Ride of Retribution

The room where they sat, face to face across each other, was dark and dingy. The inmate’s clothes lay half scattered on the bed that stood inside. The couch was the only real furniture which consumed space of the room beside the two chairs which were occupied. Four men nearly of the same height and build, all armed to the hilt, stood stiff converging on the two gentlemen who sat engulfed in deadly silence. Each of these four men wore the same formal outfit, though the organization for which they worked never mandated any uniform. The doors were shut and not a single sound from the adjacent busy road could make way inside the room. It was a sultry summer evening in the busiest square of the city, yet from inside the room it felt like an island devoid of human society outside it. The silence was definite and absolute, only the humming noise of the old table fan kept against that hush. Two goggled men guarded the tattered door and the chauffeur sat uncaringly inside the shining black Benz parked nearby.

Taureeq unbuttoned the holster from the insides of his jacket and menacingly pulled out his 0.32 Magnum. He neatly placed it on the table. He yanked out the bullet case from his pocket and began loading its contents one by one inside the revolving chambers of the 0.32. Taking a long drag of his half smoked Marlboro, he placed the gun back on the table between him and Robert. The device had a sinister shine about it, and from it one could guess the number of lives it had claimed. Foreboding and without mercy, brutal. To the point and to the target

‘There are two ways we can go about this Robert.’ Taureeq began in his cold tone, inviting a threatened look from him. ‘One without .. and the other, with it’ he exclaimed plainly suggesting at his revolver. Robert didn’t say a word in return. He kept observing Taureeq. A man who had the blood of hundreds on his hand. The chosen mercenary of the Badshah family. He would shoot at the drop of a hat if the boss desired. As for Robert himself, he was only a carrier. The mule. His only job was to ensure that boss's cocaine reached the end users, who were in hundreds. He therefore seemed to wonder what had brought Taureeq, the accomplished gunman, to his not much of a house. Perhaps a deal had gone wrong and Taureeq had come to exact his life as its cost. Or perhaps they wanted to close loops of a hot one, no ends open, and he was perhaps the last one to be shut. Or was he simply intimidating to get something done that he can't get done. He was to soon find out.

‘It’s actually our old frienship that I ‘m honouring. Actually, assignments like such are taken care of by the ones standing around you. A simple task you know. Just the bangs. Saves all the literature’ Taureeq concluded non chalantly.

‘What do you want?’ Robert wanted to keep things precise and to the point.

‘Nothing you know. Just the usual. Payment’ replied Taureeq

“Payment for what?’ 

‘You are a smart man Robert. I believe a lot of that smartness comes from your excellent memory. So why don’t you spend some of that memory instead of asking questions which by the standards of even these men around us are stupid ’ Taureeq commanded, though with a smile.

The fan hummed away. Taureeq sank back in his chair and comforted himself as if he was ready to wait for as long as it would take for Robert to recall what he wished him to. There was no reply from Robert. Nothing came from him for a very long time. Taureeq went from being quiet, to whistling to shaking his leg impatiently. 

He suddenly leaned forward and burst ‘Don’t fuck with me Robert. I don’t have all day’

‘Well, my friend I can’t remember what you are suggesting. I don't owe boss’ Robert confessed trying to sound calm.

‘Alright. I’ll help you out’ Taureeq declared and took his revolver in his hand. ‘You remember botching up the Reqett deal. Does that word ring a bell, eh?’ Taureeq had bend ominously close at Robert.

‘Nothing brother’ Robert nodded his head disappointingly.

‘You like games, don’t you?’ Taureeq hid his perturbed self.

‘You know how it is Taureeq. Nothing is hidden from you. Martha is gone. It’s me and my brother now. Debts, cops, a dozen crime busting agencies vying to extract info from me. My neck is on the line. I’m no more myself. My mind is just dead. All after Martha was taken away’ Robert revealed with a placid sincerity.

‘I don’t give a damn. You get me?! You wanted out right. Here’s your chance. Just pay for what losses you caused and you are a free man. Your register would be closed and you can start afresh. You have my word. You have the boss’s word’ Taureeq declared unfazed by Robert’s confessions and placed his gun back on the table.

‘The boss never told me he wanted payment. I’ve run errands so many times without a fee. I guess boss took that one fucked up assignment and wrote it off toward my unpaid remuneration. I know boss forgave me. He promised me he did. And it just isn’t his rule to break his own promise’ Robert argued.

‘Guess what. These are new house rules. Boss is old and hangs by his bed. He has his grandson to play with in his large garden. Work is left to me and he doesn’t mind the way I run things. I run the syndicate now. I decide things now. And I decide in the larger benefit of the org. I can't agree writing off a loss of millions. Either you pay or work for us as I say. If you don't, you have to buy your freedom, the freedom of your brother and the rest of your kins. I decide your life now. You will eat as I wish. You will dream as I wish, you will breathe as I wish now. And I wish to put a price tag on your freedom. You’ll have to purchase it’ Taureeq was convincing in his tone. 'Or as a second choice you may choose to work for us again. The same thrillin' life of money and women which you once swore by. Limitless power and all what you want. In case you've forgotten, everything you want could be yours. Just hop back in'  Taureeq offered and sank back confident of the fruits of his little speech. Robert paused and carefully thought his response. He looked to his left and right and looked at Taureeq again. The silence was complete. “Martha wouldn’t have wanted this you know. She wanted me to leave all this. She wanted me to live clean’

‘Last time I saw, Martha was in a coffin under six feet of dirt Robby. You don’t have to worry about her. Do what’s right for you. Take this chance. This is where you belong, always belonged. It's either this or payment and ofcourse the choice of ..you know..being with Martha. (The gathering save Robert broke into giggles) Look, I know about all your cash and where they are stacked. All your grand pretension of poverty cannot fool me Robby’ Taureeq smirked tauntingly as he spoke his words. Soon after these words were uttered, silence reclaimed their conversation. This time it was more certain and brooding. An air of unpredictability hung between the two men. Taureeq continued to wear his mocking smirk and Robert was engulfed by an uneasy calm, the one which precedes a storm.

