Shashi Vader Stories

Beta interceptor

2012-01-18T06:17:00.000-08:00

by Kali Hawa

Igathered a handful of dust
And holding up my fist
Foolishly asked for
As many years of life
As the grains of sand in the dust
I forgot to add that
They be years of youth.

- Ovid’sMetamorphosis

Circa 2037, AMD (AdvanceMedical Lab) Noida

Friday, 1130 PM, January 9^th 2037

It was past midnight. E Babu,now quite exhausted began collecting his things; in fact he gathered them withthe swipe of his hand, dumped them into his briefcase. He felt a deep sense ofemptiness, something when you expect a burst of euphoria but instead getdissipated joy. He was at the threshold of an extraordinary event yet there wasthis nagging sense of foreboding bothering him. Unable to make a decision heslumped back into his cushy chair. It is now roughly two years that he hadstumbled upon this discovery. That seemingly innocuous protein had the unusualproperty of intercepting cell transformation process; he had called it GI (GeneInterceptor). In two years he had perfected its structure for harmless releaseon humans. Now he was ready for Beta Interceptor the stable and beneficialversion of GI.

He looked at his wrist; thewatch like device much oversized with bold geometric features looked veryrugged, gave impression of being uncomfortably heavy but in reality was quitelight. Fitted with Cluzide superconducting power storage, it didn’t need a refilluntil another year. E Babu sighed,

‘Osho, activate’

A translucent blue light hologramover the device began to make pleasant figures accompanying soft music, a lotusmeting into a lithe celestial nymph with a harp.’

‘Oh, cut that bullshit Osho’,yelled E Babu.

‘But I detect subtle slowdownin heart rate, and BP. Nerves signaling a mild bout of depression E Babu’

‘That’s is my script you areparroting’

“I am only trying to help’

‘Now run BI (Beta Interceptor)data’

Hologram morphed into amonitor, began running statistical data. It automatically began to scroll in syncwith E Babu’s need, sensing his nerve signals. E Babu had seen these figuresseveral times over but this time he was very alert giving close attention to BIsimulation results. Finally he asked his e-aide,

‘OK! Osho, tell me, is itethical to release BI?’

‘I can’t give a subjectiveanswer E Babu.’

‘Could you run BI simulation?’

‘BI simulation has provedbeyond doubt that it intercepts dying process of cell regeneration thereforethe person injected with BI remain in his state of health perpetually in otherwords a young person injected with BI does not die of old age. GI protein hadtwo nucleotides that acted as switches. One switch kept the regenerationprocess on while the other switched accelerated aging. Aging switch remaineddormant until in a complex process a specific segment in protein called ‘BetaString’ is oxidized. Once that happens the aging process takes over. Yousucceeded in isolating that segment of protein that switched aging. Nogovernment will allow its release fearing several trajectories of drift. Most governmentswould fear complete loss of interest in population renewal, a sense ofinvincibility in folks leading to increase in homicides, high dose of violencein society and behavior alteration towards recklessness. Paranoia overresources will lead to a highly strung society ready for skirmishes even forinsignificant resources. After an initially surge in population its number willdecline to reach a lower equilibrium. It will be a very wild society.’

‘How does coded BI pan out?’

‘There is no way it can bereleased legally, not even trials will be allowed, there is too much at stakefor governments. The coded version has inert Sulzium nucleotide removed from alltwenty one spots, replace by a combination of E-Philtine, N-Cultium,Para-Glydine … etc. These sixteen nucleotidesdocked in Sulzium spot in GI protein structure communicate with each other. WhenN-Cultium, E-Philtine etc align they oxidize BI string thereby turning theaging switch on. The computer randomizing of their sequence fixes time for counterreaction. You have succeeded in emulating normal dying ages with randomly codedGI protein i.e coded BI release does not alter average human age. The onlybenefit is that they don’t grow old but die abruptly in a super aging process.The randomization program is deep encrypted with seed prime number erased. Nownobody can manipulate his age by deciphering code sequence of BI. There isethical issues to settle i.e. BI injected humans will not have their naturalage but an age randomized by a computer program, this apart, impact on society willbe generally calming. Aware that they could abruptly die any day and bereft ofaging worry, there will be no panic or paranoia over resource crunch therefore humanresponse becomes much more rational.’

‘OK I am ready. Makepreparation for first randomized coded BI dose.’

Osho, his e-aide got busy fora few seconds then sent infra red signal to a machine resembling a complex drinksdispenser. The machine began to blink several colored lights and with mutedwhirring sound came to life. In a few seconds first vial of codes BI came out.E Babu got up looked around, sighed at such a bland setting for a momentousoccasion in human history. Without further ado he injected the glisteningliquid into his arm, slumped back at his chair waiting for to effect to takeplace.’

In ten minutes he felt veryunusual.

‘What have you done, Osho?’

Monday,12^th January, 2037: AMD, Noida

There was a panicky knock atDirector Farzana’s room, immediately floor attended walked in,

‘There a dead old man in Dr EBabu’s room?’

‘What?’

‘Yes Ma’am, an exceedingly oldman; dead in his room!’

They hurriedly walked down toE Babu’s room which was only one floor below. They saw an old fellow slumped onE Babu’s chair. Dr Carl Chakra was already investigation the stranger. Said,

‘This dead man is E Babu. Ihave checked his identity from national DNA register, his DNA matches E Babu’s;absolutely no doubt about the identity.

So they run his e-aide, theemergency log does not need password verification; his last half hour recordedinteraction. A blue hologram projected E Babu’s image at the same place wherethe old man was lying. E Babu looked very tired and listless and at least tenyears older,

‘Is there a God, Osho?

‘The issue is not settled withfinality.’

‘Is there an afterlife?’

‘The issue is not settled withfinality.’

‘What a dumb machine you are!’

‘Really! Humans are the oneswho miss out the obvious. Like the Ovid’s character you sought a long life butforgot to seek they be years of youth. Coded BI has to be punched with Seldiumsolution to make it work. I did my best as a safety response to punch the codedBI with Seldium but it needs four days at room temperature to stabilize. RawSeldium activated aging switch and turned off regeneration switch. You will beageing super fast E Babu. There is nothing anybody can do now. Now tell me whois dumb?’

