The Legend from
Runisia
Vishal Kadiri
Copyright © 2021 Vishal Kadiri
All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Legends resemble folktales in content; they may include supernatural beings, elements of mythology, or explanations of natural phenomena, but they are associated with a particular locality or person and are told as a matter of history.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by: Vishal Kadiri
DEDICATION
To my family and friends
Today's science fiction is
tomorrow's science fact.
- Isaac Asimov
CONTENTS
DEDICATION
CONTENTS
Meghana Saxena
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Rahim Razak
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Aditi Sharma
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Meghana Saxena
Afterword
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Meghana Saxena
Chapter I
Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport, Mumbai.
12th August, 2011.
We all make mistakes and eventually learn to correct them. But, at what cost? Some mistakes are irrevocable, you cannot undo the pain you imposed on a person even though you realise it later. Ten days, since the horrific tragedy that traumatized Mumbai, many people lost their loved ones because of a single mistake committed by a faceless individual. Three blasts ripped through the country's financial capital within a minute’s time, precisely planned and executed at three different crowded places. I lost my closest friend in one of the blasts. It was her marriage next day; she was happily shopping jewellery for the special occasion of her life at Zaveri Bazaar on the day of bombing. The place is blown into pieces within seconds. Her new life ended, before it even started. Who will fill that void for her?
If I have learnt anything in this long life of mine, it is this; In love we find out who we want to be; in grief we find out who we are. Fluctuations in our lives are often contributions of decisions taken by people either the closest to us or complete strangers. You cannot control your life always. Mistakes are mere accidents that destroy lives, fairly because you were at the wrong place, probably at the wrong time.
A young boy from cabin crew, probably younger than me; shouts my name,
‘Miss Meghana Saxena?’ I turn around, ‘Yes.’
‘You need to wait for two more hours; your passport is with verification department.’ He informs in an apologetic tone and goes back to his position.
He signals his peer staff, a lady standing next to him; to guide me the way to waiting room. She looks like an intern. Young and gorgeous. I entered a tiny room stuffed with bunch of people reading newspapers and kids running from one end to another for no reason. Kids look much cute when they do things for no reason. After a tiring travel, back to hometown; it feels relieved. Can’t wait to go back to my bed and fall into an endless sleep.
‘Mam, you can order some breakfast from the Eating Corner, until your passport verification is complete.’ She left the room walking delicately, smiling at everyone.
Every passenger entering or exiting the Airport premises are thoroughly scanned. The amount of security measures being taken. Scares me. Mumbai as a city is still boiling and not out of its trauma yet. Adding to the pressure, there are flying rumours in the air, headlined by one the local news channels, possibility of another major bombing. People are petrified to step out of their houses. I guess, police department is hiding some sensitive information with regards to series of the blasts. I can sense an unwelcomed threat.
It echoes a negative vibe. People are often scared with secrets hidden from them rather facts. Nonetheless, we cannot just sit back and drag the past. When past is messed up, you need to start preparing for your future like the city Mumbai, that never fails to stand back on its feet. If you want food in your plate the next day, you need to work your ass out today. Mumbai, is not the place to sit, think, rest and then a take a decision. It whips at your back to run and achieve or you will be left behind.
It is taking longer than usual. Now, I understood, why they offer bunch of magazines at airports. I am brushing through numerous articles it has to offer from fashion world to wildlife photography and also useless Bollywood news like Paparazzi, Celebrity hook-ups and other nonsense. Reading is a good past time; you’ll get lost in time as you get deeper into the lucid articles. One will lose the track of the time as they start reading them and stare at infinite pictures it has to offer. Interestingly, I came across this big news article describing the horrible after effects of the Opera House blast. I was few metres away with my friends when it took place.
We heard a big blast. The building shook, the windows shattered. It was deafening. We came outside, and the sky was instantly filled with black smoke. There were bodies lying all over the street, blood flowing on tar roads, literally painting the road red in colour. We saw bodies with missing arms and limbs and their non-recognizable burnt faces. All the bloodshed and raw images have bought the horror back to my attention. I see young people protesting against the government for their carelessness. One of the slogans from an image caught by attention, where youngsters rallying on the roads with a piece of cloth extending from left to right.
NOT NUCLEAR BOMBS, HUMAN MINDSET IS THE WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION
I strongly believe that, desire to hurt other beings isn’t a natural feeling. There has to be a history of trauma behind such sensitive sin. I have interviews lined up with some terrorist and bombers who spent years in Jail but still have a burning desire to destroy the nation. How can a motivation be so rigid? I have to find their core motive behind those cruel intentions.
