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

by Himalaya Goswami

  ‘The stones...it is said the stones ruined her. They were cursed by King Suran,

  because when they were stolen, they bought him disrespect and humiliation in

  the 13 realms, including his own. So, he put a curse that whoever possesses

  them will meet a tragic end.’

  ‘So, how we’ll handle this….curse?’

  Guha looked at him and passed a smile, a wise smile. He pulled out a pair of

  half finger gloves and wore them. The black leather gloves were an invention of

  one of his student, a device built to specifically hold things without touching

  them. The tiny machines in both the palms generated electromagnetic field that

  could hold any object within its range.

  The gloves skinned over his hands, and pressed two buttons simultaneously with

  his thumb at the root of his index finger. A blue light beamed out his palm and

  pulled Qadri’s mobile from his hold with a sweep, leaving him amazed. Now

  that is great.

  ‘Is this also magic?’

  ‘No. This is real.’

  The flashback ended, reminding him of something he had been missing all the

  way along. Who murdered my friend?

  -----*-----

  14

  ‘My house is orange, da. And my dress is also orange,’ he heard Ipsa’s voice

  echoing in the clouds. This memory was o

  f t he last time h

  e h

  ad heard h

  er v

  oice,

  three years ago.

  ‘Orange is your favorite, babygirl?’ asked Raman, overflowing in joy. He

  looked around, probably wanting to see her once.

  The voice didn’t recur, though he could give anything to hear her again, and

  forever.

  ‘You there, peanuts?’

  No response came. He looked around, again, hoping someone would show up,

  or some of it would make sense.

  Below him were scattered a lot of red surfaces just like the o

  ne h

  e w

  as o

  n, over

  an infinitely long tube of white light. He was somewhere between the tube,

  because both the ends appeared to be at the horizon. This is absolutely not real.

  All of a sudden, a screeching v

  oice filled the e

  nvironment, s

  harp like t he roar of

  a plane. It was s

  o intense t hat i t almost burst his b

  rain n

  erves. H

  e p

  ushed fingers

  in his ears, but it hardly made any difference.

  ‘R…..O…...C…...H…..A…..’

  A screeching voice from behind shook him up. Though he had blocked his

  hearing organs, but the v

  oice w

  as still c

  lear, w

  ithout the d

  ampness t hat is c

  aused

  due to pressing of ears.

  The silence spread over again. The screeching voice was gone. He grabbed his

  senses and gazed around, only t o f

  ind himself all a

  lone i n the w

  orld. He stepped

  ahead, blowing the red smoke with his feet, and an idea dropped on him.

  He looked down below, and jumped o

  ver other cloud, j ust b

  elow t he one he was

  on. If i keep going, maybe I’ll reach somewhere. A red bomb exploded on the

  cloud as he fell there, and found himself merged in the surface of the cloud.

  From the newly landed surface to the other, he began jumped and diving,

  shaking every cloud as he fell upon them.

  Poor mortal.

  After a long haul of falls and dives and slips, Raman decided to halt. He was

  breathing heavily, turned wet in sweat and his legs were shaking.

  This jumping jack shit is a real shit.

  He glanced around h

  im; the b

  elow s

  eemed e

  ndless, and so t he a

  bove. There’s n

  o

  easy way out.

  He continued his quest, hopping from one cloud to the nearest one below it.

  Sometimes, the clouds formed a pattern of s

  tairs, a

  nd t hen s

  omething happened.

  Something very unreal.

  He jumped over a cloud and his feet seemed to strike not with pulpy fog but

  something stiff, like a plank of steel. He quivered in pain as the impact had

  sprinted his knee joint.

  A tripped Raman fell on the red surface, his knee clung under his hands. The

  momentary outburst of sudden pain had stopped, but the sensation remained.

  What could it be?

  He sunk his hands inside the cloud, and his fingers touched a hardened metal.

  He ran his f

  ingers to f

  ind the e

  dges, and r

  ealized t hat the b

  ox n

  o l onger than t wo

  foot. He maneuvered his hands through the edges of the box and pulled it out

  from the smoke where it had been buried.

  Raman folded his feet and placed the box on his lap. It was a cuboid shaped

  box, with a five headed snake carved around the box, indicating that it was the

  protector, and the content i nside i t. T

  he s

  nake w

  as wrapped around a

  ll the e

  dges

  of the box, its face resting on the bigger face of the box, and Raman assumed

  that side to be the top. Its shininess had been faded away but he could not find

  any sign of rust. Raman flipped it around, looking for a lock or handle, some

  way to open the box. But to his amazement, it appeared to be one single o

  bject

  without any joints or hinges. He shook the box to guess what could be inside

  based on the sound that the contents made, but it appeared rather empty.

