The Legend from Runisia

by Vishal Kumar Kadiri

  Not sure, what to do?

  Rahim with a stammering voice ‘I was – pulling out my phone.’ Informing the officers, while his hands already floating in the air.

  I should speak now ‘He is no threat; please lower your guns.’ I requested them in our local language.

  While his hands in the air, ‘Who are you? Mam?’ Are you with him?’ officer to the left enquired.

  ‘No, I’m a co – passenger. Met him a while ago and I believe that he is no danger. There is some confusion.’ I replied.

  Whenever there is a terror attack. Every Muslim, becomes the victim of suspicion. It has become much harder to have belief in their community. In no time, Officers, ramped upon Rahim, grabbed him by his shoulders and folded his hands to the back, as if he was a prisoner already.

  ‘Meghana, note down my number.’ Rahim yelled, as officers were dragging him.

  ‘Why is he giving his contact to you?’ They suspected.

  Wrong timing Rahim, ‘Mam, I’m afraid. You need to walk with us too’ I twitched my head at them, unsure what to say as I didn’t know what trouble I am signing into?

  As we strolled towards terminal B1 ‘You know him? Mam?’ asked officer Shivdeep, his name card read.

  I shake my head ‘I just met him, nothing else.’ Which quite surprised Shivdeep. He strongly believes that we both are together.

  ‘Sorry, Mam. This is a matter of public safety; we cannot take chances. You have to come with us’

  ‘I didn’t say, no.’ I affirmed.

  In fact, I’m curious to know, what’s this all about? We stepped into a muzzled room with a cream coated table well-furnished; nothing like our local Police stations. Much tidier and spacious. Pair of handcuffs, some documents and warm cup of coffee lying on the table; waiting for some senior officer. This looks like one of the interrogation rooms from Hollywood movies. The top right quarter was occupied by a large map of the India, dotted with a forest of flags. There was note sticked onto a whiteboard “RUNISIA?” written over it and a photograph of Rahim pinned to the right.

  There was only one entrance and exit to the four-faced closed damp room which had two chairs complementing the interrogators chair. The wall opposite to us had a huge mirror reflecting us back; which could be like a HD television, for the officers watching us within their cubicles on the other end. I only saw those things in movies. The silence in the room adds up to my anxiety already. We both were made to sit opposite to an empty chair. I never expected this kind of Police station to be at the Airport premises.

  An officer in his twenties entered the room; All messed up; face was pale and wasn’t even in his uniform. Furling the pages of a register kind of thing. He didn’t even look at our faces yet. He slammed the register on the table and started talking to the security constable officers. He didn’t use the chair to sit comfortably rather sat on the table. Much closer to Rahim. He wasn’t looking like a regular police officers who have a big belly and round faces. He is young, muscular and confident. I could feel the intimidation one can give by their presence without even looking at you.

  ‘Well, exactly which group you work for?’ Officer Siraj already decided his stand on Rahim.

  ‘Sorry?’ Rahim is completely clueless.

  Siraj got up and slammed the table with his bulky arms, every item on the table shook in motion.

  ‘I hate wasting time.’ Siraj, high of his decibels.

  ‘I don’t know? What are you talking about?’ Rahim answered nervously, I could see him shaking and sweating all over.

  Siraj trying to compose himself, turned to me ‘Who are you? Why are you with him?’ He clearly didn’t know, how to behave with women.

  ‘Myself Meghana. I’m a fellow passenger-’ He didn’t even let me complete my sentence.

  ‘Why is she here?’ Siraj turned to the officers. To which they slowly informed that Rahim was providing his number to me.

  ‘Mam, how do you know him?’ He said mam, but I still couldn’t hear the respect.

  ‘I don’t know, what is happening here? Why are you interrogating us? Who is he? What did he do?’ I lost my temper too.

  ‘Hold it. Madam. Too many questions.’ he continued while I gasped.

  ‘Do you know, which country is he from?

  ‘Rune...’ trying to remember ‘Runisia.’

