When I Tell You A Story: Book 1 (Black River Trilogy)

by Himalaya Goswami

  to his mind that, perhaps, the thought of jumping off the building may not be

  just a thought.

  The old man was shivering, and sweat was running across his face in the chill of

  night. He took the old man away from the goons, hoping there won't be any

  unpleasant hearing.

  ‘ They were right in front of me. I could feel them so close to my fingers,’ the old

  man said, in a tone of amazement. Raman had never seen him so cheerful ever

  before.

  ‘Who’s they?’

  ‘The stone...Raman. The myth is real.’

  ‘But where is it now?’

  ‘They….they are right there,’ he replied after a pause, as if he were making a

  deduction, and with a sense of belief. ‘I adjoined the two pieces together, and

  the blue light….oh boy, it still dazzles my eyes.’

  You sound like the mayor of freaktown.

  ‘What blue light? And where is the bloody stone?’ Raman yelled at him,

  pinched by the fear gripping him from inside.

  ‘The bright blue light...that’s what they’re hiding so deep down the earth,’ Guha

  replied, still carrying his sense of belief. He was a time worn 40 year old with

  brisk white beard and a red nose. He was still lost in the blue luminace, as he

  was claiming.

  ‘I..do...not...know,’ Guha said after Raman shook him firmly, and his lips

  trembled as he spoke. The sweat running across his aged flesh wasn’t stopping,

  and neither was the despair gripping Raman in the long pause of silence.

  ‘They latched with each other, and…..disappeared,’ Guha broke the silence, and

  added, ‘I held it in my hands, I held the hope in my hands.’

  ‘But how can something disappear just like that?’ Raman asked, having nothing

  else to say. He knew the old man had failed, and he knew clearly how miserable

  his life would turn out to be. If i don't deliver them by the dawn, I won't see the light of morning. And neither would my family.

  ‘The stone, not just something,’ old man squealed, and his eyes gleamed as he

  corrected him.

  Raman sensed love, extreme love for something in Guha’s eyes. Not the

  passionate love, but fanatical, obsessed love that makes a good man, cruel. My

  la-di-da.

  ‘But you were supposed to deliver that thing…that stone, or whatever...to

  them,’ said Raman, pointing at the four men who were busy reveiving

  instructions from their boss, the sponsor of mission dreams.

  ‘NOT A FUCKING THING,’ Guha yelled at the peak of his throat. His cry

  disrupted the silence of the night for a moment, and they got all the attention of

  four men with loaded guns who were, till now, busy taking instructions from

  their boss.

  ‘Master,’ Raman shook him gently, and he responded with a slight awe. Keep

  me awake.

  Guha pulled himself up again, and placed his back on the wall behind him, and

  began looking in his pockets for another la-di-da, his pack of cigarettes. He lit

  one, and both sat there without saying a word. The smoke rose up, and it

  reflected in the beam of white light that kept an eye on the building. Guha

  puffed the tobacco and the nicotine did its job. It killed all the disrupt inside

  him, as its nature is, to create an illusion of relaxedness, of peace.

  The silence was restored over again, inside and outside. I wish this was just

  another dream, another illusion.

  Raman had enraged him on a purpose. My la-di-da. Like everyone else in the

  world, he kept his own secrets. His eyes revealed how obsessed he was for the gemstone. He wanted to know if the myths surrounding the stones were true.

  And he was not wrong. The stone dogges its owner.

  Guha’s mobile began to ring and it ignited a storm inside him. A bulk of intense

  pain rushed inside him, that left a sensation in him after it disappeared. He

  dropped the mobile on floor, unable to keep hold of it anymore. He was

  drowning into blackness.

  A name that flashed on the screen was a synonym of terror and cruelty. No

  Mercy. No humanity.

  The phone continued ringing, and Guha continued staring at the screen. It is

  said, a person’s life’s total aum flashes in front of his eyes in moments before

  death. Guha was experiencing the same. From the days of freedom to the days

  of freedom again, he had come a long way. The eyes had turned white, and it

  caused him immense pain when life pulled itself out of his flesh, awakening

  him from the dream from which all of us have to wake up one day. The dream

  called life, and the illusion of living in a reality.

  Raman shook him, and pulled his hand the moment he touched him. His body

  had turned cold, and lifeless. The master was dead. Raman got up, his eyes

  ready to burst out from the cups that held them. He raided his master’s pockets

  for anything that could be useful to him.

  Having found nothing, he looked at him one last time. Be better next time, and

  rushed downstairs. He had never expected of it, never even dreamt of losing his

  precioux in such a dramatic way.

  I’ll find you, he said and jumped over an adjacent building, and rushed down

  through the stairs. The fear gripped him slowly, when he was on the stairs it

  almost caused him a choke in his heart as well.

  It was after exiting the building that he could finally relax. But, how long?

  ‘You are under arrest, Raman. Do not move,’announced the police inspector

  who seemed to be well aware of his exit plans. His pistol’s barrel touched

  Raman’s head from behind, and he whispered, ‘Those men over there are here

  to kill you.’ Raman looked across the dull street, and recognized the white

  scorpio. It is him.