* * * * * * * *

The Myth of Sisyphus

2011-12-25T03:39:00.000-08:00

There was time in college when I was attracted toexistential novels. I went through novels of Camus, Sartre and Kafka etal. One day I saw this book in thelibrary ‘The Myth of Sisyphus’ couldn’t resist picking it up for the title was somysteriously attractive. I was soon disappointed. It wasn’t fiction but heavydose of philosophy. I didn’t have the mental perseverance to go through thatphilosophical assault so left the book back to its shelf. I haven’t read that book even now but we canread the summery in Wikipedia and save ourselves a lot of trouble. In the Greekmyth of Sisyphus, the wily King who even foxed God of death but eventually soincensed Gods that they punished him to roll a heavy boulder up the hill adinfinitum which would roll down as soon as it reached the summit. It appearsCamus used Sisyphus’ pointless effort as a metaphor to explain his philosophy ofabsurd and reaches the conclusion that only in moments of realization of thefutility of meaning of life we are unhappy, however persistence of the thoughtwould eventually lead us to a situation of contented acceptance therefore to astate of happiness. In essence he says, we must assume Sisyphus contentedlyresigned to his fate therefore was happy.

While I have no quarrel with Camus’ conclusions even thoughhis conclusions are dicey but another aspect of the Sisyphus myth bothers me.Do we need to have tougher punishment available to enforce a punishment servedon a fellow? The point is what happens if Sisyphus refuses to roll the boulderup the hill?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Myth_of_Sisyphus

PHOENIX

2011-12-03T22:47:00.001-08:00

Phoenix(pronounced finiks) is a mythical bird. It rises from its ashes reinvigoratedevery 500 to 1000 years. This is an interesting concept coming out of Egyptian mythology.This virtually means immortality with some painful but short interludes. Onestory that is common suggests a phoenix builds itself a nest of twigs andbranches then sets it on fire with itself occupying the nest. Both, the birdand the nest, burn in a fiery fire. When all is reduced to ashes the bird risesfrom it alive and young to live another 500 -1000 years.

Thisis common knowledge but the paradigm of phoenix has profound meaning. To remainimmortal is our hardwired trait. There is no escape from it. A miniscule minoritydoes have nihilistic bent of mind but they are the aberrations. In nut shell,the myth of Phoenix is paradoxical in the sense it doesn’t circumvent death.Our wish for immortality does not take into consideration an interface of deathat some standard intervals. In fact, given option like Phoenix i.e one can risefrom his own ashes, how many of us will be willing to rise again young from ourown ashes and how many would simply want nothing to do with life? It is notlife we love so much but the death we fear.

AARASII - VI

2011-11-30T03:23:00.001-08:00

Flann O’Brien wrote a novel ‘The Third Policeman’ whichwas published some thirty years later after it was written because no publisherwould entertain it earlier. The novel is a kind of dark comedy; some say it is apost death narrative whatever, it is a celebrated novel. Flann has a way oftaking comedy to absurd without sounding gross. You can find more about it in Wikipedia.However, I have mentioned it here to point out that someone has accused me oflifting its entire passage pertaining to De Selby’s ‘mirror extension principle’verbatim in my piece Aarasii V. Briefly De Selby’s theory is … the image wesee in a mirror is actually an image from past. The reason being the lighttakes time to bounce off the mirror and impinge on our eyes to cast the imageso no matter how short the duration, the image is still from past. Extendingthe argument De Selby continues that when two mirrors are placed in parallel,they cast infinite images with each receding image going further back in time somuch so that the image he saw at the far off edge was that of a beardless faceof a young man. De Selby says that if wasn’t for the limitation of histelescope and earth’s curvature he could have seen himself in a cradle. .. I hopeyou get the drift.

My grouse against hisaccusation is that De Selby’s conclusions are utterly false therefore I couldn’thave copied any passage from Flann’s book willy-nilly. You see De Selby offers right argument but draws wrong conclusion. My point is that when you are ableto see the image at the horizon it is your image ‘hu ba hu’ but you will not be able to recognize the fellow withwrinkled face who walks with the help of a stick, in short one leg dangling ingrave, sitting in front of the mirror. ….

A A R A S S I - V

2011-11-25T06:49:00.001-08:00

When two mirrors are place opposite each other theyproduce countless images. But viewing these images is not possible; your bodyobstructs the viewing. The remedy for this is easy, turn one of the mirrors awee bit and you will see the series of images turning away in an arc. But thepoint is not of viewing the image that you can do with just one mirror. It isthe quality of mirrors to produce mountain of images. We were witness to thischaracteristic of mirror in our social milieu today with some cracking effect.

When some reporter informed Anna Hazare that someone slappedSharad Pawar in full public view he immediately responded with, ‘bas aik hi…?’If you have high stature in society, a tight leash on tongue is desirable else………….The mirror knows what to do!

Q A A F I L A

2011-11-18T01:32:00.001-08:00

Soon he realized this qaafila didn’t have a startingpoint or a destination. His joining it was usual, a few were indifferent, somecranked up nose and some tried to be friendly. It was moving in changingcircles often overlapping so stations would repeat albeit irregularly. In a fewdays he became aware of the working of qaafila. The travelers knew where to buymerchandize cheap and where to dispose them at profit. But it wasn’t always aprofitable business. Sometimes too many of them would collect same merchandizecreating a glut at disposing station resulting in a loss. The only fellowalways making money was the leader of qaafila charging a fee from every one ofthem for joining the circus.

He too began to make some money and then started acquiringassets at a station he liked in the loop with the purpose of eventually settlingdown. The thought of settling down to a life of easy drift, of leisure withoutworries excited him. The problem was he didn’t know what would be a comfortablecorpus that would sustain a life style he coveted. While he was still debatingthe right sum to retire with, he bet high, suffered a crippling loss. So he hadto mortgage assets he built up to raise working capital to run his business.Back to where he began he reassessed his goals and objectives. That is whenexistential questions began to bother him.

A dervish in the qaafila was like the leader of theqaafila, did nothing yet led a cozy life. The fellow appeared sedate not proneto exhibition of excitement, spoke in impressive halting deep voice full ofaphorisms. The queer thing about him was he never seemed to be short of cash. Closescrutiny revealed, he served an abstract need of travelers, resolved theirspiritual predicament. He spoke about life advised fellow travelers onspiritual matters, some abstract blah blah on life impressed travelers, gavethem a quick spiritual high. Recharged, they would part with some cash in tokenof their gratitude. The glib talk of dervish did not make sense to his hardrationalism. He confronted dervish one day,

‘What do I seek from life, dervish?’

‘That’s very easy son, you seek pleasure, you seekmeaning but important thing is what we get?'

'What do we get dervish?'

'We get death!’

‘Really! You don’t tell anything that we already don’tknow?'

‘Yes, indeed! But I add spirituality to it? A littlecomplicated. Let us see, suppose you get a bright idea and confide it tosomeone important. Now this important person ratifies your idea, what do youget? You get a high from his approval. I do the same. I don’t tell anything new just dress the thing differently, my stature with folks adds aura to it.’

'So all the spirituality comes from your stature with thepeople; how folks rate you?'

'Absolutely!'

'I get the picture. Thank you.'

