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

by Himalaya Goswami

  The officials looked at each other, and then at him.

  ‘We are trying to find out if there was a reason for committing this crime, or just a

  coincidence you got caught this time?’

  Yes. the reason was love. He wanted to say, but most of the times, words never made

  their way out of his mouth. And a face appeared in his mind, a pair of lovely dark

  eyes that made his heart bump for once.

  ‘I was frustrated, my inventions were failing. I had risked my everything on a

  project, and it failed as wel ,’ he replied. They didn't have t o know everything he h

  ad

  to go through. His face told it al , and they nodded their h

  ead t hough they could s ee

  the film o

  f his life on his dried f ace. ‘ I p

  ushed m

  yself on a path of self destruction,’ h

  e

  added, in a low tone.

  ‘If released, is it likely that you’d fol ow the same path again?’

  ‘Four years I have spent i n vain, doing nothing but t hinking why i did w

  hatever i d

  id.

  I often ask myself this, and when i don’t find any answer, I wish i could revert t ime

  and undo everything I’ve done. There’s no peace on the path of crime, sir and mam.’

  The members were startled by his enigmatic answer. They were moved.

  ‘Mr Raman, what do you think you’d do if you’re released?’

  That was a tough question, what would would he do? He wanted t o say, ‘I’l set right

  al the wrongs i have committed.’

  But the truth was more than it appeared to b

  e. He had n

  o idea what he w

  ould do, no

  idea how he would do it, and no idea where to begin. Men out there were eager to

  tear him from limb to limb. One group wanted a machine he could not build, a nd the

  other gang wanted a stone he didn't have. His wife hadn't visited him f or e ven once

  in four years, and it enough to make him squeal in fear by thinking they have

  already kil ed her and their daughter. There was no doubt those men could go

  beyond al the limits of human suffering to get what they want.

  6

  The Sun, Moon & the Muse

  He wanted to ask for help, but he didn't. He passed a smile, and the team began to

  murmur. After some serious chattering, the oldest man among them hammered a

  stamp on the papers on his desk.

  ‘You won't always get a second chance in life, Mr Raman. Don't let it go in vain,’ t he

  woman said in a completely new tone. Voice of a human, and not a recorder. Her eyes

  were opened wide, and she was looking at him with sympathy in her eyes. Words, if

  uttered out of pure intention, can heal a wound and revive the dead.

  ‘Remember, evil is attractive. And constant. You must keep a firm hold of your

  ground, always.’ The woman said with an expression that said she knew the pain

  behind those cold eyes. Nothing can substitute great taste, knowledge and

  experience.

  She dived back into the papers, letting Raman drown in the pool of thoughts.

  Did she mean anything, he thought. Was she implying anything, at al , or was it j ust o ut of

  a her nature to give advices, or to sound wise because she holds an authority. Did she preach

  just for the sake of it, or something more profound made her do that?

  Perhaps, none of it. It was an anomaly, a jumble of words whose dots connected

  down the future. Perhaps, al she wanted was a talented not be corrupted.

  Sometimes, al that a person needs is a few kind words. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Raman walked out of the meeting hal , picked up his belongings, finished the

  paperwork, said his goodbyes to a handful of people he wanted to say bye to, and

  headed toward the gate he had stopped by many times. The giant iron gate

  welcomed only those whose time had come.

  Another tradition among the prisoners was to watch someone crossing the

  boundary, ready to step into the free world. They watched Raman as he crossed the

  white line, and did not turn back to look at it one last time.

  That day, his feet didn’t stop. That day was his day.

  *

  A white Ford Fortuner was parked in front of the North gate of Tihar Jail, at the

  other side of highway that ran along the boundary of the prison. It had arrived

  sometime during the dark of night, and hadn’t moved since then. The two men

  inside the car had spent the night keeping an eye on the gate, making a note of

  vehicles entering and exiting the compound.

  7

  The Sun, Moon & the Muse

  Similar cars were placed at al the other 3 gates of Tihar, and the g

  oons w

  ere strictly

  warned not to lose a man who was s upposed to be released that day, the 31st of May,

  2017. And they hadn't blinked their eyes for once since the night. Boss’s order is the

  God’s order.

  Raman walked out of south gate, holding a paper bag in his hand.

  The goon who recognized Raman was a new entry i nto the g

  ang. His name was A

  bu

  Ahmed, the emerging favorite of the boss. He was overly obsessed with loyalty and

  obedience toward the boss. He could kil upon his command, without giving a

  second thought before pul ing a trigger. After a l , he was p

  rovided with food, shelter,

  clothes and the il usion of power.

  ‘He is coming out,’ he identified the man walking through the tiny door with-in the

  large gate by the picture he had of him, and his partner on the driver’s seat yel ed

  over the wireless to alert the other goons.

