When I Tell You A Story: Book 1 (Black River Trilogy)
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The world outside was same as ever, yet different every time he saw it. Ever
changing and still the same. Everyone was over-drunk on work; rushing from place
to place, person to person, and everyone shared a common goal: Make the boss
happy. Those who were bosses had to please their bosses, the big fishes across the
seas. The world seemed to be in a kind of hypnosis, a mass plagiarism.
Raman was thankful not to have been spoilt by such ramifications. Untouched by any
such manipulation, he stepped out into the flaming Sun and took out his mobile
phone. He was busy entering the details in the application when a solid, rocky hand
patted at his back.
‘We meet again... Mr. Raman, after all those years.’ The flat, heavy voice froze his
blood. He slid the phone in his pocket, and turned around. In front of him was the
man who was thirsty for the last drop of his blood. Millions of people die everyday.
Why he isn’t one of those?
‘Mr. Qadri, how are you?’ he said, faking a smile, and forwarded his hand. The man
gripped it, and crushed his fingers with his grip around them. The pain made him
want to scream. Qadri removed Raman’s goggles, and passed him a smile. A wicked
smile.
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The Sun, Moon & the Muse
‘The only reason you have your head mounted on your body is because I want it to
stay that way,’ he fumed at him, bringing his mouth just an inch away from Raman’s.
He was looking at him without blinking his tiny, blue eyes for even a fraction of a
second. Raman closed his eyes and tried not to breathe, secretly tortured by his
fowling breath. Qadri was a tall man with brown, curly hair and fair skin, with a scar
running across his cheek that made him look devilish. Even at the age of 40, he could
dismantle two equal sized men of half the age.
‘The stones... Hand me the stones, or I’ll have to take the lives of people you love,
and make you while i grind your birds.’
‘I do not have them. Guha said they disappeared. That’s all that he told me. And
that’s all that I know.’
Qadri could not bear the resilience Raman had just displayed. Nobody dares to talk to
me that way.
And as it had to happen, he punched his chest with his bare arm with a jerk. The
stroke choked his breathing, and he fell down on the ground, gasping heavy breaths
due to the sudden unreach of air inside him.
He stayed on the ground, curling near Qadri’s feet, coughing and spitting, and trying
to bear the pain as he tried to find back his breaths.
‘Do you have the stones?’
‘No..I don't ha-’ his voice staggered as he struggled to retain his normal breathing.
His face had turned by now, saliva oozing out of his mouth like a two year old.
He grabbed him by his collar and pulled him up. Looking straight into his eyes, and
darted another stroke with his solid, clunky hand, this time on his face. The punch hit
his nose, and created a sensation of a
‘Don’t fuck with me. I must have those bloody stones by the evening today. Or, I’ll
take away your wife. And your little daughter.’
‘Listen, I really do not...’ Raman’s voice was shrilling, ‘I need some time to figure
out. Can't i give you something else in exchange of those stones?’
‘And what would that be?’
‘Anything you say. Just tell me and I’ll do it for you.’
‘I can see you're not lying, Mr Raman. This is the power of fear. Makes every
scorching crook straight.’
‘Tell me what you want, don.’
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‘Will you get it for me?’
Raman nodded his head with a almost genuine gesture.
‘Then find me……...THOSE STONES.’
Motherfucker, Raman didn’t say, but gave him a look that conveyed a similar tune of
hatred.
‘And you have time till evening.’
-----*-----
5
Raman wiped the dust off his clothes and walked out to the main road, where a taxi
had been waiting for him. A few people were watching the melodrama and mild
violence, and their stuck up faces were asking ridiculous questions. It was not a part
of their normal reality, their mind palace was not habitual of seeing two people
fighting, slapping one another. It was not a part of their nature. Whenever they
encounter something unusual, they are stunned, as if a stranger has burgled into their
home. A home called mind.
The least to his concern were those people, who were watching him. He thought it to
be a shenanigan of mind, a mischief that makes people infer in the matters of others.
They trespass into the reality of others, only to pollute their own reality.
Raman did not have to take much trouble to find his taxi. His right eye had swelled
up, his cheek and nose had reddened up. Her feet stumble due to the mild sensation
inside him. Raman looked up at Sun, demolished by the rage it had cast upon him,
and everyone else. I did not steal your cinderella. Spare me for God’s sake.
The taxi driver was a short, pale boy wearing a blue shirt and khaki pants, as if it was
his uniform. Raman looked at him. Smokes Bidi. Recently married. Works overtime.
Talkative. Over helpful. Wife has an affair.
