When I Tell You A Story: Book 1 (Black River Trilogy)
Page 14
harnessing electromagnetic fields. A
nd it r eminded h
im o
f t he t ime w
hen G
uha t ook i t a way
from him, reasoning he would sweep his home with it.
Qadri pressed the button beside his thumb and a web of green laser lights was formed
between his palms. His eyes were closed, but the blue luminance was stil piercing t hrough
his eyelids. He stretched his hands further, and the light fil ed his nose and popped out of
his ears.
Everyone was dazzling but the goons, who were equipped with black goggles, al of them
sharing the exact same model of Vincent Chase aviators.
Qadri was flaming outside, and chil ing i nside. But h
e w
as n
ot g
iving u
p a gainst t he f orce o
f
the gemstone. He final y captured the stone in h
is web o
f m
agnetic f ield a nd m
aneuvered i t
inside a m
etal ic cubical b
ox behind h
im. T
he y oung goon w
ho w
as holding t he b
ox w
as u
ltra
alert, reluctant to close the lid of the box as soon as his boss fil ed it.
As soon the box was closed back again, the diary turned lifeless like an a bandoned h
ome. I t
had almost turned b
lack, i nner u
nburnt p
ages s til s moldering, b
ut t he ash w
asn't s cattering
over the floor. The burnt remains were stil intact, as if someone was holding them on
purpose.
‘Kil them both,’ he said, as he caught back his breath and stopped rubbing his eyes. The
goons stepped ahead to obey master’s command, but were interrupted by Samarth.
‘Stop,’ he said, and al the black goggles rotated toward him. ‘Don’t kil them, yet. B
ring h
er
inside the car, and put a fuckin missile in his head for breaking my nose.’
Qadri smirked, and the goons dragged her inside t he w
hite a ccent. N
amrata didn't p
rotest,
neither Raman tried to stop them. Both of them were in a state of trance, numbed by the
thought of evil acquiring great powers. The stability of the universe was more concerning
than their own lives. Namrata, however, wanted nothing but to see her d
aughter o
nce. A
nd
in the hope of seeing her little peanut one last time, she could give up everything.
The pigs disappeared in their cars, leaving behind raman and a bunch of goons to execute
him.
The leftover goons had circled around Raman, and were kicking him wherever they could
find a spot on him. And whenever he tried to escape them, they dragged him back in the
circle and crushed him with both legs, hammering his flesh and bones with al the rage they
could gather in their boots. Raman’s head was bleeding, his clothes were torn and he was
bashed and bruised, unable to breathe properly. Dust fil ed his mouth as one of them
smeared his face with his knee on the ground. He started coughing, but they didn't stop.
And they didn't stop even when he stopped responding to the pain.
21
This is a summary of al the events along with the last thing that would happen, i mean
burning of raman. He wil be kil ed by king Suran, because of the curse.
The sun rises in the east. What we learnt as a child didn't turn out to be true when we grew
up, when we realized the sun is stationary and we are revolving around it. But our
realization or ignorance didn’t affect the truth, the absolute truth. The sky just appears blue,
though we perceive it to be de facto blue, come hel or high water.
The question that popped up in King Suran’s head milions of years ago was stil
unanswered.
Al of a sudden, the sky thundered and a lightning bolt hit the ground somewhere nearby,
causing an explosion like sound that whistled everyone’s ears. Clusters of clouds came
gushing from the north, and the devilish black shadow spread across the capital city like an
umbrel a. But who was the umbrel a for?
The sunlight disappeared as subtly as someone turns off a bulb, and the clouds began
thundering as they col ided amongst each other. People on the ground were questioning the
reality of everything they had witnessed that day and the past. The non stop rain, the
vaporizing clouds, the extreme blue light that could fade sunlight, and now, sudden
emergence of clouds over New Delhi and nearby regions left the scientists and weather
experts scratching their heads. Even fortune tel ers failed to comprehend any prophecy or
upcomings.
The sun was masked by the black clusters, pushing the city into darkness. The clouds, dense
and devilishly black were growling and thundering like a hound gone mad. It was an
unusual thunderstorm.
New Delhi was about to col apse. The rain of 2 days had choked the already pitiable storm
drainage system. Yamuna had given up on swal owing water any further, and al the water
logging hotspots had become a fountain of filthy gutter water. The city had turned into a
giant pool, and the metro drainage system was about to give up. The underground tubes had
been shut down. People were stuck in buildings for days, the traffic control system had
col apsed the pervious night itself. Now, the abandoned cars were floating in water like
paper boats.