‘Who put her there Taureeq?’ Robert asked, looking dead straight into Taureeq’s eyes.

‘Excuse me?’ Taureeq queried. A certain unsettledness had suddenly seized his form.

‘Who put Martha in the coffin?’ Robert repeated, pronouncing each word slowly as if he demanded an answer. There was an unmistakable resolve about Robert’s mannerism. It seemed as if the tables had suddenly shifted. Robert had gripped the moment by its scruff and now Taureeq found himself fidgeting under Robert’s gaze.

‘Wh..What the hell do you mean who put her there?’ Taureeq’s voice was slippery. He carefully and slowly budged his palm toward the sitting revolver without taking his eyes off Robert. Robert didn’t move his eyes as well. Their glance was locked as if both knew what the other was thinking. As if both knew what was coming. Neither showed any sign of movement. They were transfixed in their gaze upon each other as silence filled the room. Before anyone in the room could fathom what was happening, the only door of the room flung open violently. It was dark outside and the road lamps hadn’t been lit yet. It was difficult to comprehend the identity of the man who barged in. But he had come determined at his task. The first shot he took was at the man who stood the most near to Robert. The rifle boom was deafening, as the man standing beside Robert in black suit flew back a couple of feet and landed still on his back with a loud fall, blood gushing out of his bullet ridden chest. He had taken two. In the commotion, Robert leaped on the table and grabbed the Magnum, removed its safety lock in a flash and began firing blindly at Taureeq’s direction. Taureeq had by then lifted the cover of the table and hurled it at Robert preventing his bullets from penetrating beyond its wood. But Taureeq was unstoppable. He punched the tossed table cover with his bare fist and removed it. Taureeq was making his way out amidst the gunpowder - rain and smoke, as the man at the door covered the exit and kept aiming and shooting at the guards one by one, taking them out effortlessly. The man was unfailing in his aim and he was fatally quick. He gave no chance for those burly armed men to even unholster their guns. He had planted bullets in each of them sending them to dark pits of hell. One of the bullets had taken out the light of the room and it was pitch dark inside. Only the recoil sparks of the guns, which ran ablaze, lightened the room frequently like thunder. Taureeq was now on the floor, cusping his head with both hands as he lay kissing the ground as bullets flew over his head. In seconds the room fell silent. The hanging light creaking and gnawing madly due the force of the bullet shots it had taken. The humming table fan had fallen silent, its blades twisted and mangled. Every man standing was either dead or groaning, except Taureeq who grovelled for his life under the feet of the other two men with gun, one at the door and the other Robert. Their barrels were still chimneys.

Footsteps approached Taureeq. It was Robert. He leaned and whispered near Taureeq's ear ‘Get up buddy’. Taureeq was so frozen in fear that it took Robert’s brother, who had lowered his gun and had walked from the door to grab Taureeq by his collar, to lift him up and make him sit on the chair where he sat earlier. Robert walked near him, placed the gun’s nozzle on his temple and asked in perfect control ‘I won’t ask again.....I mean it..I won't. Who ordered the hit on Martha. We both know she didn’t die in any random gang firing. No one would have dared touch her. She was my woman. So hurry up you don’t have much time, I’d rather not see you die painfully and slowly’ Taureeq just kept on panting, his mouth dry and silent. Sweat streaming down his cheeks. Robert allowed Taureeq a few seconds before he started to stutter ‘Y...you kn..know. Nothing ev..ever hh..hhappens without the boss’s approv...’ Taureeq hadn’t completed his sentence when Robert pumped all the remaining bullets into his chest from point blank range. Blood spurt out in thick stream and puddled near Robert’s feet. The body of Taureeq fell silent after a few throbs. He died instantly on the chair, his hands spread hanging by his sides. Robert took out Martha’s photo and looked at her as if sharing with her his accomplishment. He kissed her and tucked it back inside his wallet. But he couldn’t step away from Taureeq’s lifeless form. He kept staring at it.

‘Come’n Robby. Cops will be here. Gotta get out’ Benjamin, Robert’s brother, warned him as he pulled his hands trying to drag him away. Robert finally looked away, he looked at Benjamin and hugged him. Tears rolled down his eyes. But there was no voice, no wailing, no sobbing. The job was only half done. The brothers remained in each other’s hug for a minute.

‘Just a moment Benji’ Robert said and walked towards the closet. He brought out a device which had wires tapped all over and clicked it ON. When the beeping began, he placed it on the chest of Taureeq alongwith a cleaned maimed bullet. He looked at Benjamin. He felt no need to tell him what it was and from whose body he had recovered it. He had preserved it all along. Making it wait silently with an aim, which no gun would give it. The two men stepped out of the house and shut the door behind them. The guards outside the door lay dead and were covered in blood and the chauffeur slept still with his head resting on the steering wheel as a narrow line of blood trickled from his forehead and gathered on the car’s base. Robert stole a glance at Benjamin and smiled. Benjamin kicked the motorcycle to life and said ‘It wasn’t tad bit tough. The two here at the door were merrymaking. It took me exactly two bullets to lay them, not a shot wasted. Our friend in the Benz was taking dirty to his girl over his phone, I walked straight to him and he didn’t even care to look. I pulled the trigger right between his eyes’

Robert noticed a crowd of onlookers. They stood mute. They had witnessed everything. But he trusted them. He trusted them to keep things to themselves for they knew his tale. The boy who grew up an orphan, sheltered by Ahmadi Badshah, made to do his dirty work, which he wouldn’t let his nephews and sons soil their hands with. His perished fate reincarnated by Martha, when he was verging on self destruction. The woman who showed him light, gave him a new life and set him upon a new purpose, was ruthlessly taken away. It was their town's open secret that Ahmadi’s men had taken her life. No way he was going to let her replace the leash on his dog. 