  ‘Guha is dead. Its him. And now he is after me,’ said Raman, his eyes turned

  wet and his voice trembled.

  ‘As far as I know him, he’ll make your life a living hell. Think about Namrata,

  and little Ipsa. he won’t spare them either.’

  The fear tore him apart. ‘What do i do now?’ his voice turned shrill, almost

  childish.

  ‘Only one thing can save you now,’ answered the inspector, and Raman’s

  childhood friend. The Constitution of india.

  The redemption

  Day 1

  27

  Raman fel from the sky and hit the water fil ed outside the mal where he had

  died. Water was running a feet above his head, drowning the first floor of

  citywalk mal , including the rest of city.

  As he touched the surface of water, time started ticking again. The momentum of

  his body pushed him under water, and as he touched the ground beneath, he

  pushed the surface with his toes and rocketed up in air. A slight push enabled him

  to thrust up as if his feet had become rockets. He gushed up in air, and stopped

  half way between the clouds and earth. His eyes were closed yet, and he opened

  them delicately, like what he was about to see was something fragile, something

  that would shatter if stared rashly. And only after he opened his eyes, he saw the

  world isn't what he had always perceived it to be.

  In front of his eyes was a screen which, you can say, was an enhanced version of

  infinite display screen. He looked up, and the display rendered the 3 dimensional

  design of clouds in a fraction of second. T
he simulated clouds were precisely

  scaled with the real ones. The window was also displaying some tables and charts,

  which was the analysis of clouds. Chemical composition, weight, density, graphs

  displaying behavior reports of clouds. And the view rendered itself automatical y

  as he shifted his sight now and then. He turned his head down, and the view was

  re-populated with Earth as its target display, and it augmented al the basic data

  on the screen as overlay. Faster than the fastest computer. ‘What is this thing?’ he asked himself out of complete astonishment. His eyes weren't blinking, and his

  expressions told the story of a blind man finding light al of a sudden.

  ‘An artificial sense organ, it is.’ A voice said inside his head. Inside my head? He

  thought, and the voice replied back. ‘Yes. Your head.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Your conscience, I am.’

  ‘Am i alive?’

  32

  My la-di-da….di-da. .da-da-da. .la-di-da

  ‘Kil him, mole.’ The inner voice commanded. But Qadri knew it was useless to even

  think of some way to kil him. He wouldn't die with a bul et. How else can i kil him?

  Mr Z was staring at him with dropdead attention,

  The magnificient architecture of City Walk mal was pitiable now, like a looted

  caravan. Its glass based design had withered, water. But thankful y, no life was

  harmed. A few injuries did happen, but that is the price we can pay while battling

  a disaster, a calamity. The birthday girl, stil afraid to step out, was watching# the

  man seated across the other end of food court. He was scratching his head, as if

  something was kil ing him from inside. The m

  an, who had just found a mil ion lost

  smiles, was losing himself. He would shackle apart and scatter on the floor like a

  castle of sand, and his pain flamed the girl. She forgot her own heartaches, and

  wounds and scars when the endless pain she gazed inside him. She rushed toward

  him, tears of joy running down her cheeks. Ramon was losing himself into

  nothingness, fil ed with grief and depression. My daughter… he whispered, and

  lost control over hi own organs. The girl pul ed her feet off her heeled shoes,

  reaching for the man who was about to faint, or die. She didn’t let him fal . The girl

  got hold of him by his shoulders and pul ed him back on the chair he had fel from.

  ‘Are you alright sir?’ she said, bending herself to look into his eyes.

  He didn’t respond. There was no observer left to observe. The mirror had turned empty, having nothing to reflect. He was nowhere, as the place was famously known as, the land of the lost.

  Black. And a fal , from nowhere, to nowhere. We, the Mortals have our own medical jargon for such a condition: Coma.

  ‘Please open your eyes, for God’s sake,’ the girl yel ed, her eyes had turned red.

  ‘People of Delhi must know who saved them,’ said one man in the little gathering around the lost man. Everyone agreed.

  ‘We have to save him. He saved us, and he needs us now,’ the girl announced. A few good men came forward to help. They checked his nerves, blood circulation, breathing, but he had turned cold by now.

  Ramon…

  A voice echoed in the blackness. Dul and low it was, almost inaudible. A ripple appeared on the mirror’s surface, and it disappeared as soon as it appeared, turning the mirror blank again.

  Find the stones….

  The good men, having found no way to get the man back to life had started operating on his wounds. With whatever they could get their hands on, alcohol from The Sports Bar to clean his wounds, water from the food court and bandages from Biba. Al of a sudden, a unconscious Raman had everyone’s attention in the mal . The birthday girl’s tiny lips never stopped praying, her heart fil ed with the pleasure of taking a stand for something relevant, something that she’l never forget her life, something that’l spark her every time she’l lose faith in herself.

