attention of everyone at Rajiv chowk who were enjying the after rain moments
with corn and tea.
He rocketed up, stretto fol wing him a feet above to block sunlight, and he didn’t
stop until he could see the entire nation from above. Far above the clouds, he
started his search for the family, and as he found them, their location renedred in
the view.
It was a haunted godown.
The godown was in the forests of Meerut, an abandoned facility that was once a
cotton factory employing a dozen vil agemen of 3 surrounding states. But the
british put the establishment on fire, kil ing nearly 2000 men whose screams can
be stil heard today. Not if you’re drunk enough. The interior view rendered on the
screen upon his neuro command, showing him what he could not afford to watch.
His wife was fal en in a corner, fainted and bruised up. She wasn’t moving, just
laid there in a corner, with her head dipped in her chest. Her daughter was in a
cage that was supposed to be for animals. And hounds were staying from outside,
and they kicked the cage with their feet, and barked. The girl had screamed so
much that she was ready to give up on herself, and the ones she loved. She was no
more responding to the roars of Doberman and a couple of afghan hounds.
Raman was enraged, and what choked him even more was the view of Qadri
gazing the yel ow stone, his eyes ful of desire and wil ingness to keep it close to
him, forever. He was seated on a leather arm chair in an air conditioned chamber
within the godown, alone inside, and not even for a moment did he let the dul ,
half egg shaped stone dazzle away from his eyes. It was hol ow from inside, like a
bal cut from mid. The place was fil ed with goons holding loaded berettas, even a
sniper had been positioned on the top floor. A railway track passed thorugh the
godown, which was once used to bring raw shit in and take crafted fabrics out.
From a single line entering the godown from east, it forked into many platforms
and final y exited the godown from south, taking a round inside the factory. The
tracks were bulged inside the floor, and remained unnoticed to many goons,
sometimes even their bosses.
Raman bolted down and gained super speed as he continued heading toward the
ghostly godown. Cars came in and out, carrying more goons, bags ful of money
and weapons, or chemical substances.
Raman landed on the roof of godown, without any thud. He laid on the roof, his
head immersed inside the floor, as if he could see everything beyond the wal . Yes,
he could.
Everyone’s location was marked along with their artil eries. Goons in jet black
outfits from top to bottom were stiffed with the latest toys. Al of them wore specs
and had perfected their skil s of playing with those toys. and the goons in general
outfits were the commoners, less skil ed and more in number. They were oddly
spread everywhere, inside and out. A cage holding a sleeping girl was chained just
outside a sealed chamber. And dogs were surrounding the cage, even they had
exhausted by now, tired of waiting for someone. A woman in torn grey clothes
was lying at the other end of the chamber, in a corner.
A few men were smoking ganja in a chil um, gathering around a cross of railway
tracks. An underground staircase, covered by wooden boxes led to an
underground vault where naked men and women were assembled to fil and pack
a white substance in poly bags, under strict observation. Below the floor was
another floor, which was a reservoir of weapons. Guns, knives, blades, bombs,
petrol, bul ets, grenades, and what not…
This didn't scare Raman. Puny things they were, for him. But he couldn’t risk the
lives of people at stake. He looked around, and found a safe spot to watch more
closely.
Qadri hadn't given up pampering and admiring the stone, and blushing when
thinking about the incredibility he was about to gain. The dul , yel ow stone which
hadn't shown any special characteristics, began to glow al of a sudden, and the
shine so bright that it left him dazzled. The stone felt like it would leave his hands
and fly away somewhere, like iron would do under the influence of magnet. He
clutched his fingers around the stone, and closed his fist as hard as he could, an
expression of extreme possession. He gushed out of the chamber, cal ed for one
his trustees and whispered something to him. And he went inside, kicking the
cage and awakening the girl.
‘Your father is here…. And he has bought my treasure.’
Raman sneaked in the compound without much difficulty. Through the window
where his wife had fal en fainted, he jumped in, almost avoiding a crash landing
over the woman.