Benjamin asked him while turning the bike’s accelerator ‘Where to?’

Pausing momentarily Robert replied ‘To where it all began’

‘Are you sure Robby?’ Taureeq wanted to be sure, that his brother who had just shot his first bullets ever, was up for killing the town’s most dreaded gangster.

‘I am not. But then I wasn’t sure you would come in perfect time and we would execute our little plan to the hilt back at the room. I wasn’t sure I could ever pull the trigger but five bullets are now buried in Taureeq’s heart. I am not sure if I will put bullets in Ahmadi’s head. But I want to have Martha’s revenge. I want the blood of each and every man who was there when she died, each and every one of them. Of that I’m sure’ Robert confided with an air of surety.

‘Godspeed to both of us then!!’ Benjamin murmured as he turned the accelerator with full force and the two brothers sped away under the watch of the lifeless throng. The crowd howled and screamed and ran inside their homes as Robert’s house was engulfed in flames after a loud explosion which followed their departure. The ride of retribution had just begun for Robert.

The Blunt Truth

"Good evening and welcome once again to this week's Prime Time Debate; I'm Abhishek your host for this evening and tonight we'll discuss the case of the Sharma couple who are being tried for killing their daughter.

What has become of us? What evil has possessed this country’s men and women that they are killing their own children? Is this how we plan to build our nation? By killing in the name of honour? To discuss and debate these issues I have with me two very eminent personalities who in their own fields of work have earned great repute. To my right is seated Mr. Ashok Gupta, practising Advocate, and to my left is Mrs Anjali Priyadarshini, women right activist. 

So Mr Gupta, what do you have to say about this dastardly crime of the Sharmas? How on earth could the Sharmas kill their own child? And why are not we doing anything about it?

Gupta:  ‘I deem it to be my duty, before I say anything else, to humbly caution you and Ms Anjali. We must refrain from accusing the Sharma couple yet since it's slightly premature to declare the guilt of....'

Abhishek (almost yelling and cutting off Gupta) 'Nothing is premature here on the PTD. It's an open and shut case. The Sharmas murdered their daughter and they should be punished for their heinous act'

Gupta  (resuming carefully): 'We don't yet have facts supporting that, do we?'

Abhishek (leaning forward with bulging eyes): ' We don't have facts? Are you serious? I mean the girl was found stabbed to death in her bedroom, with no one but her parents at home that night, what more facts do you need?'

Gupta: 'That alone does not prove that her parents killed her. And by the way how are you sure that there was no one else there during the occurrence. There are Courts, there has to be evidence, there has to be proof of.........'

Abhishek : 'Oh so talking like a lawyer. You need proof, sure, a young innocent girl was killed  and you need proof.. Mrs Anjali, what say you Ma'm?'

Anjali : 'I am not surprised at all by Mr. Gupta's non chalance considering that every technical detail is always used as defence when it's a crime against a woman'

Gupta:  'What ?? When did I say that....'

Abhishek (again cutting Gupta off): 'I am in complete agreement with Mrs Anjali that we should be not be getting technical here.

Gupta : 'What do you mean 'technical'?....I'm only saying that there are Courts in which guilt of accused persons are proved, not on TV channels'

Abhishek (literally shrieking) : Let me tell our millions and millions of viewers that here at PTD we believe in being blunt and in being bluntly truthful. Perhaps Mr. Gupta here does not know that.

Gupta: 'What truth? We don't even know whose finger prints are there on the knife and who else were there in the house, the investigation is still going on,; why are you.....'

Anjali: 'Technical again'

Gupta to Anjali: 'What technical technical technical are you crying for? It is pure common sense that.....'

Abhisek (yelling again): 'It is an open and shut case Mr. Gupta. We at PTD believe in being blunt and in being bluntly truthful when it comes to crime against women'

Gupta: 'No one is denying it is a crime against a woman but the truth of the crime is yet to be.........'

Anjali: 'Technical technical'

Abhishek: 'PTD never supports crime against women'

Gupta: 'No one is supporting any.....'

Abhishek (interrupting again) :' At PTD we are blunt and we will find the truth...'

Gupta: 'But the truth is not...'

Abhishek: 'No no Mr. Gupta, we're not serving diplomacy tonight. We have only bluntness in our menu tonight’

Gupta: ‘What’s with you and bluntness anyway? Can’t you simply understand that that the truth will come out, but not here, it will come out in due process....’

Abhishek (completely rejecting Gupta's words): ‘No no Mr. Gupta...’

Anjali (sarcastic): ‘Ohhh..So Mr Gupta thinks this murder to be something simple. See ?! Didn’t I tell you? Men never take us seriously’

Gupta: ‘When did this become about how seriously men take women?’

Anjali: ‘Mr. Gupta is clearly discounting my intelligence to understand what he is trying to say here’

Abhishek: ‘Hats off to you Mrs. Anjali for being truly blunt here on national TV. We at PTD welcome it’

Gupta: All I’m saying is that Courts will find out the guilt of the Sharmas. We are not the ones who......’

Abhishek: ‘Come’on Mr. Gupta. You can do better than that. We ask you to be blunt and truthful’

Gupta: ‘What do you think I’m doing?’

Anjali: ‘You are missing the fact that Sharmas have murdered their daughter.’

Gupta: ‘What?? Didn’t you hear anything I’ve spoken so far?’

Abhishek: ‘Excellent, Mrs Anjali, that’s more like it. So much bluntness and honesty. You truly know your facts right’

Anjali: 'This is a crime against a woman. And she must get justice'

Gupta: 'Clearly, that justice is not to be done in this debate...'