  ‘Have you ever heard of that country before?’

  ‘No. But He said it is one from the Middle Eastern countries.’

  Siraj smiled. ‘There is no such country called Runisia. Everything he claims is a bullshit story,’ he raged ‘This fucker is lying.’ caught Rahim by his cheeks,

  ‘Sorry? What are you trying to say?’ He clearly was not pleasant to have a conversation.

  ‘There is no country called Runisia. It’s a fake. We have enquired thoroughly.’

  ‘His passport and identification both belong to country Runisia.’

  ‘Here are they.’ He threw some documents and passport onto the table. Never in my life, I have seen this symbol on the passport nor the colour, Siraj has ample documents to prove his point. Driving licence and proof of residence were also from the country Runisia. Each and every document have similar symbols and details. They look genuine. I have seen fake passports and photoshopped documents. To my knowledge, these completely look genuine.

  ‘Still, to be sure, we bought a map of middle eastern countries. Asked him to mark his country,’ Pointing the map on the board to the left, circled with a yellow marker ‘Observe, the marking he made.’

  He marked on Iran which was signed as sanctioned last year and also a terrorist prone country.

  Examining the documents one after the other. I’m uncertain of my belief on Rahim now. I totally agree with Siraj. Even I never saw a passport like this. Although it is looking genuine. It was more like a phonebook which has genuine printed stamps of different countries. It was looking legit. But none that I saw before. I saw that he already visited Mumbai two times before and left and even has the verification stamps from this airport.

  ‘He is fooling us. I want to kill these fucking bastards right away.’ Siraj pulling out the gun he had hidden with him.

  ‘I’m just a chemical engineer, working in a company named Fenix. I hail from the city Qubit, Country Runisia.’ Said Rahim in a confident tone.

  I can sense that he isn’t lying. I don’t know. But I find his words genuine and his eyes innocent. After looking at facts, I doubt my intuition.

  ‘What about his workplace?’ I asked.

  ‘There is no company called Fenix. Even that is fake.’ my doubts are replicated with every sarcastic response from Siraj

  ‘We found some contacts from his phone, but none were reachable. His briefcase only contains his essentials and clothes.’

  Everything about Rahim is either mystery or just a blind lie. Siraj continued to produce his solid statements and facts.

  ‘He has a booking for a room under his name at The Imperial Hotel. That is the only real proof we can get. We sent our team to the hotel to check if can find something.’

  ‘Why would cheat his identification? That too with the country that doesn’t exist.’ I leaned forward and shared my opinion with Siraj.

  He dismissed my opinion without giving it a thought. He made his mind about Rahim, that he is lying and he has connections with the terrorists and the recent bomb blasts. I cannot deny the fact that this looks suspicious. Still, you cannot just frame anyone for the crimes. There should be a thorough investigation.

  ‘What is the real reason for your visit to Mumbai?’ he breathed heavily on Rahim’s face ‘That too now, after a series of bomb blasts. What is your agenda now?’ Siraj enquired further.

  ‘Sir, please try and understand. I’m middle-class family person. I’m not the one, who you think I am.’

  ‘I clearly know, who you are? and I’ll make sure, you as well, will admit the truth.’

  Rahim is having hard time. This
interrogation isn’t in his favour. I could see his frustration and confusion at the same time. He is constantly looking at his passports and other documents. Pleading and convincing officers that he is telling the truth and he has no reason to harm anyone. I believe him in that. He is worried about his wife who is in a critical condition. Meanwhile, Siraj left us alone for a minute to answer his call. Rahim leaned towards me and began whispering in my ear.

  ‘Find my wife, maybe she could help me to get out of this.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell the police same?’

  ‘No, she isn’t in a good condition. This all would definitely trouble her. Firstly, I need to talk to her.’

  ‘How would that help?’

  ‘I know she left me. But if she sees me in this situation. She will definitely pull me out of this.’

  ‘Sorry I cannot.’ I denied to help, even though I wanted to

  ‘You are my only hope.’ Rahim locked his eyes on me.