  Abdul ah was keeping an eye on the target u

  sing a b

  inocular h

  e had purchased from

  a street vendor. He saw a black swift dzire approaching the man, and saw him

  hopping inside the car.

  ‘That car took him. .that black car,’ h

  e howled, pointing to the car, and the g

  oon w

  ith

  mobile forwarded the same information with a higher intensity in his voice.

  ‘Stop screeching my ears, you dickhead,’ said the voice over the other end, stiff and

  lifeless. The voice, in itself, was terror. And uncompassionate.

  ‘Sorry boss,’ said he, and al the excitement disappeared inside him.

  ‘Fol ow the car, moron.’

  Al the cars around the prison compendium climbed the r oads and b

  egan looking for

  the black car. Mistakenly, Abdul ah had f orgotten to n

  ote the n

  umber of black Dzire.

  Shit.

  The black dzire disappeared in the cluster of infinite cars in new Delhi. And the

  goons ended up chasing four different black cats, three of which were not even a

  swift.

  They had failed the boss, and it was a terrifying thought for them. Every time

  someone had failed him, he wasn't left alive for another chance.

  -----*-----

  8

  The Sun, Moon & the Muse

  Day 0

  9

  The Sun, Moon & the Muse

  1

  His nights were sleepless, restless. Even if his eyes wanted to catch some sleep, his

  thoughts wouldn't al ow them to. It was half past four in the morning when he

  final y decided to close the book he had spent his night flipping its pages. It wa
s a

  book about organizing our memory into fields and relevance, a nd even delete a l t he

  useless information cluttered in the mind. ‘Age of the genius’ was a book written by

  Arthur Denikin, who had described complex things in a way as simple as a nursery

  rhyme. And Books were his best alternative to reality. After s pending t he night like a

  statue with lifeless eyes staring at the matte white paper of 667 page book, he

  decided to give up trying to sleep and got up with a shot.

  He woke up with red, swol en eyes and turned his feet to t he washroom with a slow,

  crawling pace. And in a short lapse of time, he was ready for the day, b

  efore Sun h

  ad

  even woke up. Better be early than burn in the Sun.

  Raman was not al ergic to sunlight, but it had always repel ed him, or the other way

  around. His travel plans, meeting a nd even the opportunities w

  ere a t the courtesy of

  weather. If it's a burning sun out there, I’m not stepping out.

  And it was Namrata who made him aware o

  f his phobia of sunlight, heliophobia. And

  despite al the digging and research about phobias, he could not cure his fear of

  wanting to remain a shut-in. A phobic person preoccupies himself with the possibility of

  encountering the object of their fears. He knew al there was to know about it, yet it was

  useless, like textbooks of older classes we’ve already passed, and moved on.

  He also preferred working in nights, because the light didn't suit him wel , and

  because he believed night was reserved for dreamers, artists, inventors,

  10

  The Sun, Moon & the Muse

  entrepreneurs, and writers, though he always saw al the other fields of study less

  prominent in the face of science.

  Raman stepped out of his apartment while it w

  as stil quite dark outside, as this had

  become his daily routine. He would travel to Gurgaon (okay, okay, Gurugram it is)

  exactly the same time everyday, and return late night.

  Three days had passed since he was released, and he was stil living a non-existent

  life, continuing the days of jail. He had thought of returning his home in Greater

  Kailash, but that was a stupid thought. He knew he must remain unidentified and

  non-existent for as long as he doesn't finds a way out. And thus, he took refuge in

  Ber Sarai, an old, out of time locality near Hauz Khas, in south Delhi. The

  overcrowded streets and overfil ed paying guest houses made staying-out-of-sight a

  child’s play, and that was the need of hour. At least he had figured that out.

  Men spied his place day and night, he knew it, and he also knew they fol ow his

  moves. He was sure of it. The butcher, as h

  e had nicknamed him always kept a n eagle

  eye on him.

  Sometimes he recognized them, whenever he found a moment to look at the world

  around him, and sometimes he passed by them as if they didn’t even exist. And t hey

  didn’t. Not for him. But one thing was certain: He was under constant surveil ance,

  and he had no idea what was coming for him.

  The cab arrived on his demand, thanks to t he third generation o

  f mobile phones. T

  he

  world has changed in four years. Before he was imprisoned, m

  obile phones w

  ere n

  ot so

  functional as they are now, and in a short gap of four years, mobiles have emerged

  as a perfect tool to create, connect and share.

  The driver was ready at t he other e nd o

  f the road that merged with Aurobindo marg.

  The two exchanged a formal smile, and the driver churned the key, started the

  ignition and set out for the american city of India. But just tel ing he went to

  Gurugram every morning won't be enough. It was a journey on purpose, a risk he

  was taking despite al the trouble waiting for him outside. It was the journey for

  love.