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‘Your wife loves you a lot,’ he said as he approached the car. The driver blushed.
‘Are you Mr Raman, sir’?
‘I guess I am.’
Both smiled together, and Raman found his seat at back. The driver churned the keys
and steered the car on road, ready for the ride. How adventurous could a ride be?
He had never given a thought to it.
Most of the time, people’s belief in the ordinary is so strong and firm that there’s not
even a tiny hole left for the extraordinary. A stubborn mindset. A obstinate mind palace. But that’s why the drills were invented for.
‘How did you know about my wife, sir?’
‘Your dress. It's washed, ironed and the colour hasn’t faded. So it's not the a
washerman, because they don’t give a damn about ’
The driver was startled. ‘Are you a spy?’
‘No. i am an artist.’ Raman said, looking at him through the rear mirror. And mind is
my canvas.
‘Where you headed to, sir?’ he asked, pretending as if he had forgotten to ask the
most rudimentary question. Sometimes, this question was the only conversation he
had with the customer. This however, was turning out to be a day to remember.
‘Saket,’ he said, and sighed in despair. His face was telling the rest of the story.
The driver raced his toyota Innova on NH148A and Raman closed his eyes. The
sensation had disappeared, but the swelling remained.
It hadn’t rained even once since the summer bagan. The heat was at its peak. Air
conditioners failed, and all the outdoor parks remained vacant during the day. The air
had become stagnant. Not a leaf moved. The ground was beginning to crack due to
the heat and drought. The condition wasn’t particular to New Delhi. The nation was
affected due to the lack of rain. Crops had failed, and farmers were committing
suicide out of hopelessness. Nothing can be more shameful that seeing people who
prod
uce food for us hang themselves in the very field they ploughed with sweat and
blood, or swallow the pesticide they hoped would boost the crop.
‘Sir…..sir,’ a voice was trying to breach into his mind palace. He recognized the
voice. It was the taxi driver. They had reached his destination.
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Raman checked his watch. It was 12:12 PM. The sun was sprinkling flames from
above. Raman started walking to his place inside the thin, rough roads of Lado Sarai.
The entire place looked like an old tomb, a maze of long, narrow buildings.
The courier hasn't arrived. Raman overheard a man from one of the shops he passed
by, and a forgotten memory clicked his mind. The mail.
He rushed to his apartment, and to his amazement, the spies had disappeared. He
rushed inside his apartment and turned on his computer. After half an hour of sweat
and labour on keyboard, he had in front of him a mail with encrypted content. The
cipher was same as always, the elvish symbols for english alphabets and numbers, but
it was complexed a step ahead to avoid any risk. The words were inverted. And after
the mail was decrypted, it read:
Ramon,
The power lies beneath my rest. 13. The key lies in front of me. 9.
The Mentalist.
Raman re-read the mail, trying to solve the riddle it portrayed. The number after the
sentence is related to the sentence. 13 is related to power, and 9 is related to the keys.
The 9 keys?
I know what that is.
He packed up a backpack as he prepared himself for a short trip. The riddle clearly
indicated to a powerful object, and the 9 keys could be the key to unlocking the box
in which the object was kept safe. That could be those fucking stones. And the dark road inside his heart found light.
By the next hour, he was speeding on the national highway #ddn, headed for
Dehradun.
-----*-----
6
Namrata locked her cabin from behind, just as she had locked the gates of her heart.
Why do things fall apart?
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She dropped herself on the fluffy revolving chair and turned it around to face the wall
behind her. Her eyes were fixed on the white, perhaps looking for an answer to all her
prayers, and an end to all his sufferings.
The door banged, and she felt the pang in her heart. It banged again, and tears rushed
down her cheeks in fear. The man outside was a devil, an animal who took pleasure
in other’s screams and pains.
‘Open the fucking lock,’ he yelled, banging his fist on the hard, wooden door.
She didn't move. The banging stopped, but her phone began to ring. And it didn't stop
ringing until she smashed it out of the window.
Raman. His name was ringing in her head, like the bells in a temple they were
making her vibrate as they eroded her buried memories one after the other.
From an obedient daughter who never went out with friends to a speckled nerd in a
medical school studying psychology, she experienced life closer than the others. It
was the presence of people around her who wanted to die that shaped her views about
life. She knew how to live. Most people do not get to drink from this fountain.
When she found love, she found life. He was a great inventor at the verge of a
scientific renaissance.
Search for the answers. Thirst for the truth. My passion is enough to break my own limits. And it's a kind of fun to do the impossible.