Today, each one of us here resumed to our daily routine, including me. We light a candle, march a kilometre, pray for a minute and maintain silence for few seconds then switch back to our daily routine. It hurts from inside like their lives don’t matter anymore. I’m sipping my favourite coffee and watching Mumbai, recovering its loss and stitching its pieces together. One thing, is certain and common, every soul walking here confidently, has some amount of fear pounding inside them. Humans have a great gift of forgetting things and move on with life like nothing has happened. Though, fear never exits the human consciousness so easily.
Passengers in hordes spilled out from the terminals stood in a long sober queue. ‘Even caffeine is having no effect on me.’ I mutter and crouch forward; cover my face with my small hands, and stay put. Trying hard to pass the time. Eyes tuned at this stranger whom I’m stalking for a while now. He has an attractive personality though he had a weird outfit, might be in his thirties, flat chest covered with army printed green t-shirt. Bold and brown, tall and slightly hefty body, face almost covered with a hanging beard down the chin in a long panama black suit, yelling at the cabin crew so loud grabbing everyone’s attention around in this dark gloomy room. He is wearing an old-fashioned navel blue hat which is boldly weird.
‘Try and understand my situation, I’m already late because of the flight delay,’ scratching his head an
d gesturing his problems ‘Finish your verification as quickly as possible and allow me to leave.’ Pretty much annoyed with the staff.
Eventually calms down and agrees to wait, occupying the seat next to me. His face is sweaty, tapping his feet impatiently against the floor in a constant rhythm. There is something bothering him and troubling my mind to ask about it. To my surprise. He gave me a firm look,
‘Are you waiting for verification as well?’ he inquired, arching his brows a bit higher.
‘Yes, I’m finishing my breakfast, meanwhile its done. So, I’m good.’ I said gulping the food down my throat.
‘I have to rush somewhere important?’ placing his briefcase aside, ‘Don’t know, how much time they’ll take?’ staring at watch and cabin crew and again his watch, as if clock will start moving faster.
I understand his frustration. Even, I’m irritated with the long wait. But who can blame the difficult times? We have to adjust. They are doing their job twice already, just to make sure everything is good and everyone is safe.
‘Same here,’ I lied. With a lightest smile on my face, ‘Eventually it is for our own safety end of the day, right?’ I added.
‘Yeah, but if I don’t hurry now, I may never get to meet her again.’ his voice toned down
‘Her?’ I checked.
‘My ex-wife, I’m here to meet her.’
‘Where you from?’
‘I’m from Runisia, Myself Rahim Razak.’ forwards a handshake.
Muslim. I thought. Extending my hand ‘This is Meghana Saxena.’ that was a firm and rough handshake
I’ve never heard about this country before and that isn’t important now. I need to know, what is bothering him first. Story has been my priority always. I love reading stories about anonymous people, where they genuinely confess the truth, even if it’s ugly. Same with strangers whom you meet while travelling on trains, buses and flights and interesting conversations happen.
‘Why are you in a hurry, though?’
‘She is one of the victims at the Opera House blast and currently admitted to a hospital nearby’
‘Sorry to hear that.’ I was one of the witness at the incident.
‘I need to search each and every hospital nearby that area, because I don’t have her contact and information.’
‘It is hard to track a person, in city like Mumbai.’
We exchanged a formal smile. Gradually he rested himself on the chair ‘You are from Mumbai?’ coughing a bit, rolling his sleeves near elbow, gaping the time in between and continued to tap his feet in beat.
‘I just deplaned from Delhi from an exhaustive interview. I’m writing a news article about it.’ I answered his question and it didn’t end with it.
‘Interesting. What is that, you are writing about?’ he is seeker to information. Shall I tell him or just pass the question.
‘If it’s confidential, then that’s fine.’ He retorts by dumb look on my face.
‘It is about the after effects of the recent blasts that took place at various places. My article majorly focuses on finding the motive behind the incident. Why would someone commit such cruel act? What situations force them to join the terror group?’
‘That’s deep and intellectual, would be a fine piece to read.’
‘To be honest, I think nobody has time for such boring subjects. They are many other interesting reads like Bollywood gossip articles, romance novels and their erotic editions.’ I replied annoyingly
He inched forward ‘I partially agree. I’m certain that generally public don’t emphasize on these articles because its factual and disturbing. People intentionally will not choose to feel pain.’ Then his face changed. A hint of anguish crept in.
‘Isn’t it the pain, that people should be aware of?’ I said,
Pain is the emotion which makes or breaks you from inside. Be it heartbreak from relationship, family or friends. It mends your thoughts and also changes you as a person.
‘Everything in the world is a product of pain and love and my life is reformed, because of these two feelings.’
Passing a brief silence. Rubbing his eyes back and forth, slips a tiny smile and continues to share his story,
‘Our moments together were the sweetest memories I cherish. Nobody can fill her place.’