The woman had been wounded her over her body, her face and her back had swel ed up, she was soaked in blood and dust. This is not what you deserve.
He shook her arm, and flipped her over. Her face ran a scar from top to bottom, a scar that had just stopped bleeding. It was green, flies were warming their legs on it. Raman was shivering. In rage.
‘She is stil alive,’ said a familiar voice, cold and rocky.
When he raised his head up, he had on his face every gun’s barrel that was inside the compendium, and grenades and knives. Around Four hundred men were surrounding him, forming concentric circles with Raman as their centre. The man had been spread al around, up and down, with their leader standing facing him, his wife as a boundary between the two parties.
‘What did you do to her?’ asked Raman, his blue eyes wet.
‘I didn't even touch her. .nor any of my men….but i can't say that about the hounds,’ and everyone giggled. Qadri had exploded into a bel y laugh, and the only person who was silent was monsieur Raman.
‘And my daughter? Did you let your hounds decide her fate too?’ Raman fired his another question, getting up on his feet.
‘She’s here,’ replied Qadri, pointing to the cage where she had been kept. Goons moved to side to clear the sight, and there she was, terrified and shrunk in herself,
and two devilish hounds pouring saliva on her head, groaning and staring Raman.
‘Peanuts…’ said Raman, in a as fragile a voice could be. The little girl raised her head, a scar was running over her face as wel . She was in tears, her jaw had been broken. She did her best to pul out some words, but the pain broke her wil . In the end, she was left with tears and open arms. Arms that had been waiting for their hero, arms that hadn't given up, even when everyone else had. Including the mother. Her hair were al a mess, and the cage was barely fitting her.
It was a storm that was rising inside Raman, a storm that made him forget al the bul ets and bombs around him, and he walked to her daughter, fearless as ever.
‘STOP RIGHT THERE,’ yel ed the man but it didn't matter anymore. Nothing matters a father more than his daughter.
‘Stop…. or I’l set the dogs free.’ He yel ed again, and a goon loaded his gun, waiting for an order. Raman looked at him and smirked. A few more goons did the same and turned their heads to the boss. He waved his head in negation.
‘Release the dogs,’ he said, ‘al of them.’
Four hungry bul sized hounds were unchained and they ran to attack Raman.
Raman didn't take more than a second to look into their eyes and the dogs were now his slaves. Upon his next command, the hounds turned to the mass of goons and jumped over them. The hounds created a chaos in the army. They bit many, snatched bulks of fl
esh from their bodies, making them meet the same fate as they had bought upon the two women. One of the dog caught attention of Qadri’s arse and bolted to taste a flesh of his body. Qadri, in terror, found his way inside the chamber. ‘Get his wife in, and kil the hounds,’ he ordered and shut the door from inside.
While everyone was busy handling the hounds, Raman broke the cage and pul ed out his wonder girl.
They hugged each other, without saying a word. For a minute, they stayed that way, in each other’s arms. Father was losing his loneliness, and the daughter was losing her fears.
‘Let me see. .peanut,’ he held her face with his fingers and turned it to sides.
‘It’l be alright in a minute.’ He said as he patted on her cheek.
Ipsa nodded her head, a smile had spread across her face.
‘Your eyes, daddy…. they are pink.’
A gunshot. A hound was kil ed. And another gunshot fol owed.
‘Yes. Aren't they lovely?’
‘I also want pink eyes.’
‘Yours are already the loveliest.’ He said and hugged her again, and Ipsa realized her pain had gone. Her jaw didn't trouble her anymore, and al the wounds had been healed.
The third hound was shot dead. And the fourth one found his way out. Lucky bastard.
‘Daddy. .mommy….’ she yel ed the last word, finding her mother not at the spot where she was supposed to be.
Raman got up, and saw the men turning to him again, and waiting for orders, as before. He smirked again, and bent to his daughter.