And after a short pause, it had started again, furious as ever. Nobody had ever experienced a
rain like this one. Drops appeared to be oozing out of a high pressurised hose pipe, and they
struck the Earth like a bul et. The sky thundered again and again, and the light that
preceded turned people blind with its flash. The voice of water striking the ground took over
al the other voices. The city went under a giant meditation, a rainwater trance that made al
of them forget their mundane, daily lives and rethink about everything. They were within
themselves now, and without.
The central park at Rajiv chowk had submerged in water, and so was the Palika Bazaar. The
entrance gates of Palika had become the fountains of items that were sold in the
underground market. Shoes, bags, clothes, whatever found its way in the current of water
was pushed out through the outlets. The roofs were overfil ed with people, not just in Rajiv
chowk, but in most of the city.
The Sun, Moon & the Muse
There are years that ask questions, and years that answer. And there's the years
between those when a person f inds h
imself a t the p
oint of singularity. That’s when a
person truly wakes up.
The time he spent behind the bars was the period of disil usionment, when he had
nothing to ask, nothing to build, and nothing to seek.
Search for answers. Quest for k nowledge. For a man of s cience, quests and What ifs were
a part of his nature. But no more. He had given upon on his own existence for the
years inside the prison.
Life inside a dark cel with a flush beneath the bed, accompanied by stinking smel
and surveil anced 24 by 7 is not a pleasant one, and i can as
sure you of that. If you
want t o see hel on earth, visit a p
rison i n India ( not handcuffed, I’d add). But what if
life outside was a hel for him? What if he didn’t want to be a part of the world out
there? Or was he running away from s omeone, trying t o wash away the r esults of h
is
fathomable deeds. He was, afteral , a crazy scientist at the verge of a great career.
Science wil answer what the philosophers can't. He’s say often as the ending line of his
lectures and conferences in reputed institutions like I ITs a nd NITs ( though he h
ad a
personal repulsion for those institutions).
As al moments of crisis are opportunities in disguise, the time he spent in the jail
turned out to be a period of self realization. And out of al the things he r ealized, this
was the most prominent: I am an asshole.
And once he accepted the fact that he was, i n fact, a s hithole, a l t he pieces managed
to fit themselves, except one: the love be abandoned, the heart he broke and the woman he
destroyed.
The silence woke him up. He closed his doors and opened his mind. He let himself
die for those years. But one’s sins aren’t washed that way.
Sunlight popped into his8i cel from the gril ed window on the facing wal , and he
guessed it might be around 6 AM. Science. I swear.
It was the day of his redemption.
*
Raman was a skinny, tal man with sunken black eyes and a pointy nose. His face
had a wolf like appearance, though his nature was the exact opposite of a wolf. He
saw the world in binary. Everything can be quantified as either yes or no.
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The Sun, Moon & the Muse
His beard was the only thing that made him appear mature, and it was more a
necessity than fashion. He never cared about fashion. The o
nly thing he loved about
fashion was the idea of it, that it never fades away.
Raman heard the footsteps approaching his cel , the l ast one in t he gal ery of prisons
in Tihar Jail No. 2. The sound of stiff shoes striking the cemented floor turned him
restless, but he remained seated on the c emented platform disguised to be a b
ed. He
was reading ‘The selfish gene’ by Richard Dawkins, but the sound of footwear
triggered an insignia inside him. I t's t ime to g o, h
e said with a twinkle in his eyes, a nd
found himself thinking about the h
is chances of survival once he i s out. I’l be dead, or
I’l be dead.
A policeman appeared at the other end of his cel , and pul ed out a bunch of keys
from his pocket. The two of them looked at each other and passed a smile. Yes, I have
a friend.
‘Are you ready?’ Inspector Lovey asked him.
‘Actual y, we are never ready for anything,’ he said with a sigh of disappointment.
The man in uniform looked at him like wanting to say, Y
ou’re a piece o f shit, pal. But it
was not the moment that could be ruined with words. A man of science knows how
to embrace silence, and it spreads to others around them like contamination. He
contaminates others with a liking for silence. A useful contamination.
They walked out of the prison building, and headed in the direction of the
administrative block, where he would be counsel ed before being set free. It was a
ritual started by a jailer who turned out to be obsessed with changing the prisoner's
mindsets as it was a part of his duty. So, al the prisoners were counsel ed b efore they
were released, and a even character certificate was awarded to al of them. What an
agony.