OLD MANSION

2011-11-05T00:24:00.000-07:00

It is an old building in gothic stylereminiscent of colonial times. The passage to main entrance shows no sign oftrampled grass clearly no one has walked up to the house in a long time. Whoknows when the last guest walked away from this house or is the guest stilltrapped there? Why does neglected building evoke a sense horror even in day whileat night come alive, truly acquire a persona of staggering malevolence. I guessit is in the mind.

Does a person born blind has the same sense ofheightened fear at night? He wouldn’t tell the difference between day andnight! But dark isn’t about not seeing, its other attribute are as disturbing;loneliness and silence. A blind fellow would most certainly be affected by loneliness and silence. There is a story here. A blind fellow walked in thehope of free shelter. Soon a thunder storm disturbed the eerie silence. The rattleof things moving in storm and the knowledge of being lonely wasn’t comforting. Heheard voices whispering in alien language and felt an unfriendly feminine shove,sound of bangles clinking. Then they were playing with him. Voices pushing him upthe stairs and eventually a fall through the window. He was caught in thebranches of large Imli stayed there and starved to death. Nobody goes to thishouse anymore. There is an angry blind fellow patrolling the premises. Tanglebranches of old Imli tree in front of the house leave a cryptic message. It says in Latin,

Nunc hinc, aliud mori!

(Stay away else die)

YAKSH PRASHN Kim Aashcharyam!

2011-11-03T21:35:00.000-07:00

Yaksh: Yudhishthir, son of Yama; what is deeper than ocean?

Yudhishthir: Yaksh, deep is merely a concept of relativespace for us. There cannot be an absolute answer to this question. Water levelin a dark well may be deep for us but a frog in that well would consider bottomof the well under water to be the deepest. The question therefore becomesambiguous so needs to be answered in ambiguous way. Thought, Yaksh! Thought canbe stretched, there is no limit to its profound depth therefore is deeper thanocean.

Yaksh: What isfaster than wind?

Yudhishthir: Fast again is relative concept. We seem tobe standing stationery on earth but the fact is we are moving along with thespin of earth. Earth itself is orbiting around Sun and Sun along with all thestars are in a whirl around a massive black hole deep inside of our galaxy.There is no straight answer to your question, Yaksh! Imagination, flight of imagination has noboundary. And it can move faster than lightening or anything all you need is aman with imagination.

Yaksh: Kim aascharyam?

Yudhishthir: Now you have me stumped. Guess you expectthe same answer I gave five thousand years back. Sorry Yaksh, our desire forimmortality is no laughing matter. It is the crux of our existence. Rememberwhat Buddha said? 'Being born is the cause of our misery.', so why would anyonewant to live if there is no irresistible desire to live?

Our faith is God is the most amazing thing. There is nointerference from Him, events appear to be occurring in random fashion. A buildingcrashes; all save an infant perish. Is this a miracle? No Yaksh, an infantoccupies least space, has the maximum chance to occupy cavities formed in crasheddebris. This is probability not miracle. Miracle will be when a buildingcrashes and everyone survives. God is our remedy for unexplained, a peg to takesupport from when dice falls the wrong way. God is byproduct of our ability tothink. I guess concept of God is the most amazing thing.

B O D H I S A T T V A - II Final Secret of Life

2011-10-31T04:50:00.000-07:00

Next day Sushant found the crocodile still under the banyan tree. There was something churning in his mind, a complete metamorphosis had taken place. Crocodile appeared to have reached a realm of neutrality. Happiness and sorrow seemed fake to him and the world, play of Maya. He no longer had that irresistible desire to know more, like the ascetics he wished to waste away …

Sushant said, ‘Chief I see that you are no longer interested in knowing anything more in life. But trust me there is something you must know. But, for that we must climb the hill first.’ So they began slowly going up the hill. Half way up they reached a flat space where a perilously hung rock jutted out of the hill its one end wedged and locked to hill while bulk of it suspended in free air. Sushant jumped over the rock, croc followed him over as if in trance. Once atop the rock; looking down they could see below Trishta flowing in rapids. A fall from there was certain death. Sushant said,

‘Chief, I see that base fear for preservation of life has left you else you would have hesitated to climb on to this rock. Death is finality of life. You asked me, how did I know that you will die in exact three days? I am no oracle, nobody is. I carved your future therefore I knew you will die in three days. You see, Chief, I planned to kill you here. But be happy dying isn’t such a bad thing, being born is. We live therefore we suffer. Die in peace friend.’

Sushant jumped from the hung rock and kicked hard at the piece of boulder holding the hung rock locked in a wedge like grip. The boulder moved causing the giant rock hurtling down the hill……….

B O D H I S A T T V A - II Second Secret of Life

2011-10-30T22:16:00.000-07:00

Next day Sushant found crocodile right under that withered Jamun tree still mulling over the revealed secret of life. When he saw Sushant, said in appreciative voice,

‘Sushant, you are right. Ever since I diverted focus from preserving to living life there has been a defining change in my perspective. For the first time I observed songs of birds flying past this tree, I saw the twinkling stars in dark night, fascinating view of briefly frozen trail of shooting stars across the dark canvas. My thought horizon has expanded many fold, grossly alert predatory reflex subdued allowing for calm observation. I seem to have plenty of time to observe things, kind of living in slow motion. A sense of transcendental serenity pervading my being. The past night seems to have lasted over a life time. I am now fully primed to receive second secret of life ……’

“Chief we need to walk further up the river, to the base of that rocky hill before I can reveal second secret of life.’

So they began arduous walk up the river under the bright sun, eventually reached the base of a rocky hill; barren, dusty, filled with boulders not a blade of grass growing there save for a lone Banyan tree at the base. In the sea of wilderness, Banyan tree was the lone representative of life. Under its shadow Sushant revealed the second secret of life,

‘Chief, life must be preserved’

Crocodile looked at him incredulously, ‘But you said life must be lived not preserved.’

‘No Chief, I did not say life should not be preserved, I said the entire focus was on preservation of life but life cannot be lived unless it is preserved. Of course individual life is to be preserved but I mean life in the sense of life of species, races and the creatures occupying the land. Unless there are fellow creatures, life cannot be lived. Look at this Banyan tree; it is flourishing in wilderness giving moisture to earth, supporting a variety of life forms. Its roots shooting down from branches creating a miasmic world under its shade. Colonies of ants and other life forms feeding from sap excreted from its limbs; thriving and becoming food for higher insects, recycling and eventually creating a self sustained eco-system. It is a world of give and take balancing leading to peaceful harmony and coexistence. Take only what you need and give back what you can without demur.'

Contd.......

B O D H I S A T T V A - II First Secret of Life

2011-10-30T07:52:00.000-07:00

There was something in Sushant’s voice, a strand of compelling truth, a sense of finality. The Crocodile now looked bewildered, waited for a while then let go of his leg, said

‘I know Sushant, you are wise and very able but how can you be so sure that I will die in three days? You may as well know your own fate then. Did it occur to you that your own end could come in just a few moments! When do you think you will die?’