  The power is incredible…

  The blackness was stil intact, silent and absolute. And something happened, something that fil ed the numb, lifeless mirror with glory and a sense of living. It was a dazzling yel ow and blue light, fused among themselves to form a pattern of yel ow il uminance with blue shade at the border. In the moment of extreme flashing, the mirror glowed and reflected white light, so intense that it perplexed him to open his eyes and sense the world, sense the sense of being alive.

  // change th3 description about space between realities.

  Fulfil your destiny….

  A few good men were turning restless, seeing the man showing no signs of vitality. The wounds had been bandaged, the scars were fil ed with antiseptic, but

  ‘Get up, mister marvel ous,’ the girl pleaded, pounding on her knees.

  *

  There’s always a d ream, a reason that makes u s want t o j ump o ut of b ed before t he S

  un. Cal

  it a desire, an obsession, or whatever you may; but if it is something worth dying for, it

  tends to become the sole r eason o f our e xistence. This idea, i t soon becomes our identity. L ook

  at al the men history r emembers; and one i dea has changed their d estiny. It i s t he i dea t hat

  remains on the sands of time, and people associated with are just players. Including the

  thinker, and the inventor. And it b ecomes a story, which is told g eneration a fter generations,

  and becomes a legend with time. We are al made up of stories. And one day, it wil flash i n

  front of us. Make sure it’s worth watching.

  Raman jacked up with a bolt and got up on his bowels. He opened his eyes, which

  had been transformed by now. His pupil were blue, and the border was pink. He

  looked around him, and the crowd scared him at first. But when they burst into

  applause, and claps; it bought tears in his eyes. For a thief, it was the moment of

  pride.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked a man in the crowd.

  ‘I am….’ but he was interrupted by the birthday girl. ‘We have a name for you: Mr

  Marvel ous.’

  ‘I…. don’t…. deserve…. it,’ he replied. He was confused between vanity and

  gratitude. He chose the latter. Vanity is useless, anyway.

  ‘Are you from outer space?’ asked the girl, who had sat beside him on the cracked

  tiles of GIP mal ’s food court.

  ‘No. I am….,’ he was interrupted again, by a new question.

  ‘How did you do that thing. .of pul ing water in those rings and making it

  disappear?’

  But he wasn’t al owed to speak, as another question fired up. And it was getting

  touch, and uncontrol able. And irritating.

  He got up, reached the edge of the floor and made the jump. People fol owed him,

  and screamed at their loudest as he turned his head toward them, while in air and

  waved his hand. He turned back again, and disappeared in air like a rocket

  vanishes, leaving behind a trail of white.

  -----*-----

  Part 4 begins here

  Qadri was losing his patience, which he already possessed less. The stone, it had to

  be two. His raid on Raman’s home hadn’t been gold either. He found only one

  stone, which, without its mate, was useless.

  ‘Material reality is useless without spiritual reality,’ he rethought al that his late

  companion had told him about the stone. ‘And both the stones represent the two

  sides of reality. And the two make up the complete reality.’ The visual flashed in

  his mind, of a circle and a bold dot at centre.

  ‘And once together, they’l be
come alive,’ Guha added, ‘and the light, the glow that

  can turn masses blind, wil end the darkness forever.’

  ‘Or…. pay us a huge sum of money??’ Countered Guha. Looking in each other’s

  eyes for a moment, they exploded into a bel y laugh.

  ‘Indeed…. indeed,’ Guha said, nodding in affirmation with his pal’s dirty plan.

  Who knew, he had a plan of his own, a plan after which he’d never have to work

  again.

  But fate intervened on its behalf and rol ed the dice again. One bul et was a

  lifetime supply for the professor and he took with him his plans, his mate’s plans,

  his student’s happiness and peace, and a god’s right to freedom. Too much was at

  stake.

  Qadri never let fate take decisions on his behalf, and he didn’t break his rule this

  time either. Moving hel and earth, he had made his way to find the mythical

  stones after a long hussle. He drew Raman out of prison, persuaded him to fetch

  the mysteriously disappeared stones, as Guha had told him the night of their

  mission, with a storm of terror on his face. He kidnapped his wife and daughter,

  tortured his wife to near death and scared her daughter with hounds.

  Raman was supposed to arrive last night. But his wait wasn’t over, yet. The power

  couldn’t be relished without the other pair of the stone. Both completed each

  other, and as of then, Raman and Qadri were acting as mates, mates who want to

  chop each other’s head, tear their chests and snatch out their hearts, alive. Both

  had one part of the stone; the clash was inevitable.

  Mr Marvel ous flew over Akshardham, whose dome was glieeting in the last rays

  of Sun. the temple had been wiped clean, the stone were shieering as if they were

  a thing of yesterday. New as ever. He reached Rajiv chowk and saw the indian flag

  bruised up, torn at places and almost ready to fal down. He pul ed out his hands

  and transformed the tricolor flag into a fresh, new piece, neat and dry. He hoisted

  the flag and exhalhed a gush of wind to make the flag fly. It did, and got the