Namrata believed in him, for she always saw in him a Jedi warrior fighting the dark
forces. She still did. A woman with great strength and immense courage, she
dedicated her life to her love, and mended her own world around Raman and his
crazy inventions.
But the good thing about time is also the bad thing about it. It changes.
She was afraid to having bear this day.
Behind the constant stream of water was hiding a fear, a fear that was swallowing her
from inside, a slow poison that takes life in installments. And every time it ashed a
part of her, it caused her pain. Unbearable pain.
The devil came invited one day, and instilled fear in her heart. And in the heart of a 5
year old girl who didn't understand any of the intricacies.
One day, during the past four years when their hero was imprisoned, devil entered
their home uninvited. Their house was searched, and everything was smashed. And
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from that day on, the two were always threatened with their safety and longevity. The
demand was always the same: Where has her husband hidden the stones?
They discovered Raman’s lab and put it on fire, and they interrogated everyone close
to Raman.
And in the chaos, she turned to a man she didn't know well. But when the timing is
bad, nothing happens for good. The man turned out to be a lose tempered moron
who’d beat the mother and daughter quite often. They couldn't turn back, for behind
them was the devil, in form of a man called Qadri.
The pain had now become a part of her. It was her reality now.
And with time, the storm fell silent. But not forever. It was pressed only as long as
Raman was in the safety of the indian judiciary system.
Today was the day, indeed. The day she wished would never arrive.
Neeta’s day was not good. This was nothing unusual, because Raman wasn't the only
menace in her life. The man she fell in love with didn't want her and the man who fell
for her wanted all of her. Samarth, the owner of a real estate empire was a goon who
ran a mafia network in New Delhi. He always fancied himself as the Kingmaker,
going all the way from finding a worthy leader, a King and providing him all the
resources to push the business to profits. The new king, John, was chosen as the new
leader of his mafia empire. On his name were chains of hotels, corporate buildings
and government headquarters. He was everywhere.
And he fell in love with his secretary Nita as the first sight of her. Samarth’s
ambitions got fire upon seeing her; the beautiful woman in her mid twenties with a
smile that could carry away any man. And Samarth lured her into his web, the
captivating illusion he created with his money and assets. Poor woman, deceived by
her husband who played with her mind and life, had no choice but to fall for him. The
day Raman was arrested in Gujarat, she took an oath never to see him again. Her
parents, who hadn't talked to her in years for her decision phoned her that night to
submit their sympathies.
The woman moved in with Samarth, following the light wherever it appeared to come
from. However, she wasn't that lucky to find peace in such a few turnaround of
events. Destiny had a lot more to offer. As she spent more time with Samarth, her
views about him began to shift abruptly. Very soon, she found out he was running an
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extortion and kidnapping network in the capital city of India and neighbouring states.
She also found weapons hiding in their home and sniffed a secret locker somewhere,
but she could never reach it. His behavior towards Ipsa shifted from a gentleman to a
rogue. He would often hit the little girl and her mother if she protested, s
lamming
both of them in a corner and uttering the most inexplicable words.
And to add to her problems, Raman had walked into her life again, as if stumbling
upon an old friend in a park. That day, she was more worried about her daughter than
herself, because she knew he’d beat both of them tonight.
And he did. He slapped the seven year old girl so hard it broke her jaw. Her little
mouth filled with blood, and it pained even to cry.
‘You...are mine.’ said he, screaming, and continued, ‘If i see him again, I’ll kill
him… and then I’ll kill you.’
The woman’s head was bleeding; he had grabbed her head and hit it against the wall
three or four times. She fell unconscious right there, but her daughter’s pressed voice
woke her up again. The definition of a mother.
-----*-----
7: Qadri
8
When Raman opened his eyes gain, it was already evening, and they were less than a
few miles from Dehradun. He popped his head out of the car window. The green hills
above the clear, blue sky in the background of the view were captivating, and the
fragrant breeze soothed his wounded mind like rain on a burnt forest, like meeting
someone long forgotten on the lost roads.
He tried to catch the clouds that seemed to be penetrated by the tip of the mountains.
Lost in the echo of silence, he was alive again.
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The car took a right and raced on a lonely road until it reached a dreary, ruined house
at the mouth of woods, the only establishment in the range.
The bungalow was now a home of spiders and ghosts, untouched by a human for
years.
The house was taken over by the green. The windows had disappeared, and the
bushes were touching the roof. The pavement had become one with the garden in
front. The plaster had fell off the walls like dead leaves from a tree, and cracks
appeared in them. The walls had turned yellow with green patches of algae all over
them. Spiders webs hung all over, and for once, Raman found himself rethinking