‘Chief, I cannot know my own fate, it will set the nature’s equilibrium off balance, unleash uncontrollable resonance resulting in destruction of human kind. Can you imagine where the knowledge of their invincibility will lead humans?’

‘But you just said I will die in exact three days!’

‘Yes you will!

‘So what is the deal?’

‘What deal, Chief?’

‘Surely you must have something in offer. After all consuming you may not be such a huge reward to me if I have only three day left to live but letting you off is a huge reward for you?’

‘Yes, indeed. Wise Chief, I have something in return for your kind act. I will reveal three secrets of life to you one on each of your remaining days so that when time comes to depart there will be no regret. Today I will reveal the first secret. But before that we will have to walk over to the tree yonder.’

So they walked about hundred meters upstream of the river where on the bank was a lone Jamun tree, withered, lifeless. Once under its shadow Sushant said,

‘Chief, first secret of life is that we have to live it’

‘But this is no secret Sushant, we all live life?’ said the incredulous crocodile.

‘Really, Chief? Do we live life or we simply preserve it? All through the drift of life our actions are focused on preserving life while many windows pass by, we don’t even look through them. You see this Jamun tree withered and apparently lifeless yet attached to its dry and juiceless trunk there is a thriving evergreen Peepul living life to the fullest. Think about it, tomorrow I will let you into another secret of life.’

B O D H I S A T T V A - II

2011-10-29T23:26:00.000-07:00

When nature conspires, it picks a pleasant day.

Sushant, as Bodhisattva, was the chief of his herd. Contrary to general belief deer prefer open vistas, stretch of grasslands and not the dense forest as it deters predators waiting in ambush. Sushant and his herd had easy life at banks of river Trishta. The herd was growing, clear sign of natural equilibrium on the drift as a testimony to Sushant’s skilled and able leadership. Although there was relative peace on the land yet danger lurked on the river infested with ferocious crocodiles. They all had to go to river to quenching their thirst therefore had to deal with the crocodiles and occasionally become their meal.

It was a pleasant day, Sushant, despite his skill, vast knowledge and clever ways lost focus due to all pervading sense lethargy. He was caught by the mightiest of the crocodiles perhaps their leader. Before the crocodile could begin his ferocious spin to rip his limbs apart, Sushant quickly regained his composer, said in a profoundly calm and persuasive voice…

‘Crocodile Chief, this catch is pointless, a wastage!’

The curiosity causing words had desired impact. Crocodile halted but did not loosen hold of jaws on Sushant’s leg, but waited in curious anticipation. Noticing the impact of his word on the crocodile, Sushant continued…

‘I will make a very big meal for you, Chief. Perhaps you will not need to eat for another twenty days. Imagine the wastage when you are sure to die in exact here days from now!’

Contd......

Aarasii IV

2011-10-24T01:13:00.000-07:00

The park I frequent is not big. In fact it is about the size of two large traffic islands you see in New Delhi; like the one at Janpath and Akbar road crossing or one near Udhyog Bhavan. Its shape is like a loose rubber band, uneven oblong. It mostly has fragile Rain trees along the periphery. Their grip of earth is very weak therefore often uproot in stormy rains. Rain trees normally form nice round dome like canopy but here they are in competition with tall buildings for sunlight therefore take vertical route for growth. The result is; the park looks like bottom of an irregular shaped high walled vessel. There is a raised walking track along the perimeter just enough for three people to walk abreast. A circular pagoda like shed at one end of the park is used mostly by smug but stern looking wise women/men imparting wisdom to lesser mortals. Inside of walking track on the lush green are concrete benches for people to relax.

I generally take a few rounds of brisk walking then settle down on one of the empty benches to catch my breath, spend time observing people. To each his idiosyncrasies! Like any other day the stretch of grass was dotted with islands of human clusters. Groups of ladies were gossiping while attached children having fun around them. Occasionally someone from them would yell out some instruction to children ‘don’t do …….’ The group near me had a south Indian woman, young absentminded, striking for her detached demeanor. Dark complexioned she had that fatal appeal, not the sexy kind but of feminine vulnerability that spurs men to reach out and protect them. Suddenly she became violently animate…..

I could see a dark malevolent man standing behind the fence on the edge of park. Just the torso visible making deep guttural threatening sounds the kind hardly audible in lower range but very disturbing. The woman got up began speaking animatedly with in her native language with exaggerated gestures. She stayed rooted to her spot, staccato outburst quickly changed tone, now indignant, now cajoling and now issuing threats. The man at the fence kept steady supply of provocation lest the woman relax.

Everyone of the group had now risen looked at her in stultified horror some totally flummoxed. I was surprised that none bothered to confront the offending man. The old man sitting next me on the bench whispered, ‘She is schizophrenic!’

‘What nonsense! Can’t you see the man on the fence threatening her?’

‘What man?’ he looked at me bewildered.

I saw what she saw because I also had the same mirror to see......

M I S T

2011-10-21T02:46:00.000-07:00

Mist lets you see partially therefore word automatically acquires a sense of mystery. It also has the ability to place a layer of shroud over things therefore removes ugliness of a scene. Mist is like nostalgia, it purges unpleasantness of past, presents a hazy romanticized picture of past with blunt edges fudged out a le fantasy in slow motion. When I reminisce past, I see an innocent kid running with a kite or on a swing in wet monsoon or climbing Jamun, Ber trees; not the brutal schools, difficult parents or general deprivations. Hard truth is, I don’t want to live out the past all over again. I suppose nostalgia evolved in the context of evolutionary scheme of things to purge unpleasantness from our mind else collective garbage from past wouldn’t let us move on unbiased.

This amazing picture shows in a metaphorical way conclave of serious individuals busy in a hushed conversation. . . …..

Beautifully captures essence of Mist!

RAILWAY STATION

2011-10-18T01:55:00.000-07:00

The hillock was mostly bald with patches of green but largely ugly brown. At the summit were two skinny trees with little leaves and not too many branches. The larger of them had Y shape; appeared like a woman mulling with one arm, elbow bent, resting on her hips. The other looked like her child with a basket on head. The visual was disturbing.

Beyond the hillock was a forlorn railway Station. It was mostly empty of people; a single train went up in the morning, the same returned in the evening. The platform was not raised but its vague boundary was marked by red bricks dug into the ground upright. It was at the same level as the railway line. A small three room building in very bad shape served for the office of station master, ticket window etc. Signal towers at each end of the platform and a steel structure at one end of the platform holding a small water tank completed the station complex.