‘Stay here peanuts. .okay?’
‘I am afraid,’ she replied.
‘You don't have to. .nobody wil dare touching you.’
The goons laughed, and one of them stepped ahead to break his promise. He hadn't took a second step when his gun pul ed off his hands and hung in air, a feet above him. The man tried to jump, but couldn't move. The gun fel on his head with a jerk and a stream of blood rushed out of his skil . The man fel , and perhaps never got up again. And then, everyone's gun was pul ed off their hands and was hung in air. And they couldn't move either.
‘Stretto wil be here with you,’ Raman said as he turned to her again.
‘Who is he?’ inquired the little heart.
‘Ah. .you’l see,’ and black smoke popped out of his chest. The smoke formed a shape in the air and greeted everyone.
‘ROCHA…’
The girl was scared. She grabbed her father’s thighs and hid herself behind him.
Stretto could not bear this, and in an instant he turned to a teddy bear and fel at her feet. She picked it up, and pressed its chest. ‘Best friends we are,’ uttered an electronic voice and the girl’s lost happiness found its way.
‘Raman. .hand over me the stone, or your wife's death would be your responsibility.’ A voice burped out of speakers.
‘Come and take it,’ he replied and walked closer to the chamber, the source of voice and it's terrific owner.
Raman waved his hands and threw goons aside, along with their guns. He cleared the area and attacked the door of the cubicle. The locked door broken open and at the other end was Qadri, holding a yel ow stone in his hands.
Its first gaze on Raman created a turmoil inside him.
Stone here is. Feel i can.
‘Yes. Just in front of us.’
Qadri walked out and the two men were now facing each other.
‘Let us make a deal, Mr. Raman. You give me the stone, and I give you this little serum,’ taking out a bottle of white liquid, he showed it to him.
‘Oh. .real y? A stone for that bottle? Why don't you give me that stone and i let you live,’ Raman looked into his eyes, in an attempt to gain command over him. He couldn’t.
Cannot control him, you. The stone he has.
We’l see….
‘This bottle wil save their lives, Mr. Raman. It is an antidote of some weird poison I have injected in them.’ Qadri made his efforts to terrorize Raman. ‘And the poison. .untraceable and indigenous, wil kil them a bit every minute, until they are vomiting their own intestines.’
Raman’s sight fel over the yel ow object in Qadri’s tightly clenched right hand. He knew he wasn’t lying about the venom theory, but couldn’t show him. Fear is in the eyes. Pretend that you are in control and people wil assume you are.
‘Is that what you are? A coward who uses women and children as bait?’ Raman fired his pretensions to give up.
‘Not as bait, Mr Raman. I use them as magnets,’ he said. ‘Show me the other part of it, and we can strike a deal…. My guests are about to arrive.’
‘And your guests…. they’d take away the package with them. What wil you do then?’
‘I won’t let them. I was about to tel you my evil plan.’
Raman closed his hands together to form a sphere, and waves of current emerged from his palms. The current got denser as he directed energy to it, and an imaginary bal was formed between his hands. Bright blue light emerged from the spaaces betwen his hands, the light so intense that it countered al the other lights and turned the room blue. Raman opened his hands and the stone freely held itself in air. It was an egg shaped, solid and vibrant.
Feel each other’s presence, the stones. Hold them tight, you must.
Raman grabbed the stone and closed his fist. Qadri was stil under the charm of the stone. His eyes never blinked and fol owed every direction that stone moved to.
‘Give it to me….,’ he said, and screamed again, ‘GIVE IT TO ME.’
‘Of course I wil , but I would like to tel you a story first’
‘Of the fucking Sun, Moon and Moose, eh?’ Qadri argued, overjoyed in the il usion of knowing it al .
‘Its the Muse, not moose,’ Raman contended with a smirk#, ‘And no. .not the fucking Sun story.’
‘Do not waste my time,’ Qadri bel owed at first, then calmed himself up. ‘Consider it your last wish. . granted.’