Abhishek (intervening again abruptly): 'The verdict is crystal already. The Sharmas are guilty as hell and they will be sent to the gallows'

Gupta: 'Are we to fix guilt of Sharmas here on TV?'

Anjali: 'Now Mr. Gupta has a doubt on your abilities too Abhishek. Why don't you go ahead and call us all wrong Mr. Gupta? Me, Abhishek and the rest of all, with the exception of you'

Abhishek: 'Oh so blunt that one, Mrs. Anjali. We'll take Mr. Gupta's response to that'

Gupta to Abhishek: What exactly are you anchoring? A news show?  A debate on the merits of a legal case or the guilt of Sharmas or my guilt? Surely you aren't hosting a circus, are you?'

Abhishek (nodding vigorously, interrupting) : 'No No No Mr. Gupta. I anchor only the quest for truth and a blunt one at that'

Gupta: 'Well the truth is that you are impatient, speculative and verging on absolute vanity....'

Anjali (jumping in): 'Are you saying that the Sharmas are innocent'

Gupta 'I'm not saying anything about innocence or guilt. I'm just saying that.......'

Abhishek: 'Yes say it bluntly'

Gupta : ' Do you ever let your guests speak?'

Abhishek: 'We like blunt people'

Gupta: 'Well you can go ahead and like whatever and whoever you want but I must get chance to speak whatever I want to. Ok?'

Anjali: 'Perhaps you want a ceremony of bugles and trumpets for proving that the Sharmas are guilty, Mr. Gupta'

Abhishek: Oh my God, that's as blunt as it can get. As we can see Mr. Gupta has no blunt truth to offer'

Then in a sudden inexplicable moment of frenzy and unrest which simultaneously gripped the host and the guests, beginning with Mr. Gupta losing his patience and banging the table hard with his hand, each of them began speaking and yelling at the same time. It was difficult to decipher what they spoke. The words all tossing over each other, blending in a manner so as to sometimes sound like Arabic, sometimes Hindi and partly like deafening war cries. The two gloriously suited men and the  bespectacled lady seemingly full of intellect spoke in such aggressively disregarding fashion that one grocer in a nearby ‘Hat’ who was watching the show at his shop reportedly remarked ‘Arre baba, they are shouting like they are in some ‘hat’. Abhishek, with some residual propriety of a decent host stayed quiet, but not for long. He soon resumed his race of words with the two. The picture was somewhat like this. Mrs. Anjali’s mouth had become so wide open in cut-throat oratory even the dumbest of brains could have assumed that she cawed only three words ‘Justice’, ‘Women’, ‘Technical’ . Atleast these were the words which could be faintly audible from layers and layers of thunderous eloquence from all three directions. Gupta kept banging the desk and pleaded for a couple of seconds so that for once he could speak fully. None heeded. He resumed his assault on Abhishek for being a poor host. And Abhishek kept his banner of bluntness flying high. His voice was the loudest and the others were no match for his roar. Ofcourse, the other two didn’t have his advantage of habit. Some respite was offered when Gupta furiously yanked out the microphone fitted to his shirt, slammed it on the table and walked off the show yelling ‘To hell with your blunt truth.'

Director of the show to Abhishek(on Abhishek's earpiece): 'I just got a call from Legal. They are saying we should not discuss about sub judice cases till Court has not decided the case. Now go and get Gupta back'

Abhishek: 'Ladies and gentlemen we'll break for commercials and return in a moment with other debates. Stay with us’

Abhishek jumps off his chair and runs after Gupta "Mr. Gupta please listen to me. Just for a moment, please listen....."

** 'The Blunt Truth' is a work of fiction and any resemblance of any part or whole of it with any person, people, organization or any event is coincidental.

Timeless

‘What the heck do you think you are doing ?’ a furious Anand raged. ‘Flee or stay till I thrash you into pulp’ he warned.  The neighbourhood bullies scurried away. The scoundrels had resorted to their reprehensible antic of pulling down the dangling trouser of the harebrained Jaga. The target of their mockery stood shell shocked, stuttering hard to mouth the right words. Unlike the brain inside his head, his perfectly normal legs were trembling out of weakness. To his childlike wits, pulling up his pants at that moment seemed as complex as building a spaceship. So his fallen pants remained vanquished at his feet and he began to weep like a toddler. It provided for a perfect dose of laughter for the gathering around him. The customers of the nearby betel shop and grocery store were visibly amused by the sadistic hilarity in Jaga's humiliation. All  laughd in chorus.

Anand rushed to Jaga's aid. He placed his briefcase by his side and bent down to lift the latter’s pants, which sat crumpled on his feet screaming to be restored to its proper position.  Anand never tolerated anyone tormenting or ridiculing Jaga. Nor did he ever reply to the hackneyed question as to why he was so protective of Jaga, causing a pervasive suspicion that he was privy to some covert cause. But the truth simply was that Anand felt so outraged over the disgraceful repetition of such insensitive query that he invariably chose to stay quiet, instead of spitting on their faces the simple answer that as a man it was his rudimentary purpose to prevent undue harassment to another, more so when that poor soul was one who could not tell the difference between sun and moon.

A year ago when Anand had arrived at Sunrise Colony, with a truck load of furniture, surveying the area for the correct address of his soon to be home and to join his first employment, he was quite affable to the people of the locality. At thirty Anand had no intention of getting married and starting a family. He had made up his mind that, unlike his friends, he was going to devote his life to the upliftment of the needy and impoverished, instead of reconciling with the unexciting and commonplace way of life. As a first step he had offered to serve an organisation which had similar goals. They pay was minimal but he didn't care. Money wasn't a problem. He had been bequeathed dizzying amount of wealth from his industrialist grandfather.