It was twilight time. A lone man with crisp white shirt and dark firmly ironed trouser with a brief case in hand was restlessly strolling up and down the platform. He looked very odd in that milieu, apparently an agriculture implements salesman. He had already enquired with the station master several times about the arrival train. The place appeared to him stuck in some kind of time warp. There was nothing he could do to accelerate passing of time. Then he saw some hope. At distance he saw movement over the railway line, a train was arriving. His hopes were dashed when a goods train came to a halt with nasty shrieks of breaks moving down the train decaying in a wave like surge. The trade mark guard’s cabin was in the middle of the train. He saw a funny character jumping from that cabin, immediately began running towards the engine. He began attempting to climb to the roof of that engine. Strangely it was a diesel engine so the effort made no sense to the man at the platform. In fact he felt fearful for the guard as a high tension wire ran over the track. He hesitated briefly then briskly walked over to station master’s room to report this bizarre happening. He expected a minor eruption of temper but the station master looked at him sympathetically through the thick glasses, which made his eyes look grotesque, said ‘Sorry fellow, a goods train will pass first before your train arrives.’

‘Goods train will pass! It has already arrived and halted. I have come to report the same. A crazy fellow is trying something incomprehensible. Please stop this crazy man.”
‘What are you talking? The train hasn’t moved from the last station!’
‘I was about to tell you about that crazy guard in that goods train. The fellow will get electrocuted? You must stop him.”

The station master looked at him curiously and got up. When they came out, the sales fellow was shocked to see an empty station. There was no sign of the goods train.

***

LIGHT HOUSE

2011-10-12T05:39:00.000-07:00

by Kali Hawa

The sea was calm and the wind a steady drift. That lone bloke standing on the deck was thinking, the ocean looked so refreshing and endearing in the middle of the day has morphed into a sinister maelstrom in the darkness of night. The lit cigarette held between his fingers was making fascinating crisscrossing patterns in the dark canvass. Occasionally some spark would detach from the glowing head, for a moment swing around, abruptly die. In the loneliness of night he could see ruins of a towering structure not far away. A light-house perhaps! Like the kalaiwala*, ruii-dhunnewala, and pager, it’s time to fade away has come leaving space for more glitzy and efficient contraptions. Who knows how many flotillas, barges or even pirate ships corrected course taking cue from its simmering beacon; now this grand relic is having tough time asserting its usefulness. Surging waves would fill up its shaft and when receding, fountains would burst out of the crevices on wall, declaring audaciously its struggle for existence.

Suddenly he felt a large blob of light hung in the air some distance from him. He then heard someone whispering to him…

rukaa kuch bhi nahiin hai

sirf rukne ka ehsaas hai

zindagi ka markaz aik equilibrium hai

uske ird-gird pendulum ki maanind ghumati hai

raftaar ka ehsaas jiine ki shakl hai............'

[Nothing is still; what seems still is only our perception. Life swings around an equilibrium and the feel of motion is our sense of living]

‘Who are you?’

I am your God!’

My God? Does every individual have his own God?

Yes indeed. I am merely projection of your thought.

What is with the sphere shape?

It looks the same from every side!

Abruptly the blob of light went blank; everything sank in an abyss of darkness. Then he realized the light from the tower that was focused on him had gone off instead a dull dying white glow occupied that spot.

Aarasii III (Mirror)

2011-10-05T01:55:00.000-07:00

The man entering the room was a psychic. The room was about twice as long as its width, looked largely bare with minimal furniture, a couple of pictures hung on the side walls. It was brightly lit, walls painted in matte white finish. He could see a high mirror neatly embedded into the side wall on his left in the middle of the room. It had varnished wood frame delicately worked with flowery patterns as if it was a celebrated painting. As he entered the room, the door swung back slowly, closed with a mild thud.

Nothing to do, he walked up and down the room scrutinizing the little furniture and looked at the paintings on the wall critically. Eventually when he looked at the mirror he felt a surge of fear running down his spine. All was normal except the mirror didn’t reflect his own image! In reflex he looked at his hands, bent his head to look at his torso for reassurance and then looked back at the mirror, nothing; his image still wasn’t there. He was a psychic, he knew it was just a trick, mostly sleight of hand to fool people, sometimes strong persuasive suggestions to warp consciousness and fool the mind but brazen disappearance of image was not explainable. In auto reflex his hands moved up to mirror to feel it. He was surprised that there was no mirror at all. It was open space, a pane less window. In fact an identical room in the style of mirror image of the one he was in; complete with reversed pictures and furniture existed on the other side.

The above was merely a writer’s way of creating allegory, a powerful allusion or metaphor to make a point. There is nothing in the world we can say with finality. If I say am agnostic, it is only at conscious level I reject super-normal and irrational but I have no control over my subconscious. It is still ruled by occult, paradigms of superstitions and belief that my destiny is enshrined in wriggly lines on my palm. Is death then cessation of existence? Indeed it is at rational level but life is a lot more complex, there are mindboggling thoughts that prevent us from acknowledging this possibility. When I think of life after the death it seems to me that secrets of the world will be revealed to me after the body’s expiry date. It doesn’t quite gel. If the secrets are revealed, our reason to exist in any form will also evaporate. Paradoxical, isn’t it. We must live to know that we will never know why Universe exists! There really is no mirror on the wall to show us what we are, why we are.

Aarasii II

2011-09-20T18:49:00.000-07:00

[Bizarre world on the other side of Mirror]

The door didn’t open to the room instead a short passage and then a large room. Peering through the smudgy glass on the door, he opened his eyes wide to make out what was in the room. The passage had blocked major part of the view of room but a mirror on the side wall reflected clearly an emaciated body sprawled in the middle of the floor. Another woman reclining on an easy chair, as frail as the one sprawled on the floor, was trying to snooze oblivious to the inert body on the floor. In fact she pushed lightly the frail body with her right foot to get some space to spread out her legs. Amazingly the presence of inert body didn’t bother her at all. Suddenly she stood up walked over to the adjoining room, returned with a glass, not washed in weeks, with water, lifted the woman’s listless head, poured a few drops into her mouth. She then whispered something into the woman’s ear, didn’t wait for answer. All the effort had drained this woman as well. She slumped back into the chair and sank into a bout of delirium.

They broke open the door. A burst of foul stench whiffed past them. They softly lifted the bodies and carried them over to waiting ambulance. The melee in room had knocked the mirror off the wall, crashing, shattering pieces on the floor. The women who was still half conscious, briefly opened her eyes, thought …..

The delicate equilibrium of life has slipped from its peg, who knows where it will settle now!

http://www.telegraphindia.com/1110413/jsp/nation/story_13848334.jsp

Aarasii

2011-08-20T03:32:00.000-07:00

Aarasii is a mirror as in the muhavarah “haath kangan ko aarasii kyaa”. But a mirror is a great metaphor because it is so graphical. It shows us our image, tells us ‘this is how you appear to others’. So we make superficial alterations to present ourselves in a way we want to tell the world ‘this is how I am!’ Mostly a fake exaggerated copy. And we make the mirror lie to us and for us.