I was quiet as a kid, I didn’t want to interrupt, he is in good flow anyways. I love real romantic moments; love stories in real life are nothing like they show in movies these days. Romance in movies is pure garbage. I just want to listen and he also has voice to admire.
‘She is a hand painter; Paints stellar masterpieces with her naked hands.’
‘Without a paint brush?’
That sounds amazing. Art is the subject, which never came to me naturally, I was really bad at drawing from my school itself. Painting with bare hands must be tough. How do you even paint with your rough finger edges? I’m totally clueless at it.
‘She had her own Gallery. Mostly appreciating the arts and spent her time, deducing the story behind every painting.’
‘What was her name?’
‘Aditi,’ he paused. Pulls out his phone, unlocks it ‘Aditi Sharma.’ flashing her photo on the screen.
She looks beautiful.
‘Hindu?’ I checked steering the phone to have a closer look.
I had to ask. I don’t judge people. It’s just that Inter Religion marriage is a big feat in India.
‘We met at an Indian Cultural fest held in our city. A painting of her which convolved different colours of Indian religions into one beautiful lady walking on the street alone at night won the accolades. I was stunned by her talent. Approached her and we spent the whole night talking about art and culture; we liked each other’s company; began dating and finally happily married.’
‘You both are from India?’
‘Only her, she was on a world tour then. I’m from Runisia, my parents are from India, though.’
After hearing the country name so many times, ‘Where exactly is this Runisia?’ Still figuring out, ‘Where is it located?’
‘It’s one of the Middle Eastern country.’
‘Okay.’ I realise, I ask too many questions and interrupt him from talking, but he continued anyways.
‘She left me four years ago. Her last words were painful, and still intact with me. She said “I feel suffocating, whenever I’m around you.” and left with no traces back to her.’
‘But what was the problem?’ I insisted myself on him. ‘There should be a strong reason, to leave your husband uninformed.’ I mean it’s not usual.
‘The problem is love itself,’ He sighed ‘Like medicines, love has an expiry date too. After years of journey with me, our love was not enough to keep us together.’
‘Was she cheating on you?’ I was making sure, if it’s the same bullshit, we see in our movies.
‘Not at all, she is loyal. Her insecurities about her art, that cannot be compromised for the small love we had. She wanted to travel round the globe and study art and me the polar opposite wants to stick stagnant to one place holding her hands.’
‘What bought you here after four long years?’
‘I wanted to pay her a visit; to make sure, she is okay. Maybe she doesn’t love me anymore. But I still do.’
‘Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. Be Strong.’ I want to give him a warm hug, but I didn’t. In India, hugging is not considered as a form of casual affection. It is still an intimate act, even though you have no intention by heart. Especially, a woman never makes a move. I just hate these stupid theories of our undated society. So, I gave him a little hug anyways and he felt good. Humans are easy to handle, we complicated things and ruined human emotions.
‘Don’t worry, everything will be fine.’ It’s kind of awkward to hug a stranger. Still, he needed that.
He wipes his tears, ‘Though, I don’t know, where she is admitted? Her friend’s contact was not reachable now, I don’t know where
to go. I need to find her somehow.’
‘Which place, was that again?’ I realised, I wasn’t paying attention to the places he mentioned.
‘The one at the Opera house, they said, she was attending a Choir performance that day.’
‘Yeah, I was present near the incident and don’t worry. I have some contacts at press, maybe I can get the hospital records of patients who are admitted. It has been nine days only, she would still be at the hospital probably, if I’m not wrong. We can get her contact.’
His eyes were pooled with tears. ‘Thank you so much, that would be a great help.’ He forwarded his hands for a warm handshake.
‘I will text you the hospital name as soon as I get the information.’
‘Oh, Sure. You can save my number then.’ he said
‘Yes, sure,’ I said hesitantly ‘How will I text you, if I don’t take your number.’ Smile broke between us after a long emotional conversation.
I was reaching for my phone, meanwhile two security officers in their tough Khaki uniform were approaching us. They walked stiff with a stern face shouting out loud ‘Who is Rahim Razak here?’ they screamed twice.
It didn’t ring a bell for him, the first time. For the second call, Rahim immediately stood up on his feet glaring at the officers ‘Yes, it is me. Here!’ I guess he isn’t expecting the security officers. Rahim slid his hand into the pocket. The officers sensed something un-usual and revolted in split second. They armed the guns and aimed at Rahim who was absolutely astonished.
‘Arms in the air! Don’t get any thoughts mister.’ stated the officer to the right.
Chapter II
I’m all romped, tension filled the room and all the passengers around in shudder, holding their breath. A brief silence passed similar to our classrooms when principal is about to enter. Rahim is trying to digest the fact that there is a gun pointed to his head. Maybe, I should say something now? Will it panic them? Or shall I keep quiet?
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