In the beginning, Anand was not so acerbic on the tormentors of the social pariah that Jaga was. But soon Anand repeatedly noticed that almost every passerby  somehow considered it his inviolable entitlement to deride Jaga in one manner or another. It wasn't as if he didn't suppress his natural revulsion against the whole affair. However, when he confronted his conscience he held himself equally guilty for not raising his voice in protest.  That moment onwards, Anand dutifully stood between Jaga and anyone who purported to trouble him. He even tried to reason with the incorrigible frolic mongers that it's unkind to treat anyone in their manner, hypothetically putting them and their family members in Jaga’s position. He realized that he was wasting his time.  The only difficulty was that Anand could not remain around Jaga at all times.

Anand was most disturbed upon knowing that, though the plight of Jaga was a household tale of the whole community, none treated him with the love he deserved. Forget love, on the contrary they made him their amusement toy. The priest of their temple, Madhav Babu, had found him as fragile as a sapling, fully wrapped in a thin white linen sheet of cloth, leaving his pink face adorned by his gem like eyes and his pursed lips, hanging to its life by a thin thread. Madhav babu was strolling down the flight of temple stairs to make his customary walk around the deity chanting hymns of dawn puja, when for no apparent reason he felt like peeping inside the small dark chamber just around the corner. The murky cavity which was used as a dump yard for unused material had sheltered a newborn life. The priest forthwith took Jaga in his arms and strolled out under light and checked for signs of life in its tiny form. He was assured of it when he noticed his furtive breathing. He wasted no time in taking him to their community health centre where the Lord Almighty not only restored to him his life but also ensured that the child would have the love of a father. Thence the priest and Jaga lived under the same roof provided by the temple committee where the former became inextricably entwined to his fate of being a devoted father to Jaga, who was given up for dead by his own. As time passed Jaga's frame grew stronger and he looked healthy and fit with no hint of his endangered infancy presenting itself about his appearance. But it didn't take long for his kin to discover that he wasn't mentally able as other children. His mind hadn't kept pace with his age. At fifteen he had the brains of a five year old.

Many blamed it on providence, many on past life sins and many figured that it could be the result of the lack of mother's milk. Madhav babu was unable to cope with this misery. He had invested his dreams of being succeeded by his adopted son but that hope was reduced into a mirage with his son's newfound disability. It was too much for the ageing man and he took ill. A man's old age is perhaps livened by his family and his children's prosperity. That was not to be in the priest's case. Dark imaginings and sorrow took their toll on him. He reduced into a living straw and finally one stormy night he breathed his last. The whole night Jaga sat besides his father rambling to him unsure of what to make of his still lying frame. The next day his body was cremated on the banks of the Mahanadi. Everyone returned except Jaga who sat their for two days clueless as to where his father had vanished from the pyre. When he strolled back, life was not the same for him. The pitiless society blamed him for the priest's demise. They ostracized him. The doors of the temple room were forever closed for him. He was banished, back to nature's lap. He found shelter under the large Peepul tree in the center of the colony where he remained resigned to his dreadful fate, surviving on scraps thrown in by a kind few. Till the powers that rule providence sent Anand as his saviour.

On a bright autumn morning as Jaga lay gaily immersed in his senile delusions , Chintu and his partners in crime hurled a bagful of cow dung at Jaga. The poor chap was startled from his sleep as if earthquake had jolted him. He woke up to find the smelly waste smeared all over his shrunken belly. Anand saw this. Outraged, he threw his handbag where he stood and rolled up his sleeves readying himself to catch hold of the rogues and give them the beating of their lives. But being alien to the geography of the area, he looked helplessly as the scoundrels melted into the myriad lanes and by lanes of the neighbourhood. The next day he ensured that Chintu’s pristinely shining white school uniform was given the same treatment that its wearer had meted out to the innocent Jaga. He waited till Chintu got down his father’s scooter, waved him good bye and sauntered along the pathway towards the school gate. Just when the rogue was about to step inside, Anand took a perfect aim at him and forcefully flinged a polyethene bag brimming with fresh manure at him. It landed exactly where it was supposed to. The dung lay plastered on his spotless shirt, partially dripping down to his feet. The whole gathering around him broke into laughter. Anand emerged from his hiding and strolled towards a stunned Chintu.

The gang was never going to take this insult of their leader, lying down. So they beat Jaga black and blue, a night later. Leaving his arms and face swollen beyond recognition. When Anand saw this he swore then and there that he wasn't going to leave Jaga at the mercy of his tormentors. He took him in, & let him live with him. He held his hands and guided him inside his house. He fed him warm soup and boiled rice. He took a close look at his wounds and applied ointment on them. They stayed together from that day onwards. Anand purchased a set of toys for Jaga to keep him from straying out of his house in his absence. He didn't feel embarrassed at all when he bought those in a large transparent polythene bag for his seventeen year old friend.  Jaga fell in love with the toys. He would play with them for hours when Anand was away. When he came back from work, he would take him out for a stroll under his watch.

Soon the neighbours stopped troubling Jaga. Word of Anand and Jaga's friendship spread far and wide. People in the locality began to revere Anand. Persons who dismissed Jaga as a madman began inquiring from Anand about his well being. Such was his unadulterated and unpretentious sincerity in caring back for Anand, that the latter claimed he'd found a true friend in Jaga. People started paying visits to Anand's house and many even wanted to say 'Hello' to Jaga. When summoned by Anand, he would come out and offer a perfected namaskar to their doting guests, and quickly amble back into his room. Women prepared special dishes and sent them over for the friends. At times when Jaga remained adamant not to open his mouth for a morsel, Anand would announce that he too wouldn't touch his food and conjure up an act of pain in his stomach. Within moments, Jaga would surrender, assume his favourite lotus position ready to be fed. During idle Sunday noons a relieved Anand would loudly sing songs of friendship and Jaga would incoherently join him.