But in spiritual realm Aarasii is profoundly more substantial. The aura of the other side of mirror is mysteriously bewitching. Sometimes, when we have time in hand and are all by ourselves, the urge is to cross over to the other side of mirror, begin peeling off the farcical layers, heaven knows how many and see what we really look like. It appears to be one access point of our quest to unravel mystery of our deeply buried inner-self, tantalizingly so near yet impossible to reach. It occurred to me that our world has a small place that emulates the other side of mirror.

When I see Anna Hazare! Seems like there aren’t too many layers over him.

Anna Hazare Logjam

2011-08-17T09:07:00.000-07:00

The government can break this logjam if it shows real sincerity. We have a potentially explosive situation in India where politician have zero credibility with people and a bullheaded Anna trying ram through a bill in parliament which itself is creation of a handful of people. What we need is some sanity. The bill presented by Anna gang can cause serious harm and bill presented by the government appears toothless. There is an ocean of gullible nation willing to throw their lot with Anna because the other side has completely lost faith of the people therefore we need another set of people who are beyond reproach, have proven wisdom and confidence of people to judge. Government should institute a panel of such people such as Amartya Sen, Narayan Murthy, some eminent judges, some top educationist and some eminent lawyers and let them go through the two versions of bills and make a compromise.

They can also utilize this great opportunity to find means to cleanse the parliament of criminals.

THE WELL

2011-01-04T22:43:00.000-08:00

An aged Neem tree by its side and cluster of decrepit single storey houses surrounding it; the well was left alone for a long time. Unused, sans pulley and the frame to hold the contraption, the brickwork rim at its head was crumbling. It was a dark well, very deep, if any water in it, you cannot see due to the contrast created by dazzling afternoon sun. There was still some moisture around the circle of wellhead. A constant stream of ants trailing from the base of Neem tree to the edge of well kept the day in perfect balance. ‘Andha KuaaN’, why it is called so, beats me! Dark has intuitive association with blindness but they are entirely two different things. Not seeing is not the same as seeing dark; blindness has no concept of color.

Then this focused woman came, look around only once. She had glazed eyes, seemed to be walking in a trance. Unhurried she walked on straight to the well, without fanfare climbed the broken brickwork of wellhead and in the same tempo carried on……….

The balance of the day was irrevocably broken.

Bodhisattva

2010-09-28T01:37:00.000-07:00

Once Bodhisattva, as Shushant, the chief of a monkey troupe had his home on a very large mango tree on the outskirt of Shravasti; the commercial town in ancient India. Every year at the beginning of summer the tree would flower and with every weary wail of cuckoo, raw fruits will spawn all over its ubiquitous branches. At the onset of monsoon the tree would be laden with luscious mangos so much so that the branches would bend with their weight. Fruits were enough to satiate his clan. Life had been one long boring but easy spell for these monkeys until a sadhu on his way to Himalaya settled down under this same tree for a brief sojourn. Monkeys couldn’t resist their inherent nature and began pestering sadhu with their antics. Sadhu suffered them for a while but realizing his tactics of ‘patience will tire these beasts’ will not work decided that monkeys needed to be stopped. He lit a fire drew fancy lines and commenced exotic ritual with chanting of mantras. His countenance gradually morphed into a stern and malevolent visage. Shushant had watched his ilk pestering sadhu, tried in vain too dissuade them but knew it to be futile to fight natural instincts. He keenly watched the effect sadhu’s act was having on his troupe. The monkeys began to gradually recede into a petrified silence by the combined effect of exotic rituals and impressive incantations. At the end of ceremony, sadhu randomly picked a monkey pointed a simmering log at him and declared, “Shadow of death hovers over you!”

Shushant immediately realized the fraud committed by sadhu but also knew for fact that the monkey will die nonetheless, unless sadhu revokes his curse. He climbed down the tree sat before the sadhu said in his quiet persuasive voice,
‘Wise Sadhu, picking someone randomly for punishment is unfair.’
‘Yes indeed, Bodhisattva from the perspective of that unfortunate soul but very fair from my perspective else won’t I look consumed by malicious urge? It is inevitable at broader level, that’s how events occur in this universe randomly yet following a set of rules. I was fair not to choose anyone out of malice. Besides, it is not a punishment but a device to obtain an immediate objective.’
‘But retribution was not your objective.’
‘It still is not my objective. All I wanted was peace to pursue my own quest. You know and I know, Bodhisattva that the monkey will not die, if he has the reason we have.’
‘Wise sage, your have achieved your objective, the primal fear now takes precedence over natural instinct for survival therefore revoke your curse.’
‘Sorry, Bodhisattva, it is not in my hand now. You have the power of reasoning why don’t you convince him of how empty the curse is!
‘No wise sage, no amount of reasoning will work in this matter. Only an elaborate ritual complete with sham incantations and thunderous repeal of curse from your own lips will be sufficient to counter kill signal already released by his mind.’
Sadhu agreed with logic of Bodhisattva. Soon the marked monkey began drifting into his own doom. In a couple of days he dramatically lost weight, juice draining out of his life. Horror of this drift was infectious to all the monkeys.’

Murder at Bareilly XII

2010-06-26T02:03:00.000-07:00

Chapter 3: Maiku
by Kali Hawa

Young Maiku always looked starved and in constant fear. He had a split personality; one that looked forward to taking risk and one that was fearful of failure, the contradiction always kept him on the edge. Maiku specialized in breaking encrypted codes on the net. He would often hack high security government and bank sites and then fear will overtake him; will quietly move away leaving no footprints. The by products of these adrenalin laced forays gave him some disturbing information which he had not bargained for, leaving him in fear of blurting it out to someone involuntarily therefore kept moving from one job to another. This constant movement did not get him good paying jobs therefore he was always short of money. Every now and then he would stay in Bareilly cooling his heels until next round of jeopardy brings misery to him. The other largely unknown characteristic of Maiku was his fear of the occult. He relied on, as well as feared tantra-mantra. The strange thing was his masochistic obsession for macabre objects relating to dark rituals, which he valued and also feared. His gullibility in such matters was phenomenal. Before coming to Bareilly he had met a tantric in Bangluru who had prophesied a large sum coming his way, the only lacunae was something brutal, gored and bloodied blocked the passage to it. This time his visit to Bareilly was tense, jittery and extremely edgy; burdened with a knowledge he did not seek and was unable to cope with ……….