  Siraj noticed us speaking to each other, he rushed to me ‘Sorry, Mam. I still don’t know? How are you involved in this? What do you do? Also didn’t get your name the first time.’

  ‘Because, you weren’t concentrating earlier. Myself Meghana Saxena and I’m a Journalist by profession.’ There was a long pause and surprise on Siraj’s face. He turned to his officers; literally abusing them with his eyes. To which they shook their heads in ignorance as they had no idea that I was a journalist.

  ‘Are you the Meghana Saxena from Times of Mumbai.’ he confirmed.

  ‘Yes.’ I said with a confident tone. We live in a strange nation where police department is afraid of media personnel, when all the systems are created to help each other. We often fight like siblings messing up the situation.

  ‘Mam, he is one of the suspects of national threat. Firstly, don’t publish this out. Secondly, tell me, what did he just say?’ he raged his anger onto me.

  ‘Nothing!’ With a firm tone.

  ‘I’m afraid, you need to leave the room immediately. If you are not related to the case. You cannot be part of a confidential interrogation.’

  ‘As a journalist, I have the freedom to be here and cover the story.’ I stood up.

  Siraj stood up too and asked Shivdeep to escort me to the door.

  ‘This is a sensitive case and linked to national security.’ Siraj explained.

  ‘I totally understand…’

  ‘Please, this man could be a threat to our country and people,’ he requested me to leave ‘Let me, do my duty.’

  I held the door from closing and leaned forward ‘You cannot stop me covering this story.’ he pushed me out and shut the door on my face.

  I don’t agree with Siraj. Not everyone who looks suspicious is a terrorist. Specifically, a suspicious Muslim. We should not jump to conclusions. Assumptions can be a lot different from the actuality. As far as my interaction with Rahim. He is a normal person, who just wants to meet his wife. But also, I cannot ignore the facts and proofs provided by Siraj. I need to figure out a way to get the internal developments of this case. My brain will trouble me, until I find some logical solution to this mystery. I have very interesting case study after months. I will solve it for sure.

  If I crack this story, it can be a front-page headline on ‘Times of Mumbai.’ As it is a sensitive topic, I need to get complete information and full case study from my end.

  ‘Man from an unknown land in search of his disappeared wife.’ I said to myself.

  This will be the title of my next article. I have to dig deeper for facts. Who is this man? What is he up to? Where is he actually from? Does Runisia exist? Can I believe him? Many questions, none I have answer for? I have only one person to ask these questions.

  My only lead ‘Aditi Sharma, his wife.’

  I collected my passport from the airport authority, got out immediately; got inside a stationed taxi and reached my home as quickly as possible. I called up Harish Daroja, Editorial Head, Times of Mumbai.

  ‘Boss, we have a breaking news!’

  Chapter III

  The next day…

  All my contacts are useless. They are unable to trace a single person, even provided with name and incident. Harish also gave a go ahead to cover the story. I cannot step back at this moment. I need to find her at any cost.

  Wait a second.

  Ashok can help me. He is a Cardiologist at Fortis Hospital. He can quickly get me the details of patients admitted into hospitals around Opera House. But, will he help me? After our messy past. I don’t want to complicate things for him and for me as well. But, gave it a try. To my surprise, he picked at the first ring.

  ‘Hi Meghana.’ that voice still has some effect on me.

  ‘Hi, I need your help. I need to find a person. Can you help me?’ I advanced the call

  On the other line, ‘I’m a doctor. Not detective. Remember’ he giggled.

  ‘Actually, looking up for a patient. Indeed.’

  He replied, ‘Who? Anyone dearer?’

  ‘No. Actually for a case of mine.’

  ‘Okay. Will find out.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll message you the details.’ As I was about to hung up on him

  Thrashing the line, ‘Meghana! How are you?’

  ‘Ashok. Please. I wanted this to be professional.’

  ‘Sure.’ his voice went low.