At times when Jaga would be engrossed arranging and rearranging the plastic puzzles Anand would confide in him about his inner feelings. He would tell him that he understood his destitution as he himself was an orphan. He would often caress Jaga's head when he'd be fidgety and scared for no reason. Jaga would wake him up in the middle of night pulling his hands demanding him to take him for a walk outside. It would take a great deal of explaining and cajoling for Anand to convince him against his wish. Despite many inconveniences and annoying antics of Jaga, Anand never regretted having brought him along. When it would rain with gurgling thunder and blinding flashes of lightning, Jaga would hug Anand tightly and sit close to him. Anand would always quickly return his embrace. With passing time, Anand discovered certain remarkable traits in his friend. He came to know that Jaga was an avid observer and a quick learner. Whenever he had to hurry for his office without performing cleaning chores, he often returned to notice that his bed and other places were pristine, his dishes and sheets put exactly the way he normally kept them. Jaga remembered the names of birds and animals that he'd told him. The two friends would secretly make fun of a few chosen men of their colony and their peculiar funny habits and mannerisms. In the best of his days, Jaga would even mimic the most funny ones, whatever he remembered of it. He often pleasantly surprised Anand with his ability to remember about the latter's most annoying habits. Anand was elated. He couldn't have asked for more.

A year had passed since the day Jaga was ushered into Anand's house And the latter was always curious to know about Jaga's actual date of birth. But he never asked anyone. He'd been toying with the idea of celebrating his pal's birthday and once when the two friends were lost in banter, Anand declared  ' I don't know when exactly you were born, but let's just celebrate the day we began to share this roof over our heads, as your birthday. It'd be a celebration of our friendship too. What do you say ?' Anand wasn't quite sure if his friend understood his message. The latter simply looked out of the window and said "Sky.. Big Sky". 'Yes, that's a big sky my friend just about as big as your heart.'  replied a smirking Anand. He got ready in a jiffy and announced to him that he'd be back in an hour with his favourite cartoon toys from T.V. and ofcourse unputdownably delicious snacks. Jaga was unduly adamant that Sunday evening to accompany Anand. Anand had to speak a few harsh words to quiet him down. Something he regretted all the way he walked to their town's most busy Chinese restaurant. He would make it upto him when he got back, he assured himself.

But the delightful soul that Jaga was, soon forgot his savior's chides and became busy in conducting a fierce talon fight between a rubber dinosaur and a plastic dragon. A few hours later when Jaga was in the loving arms of sleep which had rescued him from boredom, a relentless rapping on the door jostled him out of it's embalming hold. When he opened the door he saw two uniformed policemen posted outside like twin poles. He quickly dropped his toys and raised his left hand to salute them. Realizing his mistake he immediately put down his left hand and raised his right. He'd learnt  about it during the Republic Day parade at the town gallery, where he had accompanied Anand. He remembered how uniformed men like the ones standing before him gave and took salutes. He was a bit perplexed when no salute was returned by them. Even more puzzled were the two gentlemen who received the honour. One of them strolled inside after important queries by him weren't replied with any rational answer by Jaga. His eyes fell on a framed photograph of Anand, which he surveyed it with rapt attention. Then he turned around to show it to his colleague, who took a deep breathe after taking a good look at it.

A police van in an untimely hour in front of the most unlikely house of their peaceful colony had naturally attracted a small crowd. The elderly men of the locality curiously gawked at the Policemen and the women stood far behind them trying to figure what was going on. Why had the Police come to Anand's house ? they wondered and exchanged hisses among themselves. The Officer came outside with Anand's photograph and quickly swapped his glances between it and what looked like a small card sized document and asked the crowd aloud

'Is this man Anand Majhitia ? And does he live in this house ?' 

'Yes..yes' came the half hearted chorus reply.

'Where is his family ?' he continued probing

'He has none Sir' replied the grey bearded man standing just near him.

'And who is this man ?' the officer asked pointing his finger at Jaga.

'That's Jaga Sir. But he's not Anand's relative. They are just fiends, living in one house.' the same man answered gleefully.

'I need to take him to the Police Station' said the officer.

 'He's of no use Sir. He's a lunatic.' someone objected.

The officer took a good look at Jaga and nodded his head as if he now understood where the salute came from.

'' Someone has to come to the Station' he announced with pretentious regret

'But why Sir ? What's he done ?' the same old man asked

'Just come.' the officer blurted dismissively.

The van roared to life as two of Anand's neighbours hopped inside it following the officers. It sped away with the rest of the onlookers trailing it's dwindling form swallowed by smoke and dust. Jaga strolled back inside the house and shut its doors.

At the entrance of the Police Station a white mini van was parked. The men got down from the vehicle and were led to the back of the mini van. A constable rushed and flung it's doors open. The two men who had accompanied the officers hissed and damned and turned their heads away aghast. Anand lay still inside it, on a decrepit stretcher covered with starched white cloth upto his neck. Had it not been for his still chest, one could not have said whether the man was in slumber or asleep for good.

What happened Sir ? asked one of the men in between stutters.

'He was hit by a speeding car. Probably died on spot.'

This time Jaga was inconsolable when he saw his friend being torched. When his adoptive father had left him, death was not an idea that his mind had known then. But today, even for a feeble minded fellow like him, flaring up the body of his friend was beyond his tolerance. How could he stand and watch while they burnt his friend. It took three sturdy men to subdue his relentless attempts at salvaging his friend's blazing body. Only when it had been fully devoured by the insanely dancing flames and the bits of his flesh and bone had been reduced to smoking ash, Jaga was let off. He howled for an hour, sure of his loss. Like an infant deserted by his mother, thrown into the dark confines of nothingness, with no light to guide him, with no hand to caress him during hopelessness, no gentle voice to reassure him and no one to shelter him from his fears, forsaken and forlorn he cried and cried till the source of his tears dried up. Someone saw him lying unconscious and brought him to his residence. People feared that miseries would return swiftly to Jaga's life, when he would open his eyes, now that his friend, his liberator had abandoned him, once again leaving his survival to the mercy of the cruel. But Anand didn't abandon his friend. To even think of such a thing was to disgrace the great soul that he was.