Double Murder at Bareilly III

2010-06-24T22:30:00.000-07:00

Chapter 3
by Kali Hawa

Timsy

Timsy worked in a pharmaceutical company as a research assistant. The boredom of repetitive work drove her mad therefore she became aggressive adventurer in stretching boundaries of sane behaviour. She tried psychotic drugs, would embark on difficult treks and climb rugged mountains; even tried forgery, shop lifting in order to bring some excitement in her bored life. There never was any remorse for these delinquent forays she occasionally indulged in. Progressively these endeavours would bring little joy so every next time she would seek a more daring avenue to gratify her whetted appetite for that elusive sense of thrall these non-conformist ways bring to life. Once she brought kitchen knife and confronted an appalled Shaheen to etch something on her arm. Timsy presented a study in contradiction; a façade conveying a meticulous and very skilful professional at the same time clumsy and inept in mundane dealings. Only her husband knew that she would pull her hairs and cry uncontrollably in isolation after every few months, this flummoxed and confused him no end. In contrast Shaheen never had difficulty dealing with life. He had focus and aims which he progressively reached some quickly some with effort and a lot of time but there never was any confusion about the drift life was taking. While he was young these aims and goals were set for him by his parents and now they are set out of reflex thinking. He never thought about philosophical complexity of life, keeping it simple worked fine for him. He never had enough free time to worry about boredom as an issue to confront. Before coming to Bareilly he had seen Timsy in one her blue moods……….

Shashi Vader

Shashi Vader had sharp criminal mind and an animal’s consciousness for self preservation. He never worked seriously at any place and the few places he worked, he swindled the owner without any remorse. Vader had a disturbed childhood. A prosperous and ambitious father trying to set direction to the drift of his life; mostly citing his own illustrious story as an example to emulate. Murlidhar was diligent and focused person who got lucky in life. In contrast Shashi Vader had fickle mind and short attention time, the constant reminder from his father to
focus on a goal only increased his irritation and resolve to break free. He dreamed of making good but through devious means and in a very short time therefore the gambling addiction. This driving urge to teach Murlidhar a stinging lesson made him put up atrocious stakes in the game of luck. He lost mostly went back to his father shamelessly and grew angrier in each round of the vicious circle of his own
creation. Eventually an angry and exasperated Murlidhar disowned him,vowed to deny him any inheritance and willed half of every thing he had to various temple trusts and the remaining to his close and trusted friend K D Sahib in the faint hope that if Shashi Vader made amends in his wayward life then K D will suitably reward him. Vader never forgave Murlidhar or K D Sahib in fact he swindled K D Sahib when he tried to set up a legitimate car parts business for him in Bareilly. Vader soon turned that swanky office in his dealership store into a gambling den attracting the hotshots of the underworld. Business dwindled quickly but Vader assumed KD Sahib to replenish the losses in the assumption of his legitimate right to Murlidhar’s
legacy. KD completely washed hands off him. Neck deep in debts to the underworld his survival instinct led him to flee Bareilly. The news of K D Sahib leaving him undisclosed sum in his will left him in a serious dilemma………….

Double Murder at Bareilly II

2010-06-19T23:58:00.000-07:00

Chapter 2
By Kali Hawa
Sir Prabhakar sat at the head of the table, Acharyaji flanked him on his right while CP followed by Dr Bhaskar, Atiputi, Simone, E Babu and Shishir sat on the other side of the table. Next to Acharyaji sat Sarita Devi then Maiku, Dr Golu, Shaheen and in the end a mystery guy closed it. As already described Timsy sat at a skewed corner between Attorney Sangam Lal Saxena and Shishir Caulla.

The mystery guy didn’t utter a word through the meal. After casual small talk conversation veered to mystery of Shashi Vader. Acharyaji was first to offer his opinion. According to him Shashi Vader is neck deep in loans he borrowed from the loan sharks and he doesn’t think there is too much left to him by K D Saheb therefore unwilling to risk his limbs and enter Bareilly. Sir Prabhakar interjected, “Serves him right!” Dr Bhaskar embarked on character analysis of Shashi Vader. He is a restless person with streak of criminal tendencies. He lacks a sense of balance like other people that make them socially responsible therefore the reckless gambling. The realization that such acts invariably result in dreadful backlash occurs to him when it is too late. Shashi Vader was known to steal from K D Saheb’s fancy watch collections and sell them through Shishir for a pittance. Strangely K D knew this but never took forceful steps to bring Shashi Vader to responsible ways.

At this point Sangamlal Saxena coughed and sought Sir Prabhakar’s permission to begin reading relevant portion of K D Saheb’s will. All eyes now focused on the attorney. He walked over to the mantle, removed sheaf of papers from the leather bag he had left there and began reading the document in his deep baritone making every word sound crisp and clear. The dinner hall submerged in deathly silence except the ringing voice of the attorney ricocheting across the hall.

I, Kedar Dutt Caulla in full control my mental faculty assert this operating part of my will as supplement to my initial assertion already read and hopefully in execution for the past fifteen years. At this point I cannot discount a remote possibility that Shashi Vader may not have claimed the sum earmarked for him in the opening part of my will, should it be the case, that sum which now becomes imperative to be disclosed, will remain isolated and lie dormant for another one year for that scoundrel. Yes, scoundrel because I have no sympathy for that heathen but as an obligation to an old friend who came to my rescue when I truly needed his help. Without Murlidhar Vader’s help I could not have raised this small estate of which you are all beneficiary. However at the expiry of this extended period this entire sum will go to Atiputi. My attorney may please open that envelop and disclose the sum at this point of reading my will.

Sangamlal Saxena fumbled briefly, fishing out a small vanilla envelop, tore its seal and removed a small piece of paper. He began reading from it:

I, Kedar Dutt Caulla, in my full senses and in full awareness of my responsibility towards my dependents, bequeath a sum of rupees five crore to Shashi Vader…………….

Everyone began to speak together causing a brief chaotic din, when Sir Prabhakar yelled in his authoritative voice, "Quiet!” Sanity returned to the table. Sir Prabhakar continued,

But Sangamlalji, where is the money?
Prabhakar Bhai, don’t jump the gun. Let him finish the document. K D Saheb must have known what he is talking about. Most of the estate worth lies in immovable assets, there never was enough liquid cash, certainly not five crores, I believe.
You are damn right!
‘May I make a suggestion’, CP interjected. Not many liked this unscrupulous hanger on. CP had no direct stake in the estate, only through his wife but that was not the reason for the general dislike. Everyone knew Meenakshi Devi had on several occasion public asserted absolutely no interest in inheritance accruing from K D Saheb’s will, but CP was quite another fish or should we say shark!.
You shut up! Yelled Dr Golu, vicious venom spewing from her quivering voice. Everyone was surprised by the ferocity of her reaction. CP knew Dr Golu indulged in unethical medical practice. She had done some clandestine organ transplants, abortions etc. Money attracted her, no matter where it came from. E Babu had a hunch, CP was blackmailing Dr Golu.