He passed through the mess, fol owing the lead of his only friend, but the one he
earned. He had no lack of emotions, but lacked a profound way to express his own
thoughts. Al of his love was dedicated to science. And then, he became a father o
f a
little girl when a different kind of love suddenly entered his life from the backdoor.
He crossed the workshop, and an old memory pul ed itself in his mind. It was the
day when he was stabbed by two m
en who were dressed like t he other p
risoners and
whom he had n
ever seen before, inside or out. They said something to him, s omething
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The Sun, Moon & the Muse
terrible and nerve chil ing. Your wife and your child i s o ut there, unprotected. G
ive us what
we need, and what is rightful y ours.
And he could not find out which group of mobs they belonged to. They could be
Qadri’s goons looking for stone, or they could be the assassins hired by Fortol company, for I
failed to deliver them what i had promised.
He stil wondered which gang they were from, but it didn't pinch or sabotage him,
like a horrid memory usual y does. I am a corpse, a walkable corpse, and corpses don't
mind.
It is a joy in itself to die.
He walked past the central gate that was the limit for the al the prisoners of Tihar.
Raman paused to stare at the tal iron gate that he had seen every day in p
ast years.
As far as he remembered, no one ever dared crossing the line strictly instructed n
ot
to cross.
He realized how m
uch he hated the world outside, and t he people out there. Society is a
crazy breed. But that day, he was feeling ashamed for thinking that way. It is
thoughts in the end that need an observation, and not the people or things.
And as he began observing his own thoughts, he realized al of them were corrupt,
distasteful and unpleasant. Al his life, he was wiping t he mirror without r ealizing it
was his face that required a cleansing.
Raman was so lost in thoughts that he forgot he had reached his d
estination. I t w
as
usual, and someone always had to p
ul h
im back into the conscious mode. T
his time,
it was his friend.
‘From here, you’re on your own,’ said his friend as he uncuffed his hands.
Raman’s eyes were moist. They h
ugged e ach other, just like in the d
ays o
f childhood,
and teenage years, and then when they were young adults. And then, now. Some
friends stay forever. Its that simple.
*
He walked into the dul lit and vacant building he had never been before. It was off
the limits to prisoners.
He found his way, and began climbing the stairs headed for the first floor. A
constable seated at the far end of corridor was the only alive soul on the dark floor,
and Raman knew he was waiting for him. Or just doing his duty, I guess.
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The Sun, Moon & the Muse
As he walked closer to him, he got up and opened the door for him. And it made
Raman think about t he thin man in hanging khaki uniform rubbing tobacco o
ver h
is
palm. A policeman opening doors for me?
The door closed behind him as he stepped in. The r oom w
as chil ed and dul l it, with
red curtains around al four of its wal s. There were no windows in the room, and
neither much light. A psychological trick. The atmosphere was indeed a trick to exert
A tiny bulb was hanging with a chain from the roof over a chair where Raman was
supposed to sit, and be interrogated. In front of him was a long desk behind which
were seated five people; three men and two women in nice suits and spectacles. He
glanced the neckties of men, tucked tight enough to choke their windpipes. I
understand everything. Except the tie. And it wiggled him, to think how much he h
ated
wearing a tie.
‘Good morning. Please take a seat.’
‘Good morning.’
‘Please state your name for the record.’
‘Raman Mohan.’
‘Thank you,’ the woman sitting in the middle said, as she looked up at him for the
first time since he entered the room. Throwing him a l ook o
f disgust, she w
ent back
to reading from the papers again.
‘The purpose of this hearing is to determine whether you’re likely to break the law
again.’
And what about the laws they wil break. .along with my bones?
Someone at the other end of those iron bars was waiting for him. And it wasn’t her
wife, or daughter. I would be surprised if they’d even remember me. It was someone else
that shook him from inside, a man made of terror. And when they’d clash, though
he’d never want that, breaking of multiple laws w
as inevitable. And he h
ad swore an
oath not to lie. ‘I won't ever walk over those paths again.’
‘You have been recognized as an outstanding inventor, and you're recognized as an
establishment in science,’ the woman said as she flipped through the pages on her
desk, and added, ‘yet you risked your entire future to fol ow the path of burglary a nd
loot.’
5
The Sun, Moon & the Muse
Her al egations did not seem to affect him. First of al , If i were a burglar, I’d be trying
my luck at some bank, not museum. And i had no option. But he knew people listen only
what they want to listen. He stretched his shoulders, and replied in a low voice. ‘It
was a mistake. A terrible mistake I have regretted every night for four years.’ There
was a glimpse of truth in his deep, shivering voice that couldn’t b
e missed by the old
chaps with gray hair.