‘The story goes this way: A man, too much into lack magic shit and parascience, finds a diary during one of his quests for power. And it turns out to be possesed.
An ancent, forgotten black magic that has trapped a soul inside the pages of the diary. And it must have been fate that the diary, lost in the sands of time, reached
this man, who was too much into black magic shit.’ Raman was interrupted by his own inner thoughts.
Waste time do not. Get closer to him, you must.
Raman moved a step closer to him, and both the stones responded in a momentarily glow. Both the holders tighetned their grip on the respective stones.
‘I have a feeling you are talking about your your teacher, Mr Raman.’
‘No. I am talking about your pal, the rotten piece of shit.’
‘Both are true.’
‘Not from my point of view.’
Qadri ha-haed, and gestured him to continue the story. Both the men started walking in a circle, facing each other while taking slow steps.
‘A muse was trapped inside the notebook, which had passed through many hands in time. And when it reached Guha, it did to him exactly what it did to those mil ion previous possessors. She tortured them to death. She played with their minds, she cast so many il uisons that those men were trapped in many realities, and kil ed themsleves in most brutal ways.
‘But none of this happened to Guha. .explain that?’ Qadri enquired, trying his best to keep hold of the stone. Both the gems had started to vibrate, and the sensation kept on increasing along with the glow, as they came closer to each other. A mix of blue and yel ow light was fil ing the room, dul at first but intensifying.
‘Yes. . Guha, the moron, discovered a way to control the muse’s wrath, courtesy of his gypsy friends in Calcutta, and even found a way to communicate with her.’
‘Such a great person he was,’ Qadri sarcastical y asserted, while al his attention was on gripping the stone.
Raman took took his next step opposite to his routine steps, and he was now two steps closer to the yel ow gemst
one. The vibration multiplied blindfoldedly, and Qadri was sweating trying to keep his grasp on it. The yel ow stoneman jumped back as he understood the trick Raman was playing. He wants to snatch the stone from me.
‘So, Guha comes to know of the stones, and the incredibility they can offer.’ Qadri smiled upon hearing the mythical truth al his efforts. It made him feel worthy of his deeds, no matter how inhuman they turned out to be. Great things come at a price.
Qadri stil maintained his distance, but the stones were not silencing up. The vibration continued along with the glow like a wave, rising and fal ing as they came closer and apart.
Raman continued his narration, ‘ And somehow, he might have lured the muse into trusting him with the location of stones. And then, he made a plan.’
‘Real y? And how do you know it?’
‘After a few moments, you’l see everything for yourself,’ Raman foreshadowed the events that lay ahead.
‘I wil ? Mother dagger,’ an outraged Qadir burst into into tremolt.
‘So listen to this,’ Raman ignored him and resumed his retel ing. ‘This is where you realize you are, in fact, a bait.’
Qadri’s eyes turned red. But something inside him wanted to hear his proposition.
‘Guha made a plan. He needed resources and a team. And this where we came in.’
Raman’s tone got heavy. A spread of seriousness took over. ‘I was out of this shit, doing good with my shows. And you were busy doing your. .kil ings. .and. ’
‘yes, yes. .go on,’ Qadri said, feeling proud of the way Raman mentioned his profession.
‘Guha bound the the diary with black magic so that muse won't torture him anymore. It was his revenge with the muse. He convinced you to help him find them, and consolidated me into assisting him.’
‘What you mean. .he bound the diary?’
‘It’s a form of black magic, to stop the torments of possessed objects.
‘He manipulated you into believing there's someone who is wil ing to give you 100
bil ion euros, and half of it in advance.’
Qadri took it as an insult. He knew it could be possible. He had never seen the buyer, just a few phone cal s had sufficed him to close the deal.
‘And the money?’ How’d you explain that?’
‘Tel me. .have you received a single penny in your hands. yet?’
When I Tell You A Story: Book 1 (Black River Trilogy) Page 4