  ‘R…..O…...C….H…..A…’

  The chaotic voice appeared again, this time from inside the box. He closed his

  ears again, but the voice didn’t fade. Having found himself unable to bear the

  sensation similar to standing inside the d

  ome o

  f a huge bell. A

  nd in t he e

  ffort to

  silence the voice. He began rubbing the object, tilting i t in air and in the s

  moke,

  and as he played more with the box, the voice seemed to fluctuate. And in the

  process of finding a way out, he pressed the snake’s eye accidently.

  As soon as he c

  licked t he e

  ye, a b

  right beam o

  f blue l ight emerged from its h

  ead

  to tail, reviving it from the dead. It was the most beautiful snake he had ever

  seen, with golden skin that reflected light into 7 colors like a prism, its five

  heads absolutely symmetric with each other. It five heads were looking s

  traight

  into his eyes, and the irritating scream returned.

  ‘R…..O…...C….H…..A…...’ Raman pressed his ears and eyes again, hoping

  the dream would be over when he opens them again. Some realities are more

  real than the others.

  The snake’s golden body had started to glimmer, and the shine continued

  increasing until it had started burning. Flames licked the snake as if it was a

  burning wood, and its ask formed a heap over the box.

  Raman was watching everything with ja
wdrop attention, not missing a fraction

  of the curious events taking place of which he was the only witness. After the

  snake had disappeared a

  nd t he ash had s

  ettled o

  ver the b

  ox, R

  aman b

  lew t he ash

  and grabbed the box a

  gain, a

  nd o

  n i ts s

  urface s

  trange d

  rawings a

  nd w

  ritings had

  appeared.

  A curious mind questions everything. It was still unbelievable for Raman to

  come across something that he could not justify, or explain using the laws of

  nature he had observed, learnt and mastered o

  ver the years. F

  or him, everything

  that could not be molded in the frame of science was an illusion, a trick t o fool

  the mind. His inventions were far ahead of his time, but he could justify them

  because he himself had invented them. Sometimes, people do not see beyond

  what is in sight, beyond what is obvious. And sometimes, miracles do happen.

  He tried to open the box with unscientific methods like hitting the box over his

  palm, shaking it but nothing happened. He tried to make sense of the writings

  on the box, b

  ut the dialect was p

  rimordial. W

  hile h

  e w

  as b

  usy t inkering with t he

  box, his back facing the golden ash scattered over the red billow, a black

  shadow rose from the ashes behind him and formed a figure. It was an

  irregularly shaped creature, black from top to bottom. It had no legs, and in

  place of its hands were the tiny wings. As he rose above, its black posture

  blocked the light falling on him. He turned his head, and the ghost flapped its

  wings. Another unbelievable event. The ghost’s tinkling red eyes glimmered.

  They were looking at each other, when all of a sudden, it gushed toward him

  and swallowed Raman inside him. Raman, ghost and the box disappeared.

  -----*-----

  14 (15)

  Qadri’s phone began ringing in the darkest hour of the night. The mild, tinkling

  tune of iPhone reached his ears like a snake crawling inside his eardryms. The

  snake raised its fin and hurled at him. And he woke up, terrified of the snake

  that almost killed him in his dreams. The snake was at the other side of line,

  ringing his mobile and stroking his heart after every missed call.

  Qadri rushed to pick up the call. He knew who it could be, the only man who

  was successfully able to instill fear inside him. Mr Z.

  ‘You took time to pick up the mobile,’ the old, shivering voice said.

  ‘I was on my way to…’

  ‘We are all on our ways. Act accordingly.’

  Qadri didn't respond, still thinking what the old man could mean. But he knew

  for sure it wasn't pleasant.

  ‘Do you have them, yet?’

  ‘I’ll have them anytime. My men are on their way to get it.’

  ‘Ah...your men? And do they even know how to handle it?’

  ‘Yes. I have provided instructions for everything. They won't fail me. And i

  won't fail you.’

  ‘So be it,’ the old man rejoiced, ‘You will have hawala coupons and bearer

  bonds worth 20 billion euros by sunrise today.’

  ‘Insha-allah,’ said Qadri, inhaling a breath of relief.

  ‘Let's put your words to a test.’ The old man hung up the call, leaving him

  shivering in fear. He dialled numbers with his shaking hands, but the call wasn't

  received.

  Qadri was beginning to question his late friend’s words. It was him who had

  showed him the american dream, of owning a private jet with a bathroom and

  playboy bunnies at his service. The dream of 40 billion euros for a secret that

  the world was still unaware of.

  The first stage of the mission accomplished without much ado. One part of the

  stone was in France with the Bolbum family. It was just a phone call that he

  made and the job was done. The yellow stone was delivered within a fortnight.

