toy for them. They enjoyed hurting him, slapping his face and twisting and ruthlessly squeezing his flesh.

  As he mumbled at each blow, they joked.

  “What did you say? You love it?”

  Pascal stayed put, trying not to worsen the situation or joke with them, watching and waiting for the right moment.

  What happened next was a miracle, a kind of synchronistic gift.

  A large group of hijras invaded the wide avenue and stopped cars to beg for money. These transvestites are a caste of entertainers and beggars famous for their viciousness and their power to cast spells on people unwilling to give them their dime. Many feared them as sometimes they could become very cruel and dangerous, reacting with a female hysteria. They were the only ones to practice castration voluntarily.

  The limousine driver refused to stop and almost rammed one of the Hijras. To make it worse, the Russian, totally unaware of their custom, made the mistake of opening the window and insulting the beggars.

  A sudden anger spread across the huge group and they all immediately focused on the arrogant foreigners in the limo. The giant tried to close the electric window but dozens of manicured hands on muscular arms grabbed his head, forcing him to open the door to avoid being strangled in the car window. Trembling in fear, the driver threw banknotes at the assailants as the other bodyguard searched for his wallet.

  Before the car had stopped, Pascal’s intuition had already foreseen the situation, but he wasn’t free to move. The best he could do was to push against the muscular Caucasian on his right and stretch both legs against the giant with difficulty.

  At that precise moment the door was opened by the mob and the furious crowd ejected the giant like a rocket. Taken by surprise, he fell on the street’s hard cement where they surrounded him and kicked him with their high-heel shoes. In a few seconds his whole body was bleeding and wounded—a mass of bloated meat. Even badly beaten, the Russian made the foolish move towards his pistol. That was a fatal mistake. In a hysterical frenzy the hijras smashed his head on the street.

  Attackers were opening the car’s other doors.

  Pascal tried to slide out of the car in an attempt to flee the Caucasian but the powerful man had already encircled his arm around Pascal’s neck and violently tried to strangle him while hitting his face with his other fist.

  To make things worse, the Hijras were leaving in a hurry in fear of the approaching police.

  It was at that moment that a group of Sikhs arrived. Two of them grabbed the Caucasian from the opposite door, hitting him with a hockey bat.

  Grasping for breath, Pascal was immediately pulled out of the car and onto the pavement by unknown hands. Mohit’s people had arrived and were rushing him to shelter.

  His so-called ‘buddies’ were badly hurt, covered in blood and running for their lives with the driver.

  The instructions from Mohit were very clear: take the foreigner and vanish; don’t wait for the police who will be late as usual. Most importantly, get out before the limousine’s backup arrives.

  The task was performed perfectly and the Sikhs rushed away with Pascal as the sirens howled in the distance and men in black ran towards the location.

  Pascal and his rescuers disappeared, swallowed by the huge crowd surrounding the incident.

  The backup team had arrived too late. The bodies of the giant and the Caucasian lay on the road and the foreigner was gone. No one could say what had happened.

  SEASON 3: THE OTHER DIMENSION