Anand had made his friend the nominee for receiving twenty five lakh rupees of his insurance policy. But confident of the fact the he'd be swindled, he had put all of it in a trust constituted in Jaga's favour and made its trustee his mentor cum boss Mr. Bimal Mishra, the man who also ran "Sharan', a philanthropic organization for the care and upliftment of abandoned and forsaken children. The fifteen paged 'Trust Deed' stipulated that the money could only be spent on his treatment, education and if need be other of his necessary expenses. So that he could attain the best flight to his destination with  dignity. Anand had never disclosed that he'd purchased the house where they lived and that he had made a will whereby it now stood tranfserred in Jaga's name, also protected by the trust, in case Anand's allies turned against him. At no cost he could have gone without ensuring a roof over his beloved friend's head.

A week later Mr. Bimal won over Jaga and convinced him to come with him to 'Sharan'. Jaga now resides there in a cozy quarter allotted to him. How soon time flies. Jaga has managed to find his laughter. He is adored by all his mates at 'Sharan', as much for his affability as for the fact that he was the great Anand's friend. After all Anand had been Bimal babu's most hardworking deputee in building 'Sharan' from scratch to what it is today. He deeply connected with all the teenagers living under 'Sharan's roof.  Though many times Bimal babu asked him to bring Jaga there, Anand had respectfully denied saying that he needed his personal care, concealing within himself the truth that he too needed Jaga's company.

When Anand is reminisced at 'Sharan', Jaga keenly listens to the tales of his dear departed friend and smiles over whatever he understands of it.  They also ask him about their friendship. He is unable to answer, yet. Many have spotted him staring infinitely at the garlanded portrait of his friend, put up on the wall of the auditorium. As if the two are engrossed in a clandestine communication.  Memories of his friend are not hard for him to recall. They are the only good memories he has in his life. They are immortally etched in his mind just as the eternal sun and stars painted on the heavenly canvass.

He has recently begun his lessons on English alphabets and he enjoys it to the core. It's fast sharpening his mind. Someday he'll find smartness. He has abundant good wishes pushing him ahead to that goal. He loves being at 'Sharan' but misses his home where countless memories lie bundled. They await for him to return to them. He plans the same.




**   ' Timeless ' is a work of fiction.and any resemblance in it with any person, place or incident is purely coincidental. 

Old

‘I love you Sir’ she sighed.

‘What ? You do ? he queried with unconcealed sense of victory.

She nodded shyly.

‘Come’on Zoya. You know I’m married. ‘ he tested her

‘I don’t care. I just..I just love you’ she reiterated, unfazed.

‘You’re so beautiful and smart. What can a middle aged loser give you. You can get any dashing man any day’ he replied, intending to corner her.

‘I want you’ she fumed

‘Ok tell me why?’ he queried with apparent sincerity.

She fell on his feet and raised her head like his devotee, demurely receiving his glare and said ‘What do you want to know Sir. That I have been fancying your admiration since the day you walked into our branch office as our new Manager?. That I’ve been, ever since, dreaming to be cosseted by you. That your eloquent introduction to your own self still reverberates in my ears ? That you’ve unparalleled intelligence, besides an incredible personality and looks that tell of a boyish allure about you? A combination which is dwindling faster than the ozone layer. That you’ve managed to make me want you by staying away from me when every other man under this roof has made elaborate attempts of winning my heart. If that was your grand plan to keep me interested, then my love, it has worked wonders. For my heart pines for your love. It has abandoned all indulgences that ensured its gaiety and embarked on a quest to forever become yours ’ she explained.

He was elated. All his senses reveled in a peculiar contentment of having won desirability.
He suppressed his expressions and wearing a grim smirk retorted ‘What about Arnav? The whole office knows that you guys are seeing each other. You can’t fool me there. He makes for a very suitable option anyway. He's handsome and has a promising career’ 

‘Arnav ? !! He’s an infant before you. A thousand Arnavs cannot equal the masculinity of your little finger's tip. I doubt whether even after taking seven births he’ll be able to stand face to face with your shadow’ she teased him with tantalizing grace.

He gulped down his pride and blurted out nervously ‘You..really want me to believe that. From what I hear, a dozen of our ladies are devoting crucial working hours into devising sure shot schemes of becoming his wife..err..girlfriend..whatever. And you, being the most pretty and sensible woman that I’ve ever known, wants to tread in the exact opposite direc….”

‘Oh Sir, did you just call me pretty? Oh, my!!!Thanks Sir. Lucky me.. Everyone calls me 'beautiful’, but the way you remark of me as 'pretty'... it's much more.." she interrupted him and blinked like an anxious bride.

‘Ok ok. Tell me truthfully. You and Arnav never had an affair ?’ he probed again

‘Sir what should I do to evoke trust in your suspicious heart. It harbors fears of a teenager. Tell me Sir, had I had anything to do with Arnav, wouldn't I have been in his arms instead.' she emphasized.

The picture of her in Arnav's arms brought a stark bitterness to the velvety ambience and he shut his eyes to prevent further imagining.

 'Arnav may claim that he’s mad for me, but I’ve always told him that I belong to Sir and that only he holds claim to my body and soul’  she continued with a hint of impatience.