  The next step of the mission was to obtain another piece of the stone, the blue

  sapphire. It was kept safe in a secret chamber inside the underground vault of

  the National Museum of India.

  ‘The museum is a secure facility. How we’ll do this job?’

  Guha smiled, and his curve suggested to him that he knew the answer. And he

  did.

  He knew of a man, a genius of science, a gifted inventor once famous for

  building the most amazing devices of the century. He was then, criticised for

  failing to build something that was already impossible to build. Guha was

  always fascinated by science, and he once happened to meet Raman by a

  co-incidence. There are no coincidences.

  And in between arrived Mr. Z, with a proposal to buy the artefact for an

  unbelievable price. Qadri’s fingers were indeed, dipped in butter.

  But time changes, as it always had been. Guha’s death had shattered all the

  dreams that Qadri began dreaming, and dreamt so much that it chilled his

  nerves whenever the thought of failing came to his mind.

  For years, he waited for the man to come out of the prison. But he didn't leave

  any stone unturned to finish the deal that was now becoming a

  p

  ain in the n

  eck.

  Qadri kept sending his men inside the p

  rison t o k

  eep r

  eminding him o

  f what lies

  ahead, and he sent his goons after his wife and daughter to extract anything of

  use from them. He even searched their home, burnt Raman’s laboratory but

  could find nothing related to the stones.

  Finally, the wait was over. In a few hours, I’d fly away with the stones and 20

  billions. And i’ll leave no loose ends.

  His phone began to ring and the name that flashed on the screen blossomed his

  face, as if he was smelling a rose.

  ‘Yes, colonel. Share the good news,’ he exclaimed.

  ‘The house is empty. It seems to be abandoned for years,’ the colonel groaned.

  And He was not lying.

  ‘What do you mean, abandoned?’ Qadri screamed. ‘He l ives there. M

  y m

  en spy

  in him day and night.’

  ‘If i agreed with you, we’d both be wrong,’ he said and disconnected the call.

  Qadri smashed his mobile again, and hurled out of his room. Now its all on me.

  15 (14)

  Nothing feasts us like a target to shoot.

  The Sooters were on their way to execute their next target: A man recently out

  of prison. They were no ordinary assassins, and they chose their target after a

  thorough research. They killed people, and took joy in it, but it was never for

  nothing, or something as unsubstantial like money.

  Justice was their motive, a

  nd t hey killed p

  eople who didn’t d

  eserve t o live. They

  were the worshippers of guns and goddess Kali, and stayed in the effect of

  afeem day and night. It gives us a higher sense of things. They were weird,

  crazy freaks who stayed out of the world and entered only to demolish

  someone’s world, who in their eyes, was a habshi, or someone whose crimes

&nbs
p; are intolerable in the society. They were the silent sweepers who worked only

  for the most exclusive, the needy client, and never dealt with two clients a

  t one

  time.

  And even strange was their way of swearing someone’s loyalty. It had to be a

  bright sunny morning for the ritual they performed to undertake a task, which

  mostly was to kill. And the contract letter was signed in blood. Today, their

  most profound ideal had been broken. They were assigned a mission in the

  night. It was a request from their current obligatories.

  Their mission, to acquire some object of precioux importance, and then finish

  off the previous owner. No loose ends.

  Their leader was fuming. Something was i nstigating Col. J

  ata S

  hankar C

  hauhan

  to put his hands out of the matter, and stay away f

  rom t he case i tself. H

  e h

  adn’t

  swore an oath. It was a sacred ritual and he never p

  erformed before the S

  unrise.

  But even the assassins have peer pressure.

  ‘Saab, want some beer?’ one of his men asked him.

  Colonel saab replied with a tight slap over his sucked, boney cheek.

  ‘ Motherfucker our pride is at stake and you are….dancing?’

  The man with swollen cheek moved back.

  ‘Who is he anyways?’

  ‘He is the douchebag who was building a machine and it failed..’

  ‘I don't want his report card. What do we have to need to acquire?’

  ‘A blue gemstone, they said. And they also gave a box to store it carefully.’

  ‘These people are really weird, eh?’

  ‘ Sahi bole Colonel saab. They had tied a child in a cage.’

  ‘ Mata is not approving me of this.’

  ‘ Sahi bole Colonel saab.’

  ‘Shut up moron,’ the boss dissolved his flattery with a heavy, disciplined tone.

  Only an army personnel could silence someone that way.

  ‘The time to think is over. Now is the time to do,’ he said, indicating his

  intentions in a straightforward manner.

  ‘Get ready. We are about to reach,’ the driver announced and everyone began

  checking their weapons. They prayed, and one of them pulled out a pouch from

  his back pocket. He opened it, and placed it on his palm. It was afeem. Everyone

  took his share and pressed the black fluffy substance under their lower lips.