  ‘Thank you, Ashok’ I hung up the call finally.

  We once used to talk on regular basis. It feels odd now. Facing your past relationship is the most difficult thing. I hope he didn’t take it the bad way, when I hung up on him. I should have not; should have behaved a little matured. I know, he is a busy person. Still, he didn’t deny to help me. I still have importance in his life. Hospitals are the difficult places to search now. It has been a week. The after effects of the bomb blast is still haunting the people. Beds are full. People on rage and empathetic at the same time. Roads are busy with continuous rallies and candle marches. The incident has really shaken Mumbai. Hope, Rahim is not guilty. If he is, then I need to take his interview, why did he plan to destroy the peace and how did he end up doing it.

  *****

  Looking up for more information on terrorism, anti-national groups and their details about fake passports. Never came across a case file of any terrorist who faked his passport with a non-existent country. I pulled up the browser to look up for country Runisia. There isn’t such country nor City Qubit has any existence. But there is a software company called Fenix in Scotland which has no other branches and nothing related to chemical engineering.

  As my fingers toggling between tabs, came across this article from last night that spoke about the supernaturalness. I’m highly into science fiction movies and existence of cosmic beings, where people come from stranger lands and different time. That hit a cord. This a very far-fetched and highly unbelievable theory and also not proven scientifically. But still Rahim’s mystery fits right with the idea. This can be a good theory for movies and books, but impossible in reality. So, I didn’t distillate much and kept scrolling down. A person hailing from non-existential country with genuine passports of fake country. Why would anyone do that? It is stupidity to fake a country and still submit your passport at the Airport authority. He should’ve had bigger plan behind all this or he is simply telling the truth.

  *****

  Ashok on the call ‘Meghana, I traced her. She is admitted to Memorial Hospital after the incident’

  ‘Thank you, Ashok.’ I observed, pleasure in my reply

  ‘She is getting discharged today.’

  ‘I’ll be there in no time, please try and hold her from leaving, till I come.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Even I’m here. Stopped by, to meet a friend’.

  ‘Oh! Great. I’ll meet you there then,’ I paused for a second and checked ‘I mean, you are okay to meet Right?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. I hung the call again, took my bag. Stared at the mirror, to check my
dress. I’m meeting Ashok after a long time. I wish I have done some makeover. Is he really meeting a friend, or made an excuse to meet me in person? ‘Ahh!’ No time, I thought while hurrying down the steps, dangling the hand bag round my waist. Lost in the memories, when I rushed to meet Ashok for the very first time.

  *****

  Memorial hospital, Mumbai East

  13th August, 2011.

  I hate the smell of hospitals. My head goes whirring, when I see blood and the odd taste stays on my tongue. Ashok always took care that I never come here to meet him. He cared so much about me.

  I’m going mad, looking at people; their arms and legs cut off, operated and banded round on edges, making them walk on sticks. I saw kids who could probably have a bright future in sports; unfortunately, cannot play with their friends from tomorrow. What sin these kids have done, to be suffering like this? Ashok signals me from the corridor. I saw him after 2 years. Trying to control myself. He hasn’t changed much; looking much handsome than before.

  Meghana, behave properly. Don’t lose control. Don’t smile. Be normal. Walking towards him.

  ‘I already took permit from administration. “409” is Aditi’s Room.’

  ‘Ok let’s go.’ he still smells the same, pleasant and refreshing

  ‘Yeah, but make it quick. Please.’

  ‘Sure.’ I continued my stare at him.

  ‘This way.’ We got into the elevator, only two of us.

  We both had a thing for closed spaces. Now, we have a big distance between us even in this small empty elevator. As the doors opened. He led my way. The hall was square and as large as a room, walled and floored in old pine which had been stripped and waxed to a fresh colour, a shade darker than gold. There were curtains in yellow checkers. Sofas with feather-filled pillows. Old oil lamps converted to take electric bulbs. A chair for the visitor accompanied with a desk filled with medical sheets and tiny boxes of colourful pills.