It was enough for him. He wished to confess about his hurting beneath his rugged veneer

'You know my wife always loathes me. She leaves no stones unturned in convincing me that I'm a man who has since long, lost all his charm and attractiveness, to be precise, within a couple of years of our marriage. That even a promiscuous lady who is offered with my company as her only option, will prefer to die single. That I'm pot bellied, more suited to do chores than flirt around. She has absolutely no fear that someone may find me attractive or may make indecent propositions to me. She's more confident of never losing me to any woman, than she is about the taste of her delicacies which she's been cooking for a decade. Even my friends think the same. And you want me to believe you ?' he sighed and sank on his thickly cushioned made to order revolving chair.

'Believe it Sir. You're everything that I've always wanted ..in fact you are the ideal man for every sensible woman out there. Witty, good looking, kind. Your eyes speak the agony of your heart, ages before your lips do. They draw me like a charmer draws his victim. I'm the victim Sir. I've chosen to be their victim.'I've been waiting for you since millenia. If it be your wish then let's walk out to the world and show them how wrong they are about your persona and popularity. Even to your wife so that the dumb woman talks to my Sir with some respect the next time around.' she suggested earnestly.

He delved in her sparkling blue eyes, mysterious as the deep blue seas themselves. They inspired faith in one moment and in the next they challenged it. For him, the biggest truth now remained that she had fallen down on her feet and begged him to take her as his beloved.  It’s time he called his old mates who, unlike him, would have lost their gloss and charm to time. He pictured them hiding their ageing forms behind the façade of expensive dressing and relentless makeovers. Coy to accompany their wives in public gaze.  And here he was, rendered the ultimate object of desire by the most desired woman herself, despite his marriage and all his listed inadequacies. It was time he reminded his detractors, that he may be old but magnetic nevertheless. It’s time he told them about his charisma.

‘Karishma ?! Who’s Karishma ? I demand to know.

He opened his eyes to the intimidating stare of his round faced, nagging wife, infuriated at the hint of another woman’s name on her husband’s lips. The pressure cooker’s loud whistle went off  in the nearby kitchen, announcing the prepared brunch. The radio in the living room had been long singing devotional songs. Countless chirps of busy birds broke the peace of morning. He lay still on his bed, evading his wife’s persistence to know about the lady whose name, she thought her husband was chanting in his dream. Aahh !!, the dream. He reminisced his dream. Its glimpses reminding him of his inescapable reality. The lady from his office was gone and he lay with his sagging belly and impending oldness on his cot as the 'Inverter' powered table fan hummed monotonously near his ears. He looked at the air conditioner. It hung dead stripped of electricity. Someone yelled 'Damn these early morning power cuts. They never let you finish your dreams.'



**   'Old' is a work of fiction.and any resemblance in it with any person, place or incident is purely coincidental. 

My Favourite Short Stories

Every time I try to write a short story, I stare at the question as to what makes a good short story. The inimitable Khushwant Singh remarks  "A short story is in fact a short story and not a novella or an abridged novel. It revolves around one or two characters or at most three and does not have a long list of dramatis personae as in novels. It is limited in time and space and does not span decades or spread out in different locales. It also has a well formulated central theme and does not touch upon several topics or clashes of personalities. It has a distinct beginning, a build up and usually a dramatic end, frequently an unexpected one which sums up the story." 

I am an absolute lover of short stories. I'll give up a novel for a collection of short stories, any day. There is something about a short story that strikes a vital chord. I don't have to be hooked to the book for long and yet have a chance at a memorable read. All vital sentiments and experiences distilled into distinctly few characters whose story is told seamlessly and without undue protraction. I've nothing against novella. But I prefer short stories. Reading short stories is like having fast food without all the health hazards yet with the same nutrition as normal food.

At long last I found the opportunity and, more importantly the required span of time, to compile the list of my favorite short stories. I do not adore or despise any particular genre of story telling. However any story which is told in an indulging narrative and reflects man's life experiences, especially crisis of spirit in the many myriad tribulations of life touch me the most. I must tell you that the fact that this list is not very long should not imply that I only like this many stories from all that I've read. There are so many stories that remain etched in my mind that this post could require a number of monotonous scrolling to reach to the end of it. Nor do I consider my self to be in any position, other than that of a mere reader, to declare the greatness or otherwise of any story written by masters of the craft. I'm not even a speck of dust in their world.

Therefore this list should kindly not be mistaken as my approval or disapproval of the timeless works of any author. The truth remains that this list contains only those stories which moved me in a way that no other could, so far. It has nothing to do with criticism or analysis. It's purely a personal choice more because of my own unique life experiences, than any other reason, which I could relate to while reading them.


(The order of listing has nothing to do with my degree of admiration)

• Friends & Strangers by Manoj Das 

• The Selfish Giant by Oscar Wilde

• Karma by Khushwant Singh

• A Bride For The Sahib by Khushwant Singh

• Before The Law by Franz Kafka

• The Judgment by Franz Kafka

• Life's Horoscope by Khushwant Singh

• After Twenty Years by O Henry

• The Story of Ivan The Fool by Leo Tolstoy

• The Misty Hour by Manoj Das

• The Last Leaf  by O' Henry

• The Concubine by Manoj Das

• The Vengeance by  Manoj Das

• An Astrologer's Day by R.K. Narayan

• The Blind Dog by R.K. Narayan

• Attila by R.K. Narayan

• The Tiger In The Tunnel by Ruskin Bond

• Those Thirty Minutes by Krishan Chander (Translated from Hindi by Jai Ratan)

• A Home Near The Sea by Kamala Das

• The Face On The Wall by E.V. Lucas

• Sparrows by  K.A. Abbas

• The Birth Of  A Poem by Amrita Pritam (Translated from Punjabi by G.S.P. Suri)

• Three Questions by Leo Tolstoy

• The Gift Of The Magi by O. Henry

I hope to add to the list, many more stories, as I keep reading. 

Please feel free to share your favourite short stories. I'd love to read them, if I haven't so far.

Here are a few short stories I 've written. Read them at your leisure and let me know your favourite, if any. (Read my short stories here)