  The sun was beginning to show itself up at the horizon. The car was pacing on the

  highway and had crossed Green Park. A long way to go, he said, and drowned back

  into the book he was tried to focus for two days.

  *

  11

  The Sun, Moon & the Muse

  It was t he third of J une, and the summer heat was at peak. Sun’s rage was i ncreasing

  the temper of New Delhi like a trance with intense upbeats. Everything and

  everyone was sun-baked, as if they’d start burning anytime now. The possibility of

  rainfal was slightly above zero, and the weather forecasters were sent on a long

  vacation. Even the roads were melted during peak hours of the day.

  Al of this was happening because the god of energy and romance, the Sun, son of

  King sol, was angry with the inhabitants of Earth.

  Women wrapped their skins, afraid to reveal it to the Sun, who’d burn their fragile

  flesh because they remind him of the woman who stole his heart. And then

  shattered it into a thousand pieces.

  The men were more to be pitied, because the Sun hated mortal men more than

  women. The reason? The woman he fel in love with chose a man from Earth over

  him, an ordinary mortal over an immortal god. The heartbroken Sun made them

  suffer nausea, dizziness and even gave heat strokes to some most unfortunate ones.

  May be, they resemble the man who messed with his love af air, he remembered Namrata

  saying it once while they were arguing about the analytical truth behind the folk tale

  of Sun and his

  ‘But that's completely rubbish,’ was his response.

  ‘The changing of weather due to the tilting of Earth. And then there's global

  warming and-’

  Namrata cut him mid way, and boasted, ‘I know al about that already. Al I am

  saying is….let it be.’

  ‘No. .please say what’s on your mind?’ Raman’s tone was nerdy, as always.

  ‘Science cannot answer everything. It can tel us how things work, but n

  ot why things

  exist in the first place.’

  ‘Don't worry. .we’l get to the why soon.’

  ‘That's what I am afraid of,’ Namrata said in a serious, thoughtful tone.

  Her memories spread inside him like an aroma, and reminded him of the fragrance

  he received everyday. It was a jasmine flavored incense stick she used to turn their

  home into a garden of scent.

  Only he did not know, the smel was coming not from somewhere outside, but

  inside.

  12

  The Sun, Moon & the Muse

  *

  When in trouble, you attarct more trouble.

  His destination was a corporate tower, an organization he always found disguised.

  And squeaky. A mere presence of tie and suit wearing men was the presence of dark

  forces. He looked at them as people who are trapped in the delusion they run the world.

  And that was a lie. Science runs the world.

  The feeling of disgust for giant corporation was rooted in the fact that science is

  now owned by a handful of giant companies, and free science did not exist anymore.

  Corporate world worked by obeying orders. And fol owing orders was not a part of

  his personality. He was a scientist, after al , one of the finiest scientific minds in

  India and the world.

  His first invention was an algae tube that could convert carbon dioxide from the

  emission of
vehicles into oxygen. It was bought by Shel Inc., a leading energy

  corporarion for a huge sum of money but never came into everyday use.

  And he didnt stop after it. One after the other, he continued climbing the stairs of

  accomplishments and recognition.

  And like everything that rises must fal , his fal was inevitable. His invention, ‘The

  Light’ could have changed the fate of Earth forever. But he failed, and his failure

  bought discouragement and harassment with itself.

  The Light was overly exaggerated, was the headline of a ful page article in India Today

  magazine. And the weight of failure was so heavy that it made h

  im choose a path he

  always found il ogical and irrelevant. The path of gods and magic.

  Raman found a seat at a tea stal outside the Sapient Corporate tower, avoiding

  those fresh, glowing faces walking in and out of the building. As he found a seat, a

  group of wel dressed men in formal outfits c ommenced their over hyped discussion

  about some medical startup venture with a mil ion dol ar investment in a perfectly

  tuned american accent. Even their slangs were imported.

  He checked his watch, the Omega L series he had modified to suit his needs. 09:09

  AM. He pressed a button a t the l ower r ight corner and a figure appeared around two

  inches above the dial. It was a 3- dimensional map f loating i n air, with roads in blue

  over a faded green landscape. It was an exact simulation of the real world on the

  canvas of light. He rotated the map to 90 degrees, and fixed h

  is gaze over a blue d

  ot

  in motion. There she is.

  13

  The Sun, Moon & the Muse

  The talent finds a way, they say. His light erupring watch got everyone’s attention

  and before Raman could realize, he was surrounded by many pair of eyes who were

  fixed on his wrist.

  ‘Did you make it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  They were looking at him as if he had just invented fire.

  ‘How did you do it?’

  ‘They way they al do it.’ Everyone was startled. The point in the map was not far

  from the destination, the red location pin pierced in the surface like a knife in the