“Please be quiet gentlemen and ladies”, urged Sangamlal, ”We may discuss the will and its complete ramification once the document is complete read. Let me assure you that the content of this document is as mysterious to me as it is too. You may as well know that the document was witnessed by my brother and a clerk of our firm both of whom have expired.”
“Yes, of course! Please continue", egged Sir Prabhakar.
Sangamlal looked around importantly, coughed once and began,

I, Kedar Dutt Caulla, in my full senses and in full awareness of my responsibility towards my dependents, bequeath a sum of rupees five crore to Shashi Vader son of my close friend Murlidhar Vader. The money will be raised by selling 1904 Imperial Bank bonds. The bonds are of face value Rs 25,000/- which were already worth five crore in 1984 and the Reserve Bank of India is obliged to honour these bonds as assignees of erstwhile Imperial Bank. The bonds are kept in a safe within the Bareilly mansion. The safe can be located by carefully deciphering the following clues.

“The known Mersenne prime numbers form the matrix of mantle.”
“The number of Bridges in the Konigsberg’s problem will be the number of matrix horizontal element from left. “
“Zeno’s motionless runner paradox divides the distance by this number to get the vertical matrix element from base”

At this point a harried Timsy entered the hall, looked around for a seat, unable to find one, she cast a helpless glance at the gathering feeling very miserable; finally went out to fetch a chair. Timsy always looked harried, bewildered and lost as her mind worked ferociously at different tasks at the same time, so when she settled down at the table she had forgotten what was going on or why she was here. When Atiputi collapsed she felt relieved at attention moving away from her. After Dr Golu was through her macabre routine the quiet stranger got up, cleared his throat and said in his gruff voice,
‘I am inspector Manmohan from CID’, flashing his ID badge, ‘please remain seated in your place while I arrange for the investigating team’. E Babu looked at him approvingly. Sir Prabhakar informed the gathering that he had requested for CID presence as he had received anonymous threat of harm over phone.

E Babu found the motley group queer, desperate and pathologically inclined to crime. Every one of them except Sarita Devi, had an agenda, need for the money and some beastly ambition to match it. The queerest of them Shashi Vader, was keeping a low profile, while Acahryaji may have been manipulating Atiputi. He made a mental note; Acharyaji for ‘Chanakya buddhi’, CP and Dr Golu for being natural criminal needed to be watched very closely. All other were capable of murder, some by manipulation and some for bizarre reasons.

Double Murder at Bareilly

2010-06-14T07:34:00.000-07:00

By Kali Hawa

The dinner table was full. Arriving late, Timsy had to pull from the lounge a plastic chair quite not melding with the mahogany furniture, set it at one corner of the table to make room for her. It wasn’t a very comforting arrangement breaking the aesthetics of the décor and as if this unbalance wasn’t quite enough, she knocked a glass on the table, spilling its content before settling down on the chair. A mixed look of despair, apology and eventually defiance crossed her countenance before freezing on a blank expression. Shaheen, her laconic husband didn’t say a word, offered a sympathetic glance as if the routine from Timsy was quite predictable. The commotion caused by Timsy came to an abrupt halt, replaced by stunned incredulousness. Atiputi had collapsed on the table, his torso slumped over the table, both hands dangling freely, foam spewing out of his mouth. Dr Golu immediately rose from her chair quickly reached collapsed Atiputi, after brief examination, declared nonchalantly, “No need to take him to hospital, morgue will suit him perfectly”. She had this uncanny knack for black humour. E Babu wasn’t paying attention to the commotion but scrutinizing every single face on the table very carefully. No one is above suspicion; he had internalized the idiom long back in his investigative career.

E Babu was guest of Caulla family gathering called to read key features of the will of the grand patriarch of Caulla clan, K D Saheb. K D Saheb had amassed a fortune in Bareilly contracting in logging the forest around the mofussil town when going green wasn’t a fad with the hoi polloi or the cognoscenti. Caulla cottage was built in the busy Rajendranagar area over plenty of land but with passage of time, area became cluttered with large and small shops mushrooming all around it. Now the Cottage alone has some open space, rest of the area, a busy but claustrophobic market place. K D’s will had some intriguing features, chief being division of estate and property to be done exactly fifteen years after his demise until then Sir Prabhakar was the sole executer of estate without any right to sell or make capital expenditure. How the division was to be done was described in a sealed envelop lying in safe custody of their attorney. Inexplicably the will earmarked an undisclosed sum for his rebellious nephew Shashi Vader even though K D never liked him while he lived. Strangely, where Shashi Vader was, nobody knew. The quantum of sum earmarked thus was also locked in an envelop lying with their lawyers had no such lock in period. Vader could have come and collected it any time he wanted. Why is Vader not coming to collect the booty, is the question that intrigued everyone in the room. E Babu had a theory; Vader was a prisoner of one of the vicious members of this household. Most of them looked brash, self centred and willing to take risk.

The only constant at Caulla lodge was a permanent guest; CP, husband of Sir Prabhakar's sister. CP was the unscrupulous machiavellian on whom Sir Prabhakar leaned heavily for advice, as a result, the estate was doing extremely badly. Sir Prabhakar had managed excellently in reducing the value of estate by three quarters in just the fifteen years and in the process made several enemies who had stake in K D’s estate. Dr Bhaskar who lived in Bareilly but not in Caulla lodge kept himself aloof from the goings on in Caulla home. He was soft spoken, not easily prone to excitement, mostly wore a blank expression but on rare occasions displayed uncontrollable raze. Dr Bhaskar was a renowned authority in exotic poisons. He particularly disliked CP for descending at his home for drinking binges. Dr Bhaskar valued his wine collection even though he was frugal consumer of alcohol. His very modern wife, Sarita Devi prided at being the only Caulla ‘bahu’ who could fluently speak English, was a Bareilly socialite who had absolutely no interest in Caulla intrigues. She was gullible and due to her tunnel focus, a prime candidate for easy manipulation by any of the villainous members of Caulla family. Acharyaji, Sir Prabhakar’s next in line sibling lived in Lucknow, had fine practice in fortune telling. He had warm demeanour, can easily hide emotions therefore difficult to rate his character. He also occasionally came to Bareilly, had an ambivalent relationship with Sir Prabhakar, but as already explained Acharyaji never revealed his emotions, was cast in Chanakya mould would sometimes raise issues of estate with Sir Prabhakar. The most pugnacious of the lot was Atiputi, very vocal and open in accusing Sir Prabhakar for complete mismanagement and squandering away estate wealth. His open book approach to life possibly cost him his life. E Babu thought Atiputi’s murder was a red herring, a stimuli to set in motion a predictable course of events that would benefit the killer.

To be Continues...........

Should Taj Mahal be preserved?

2009-02-21T01:23:00.000-08:00

Some years back I was watching this documentary in discovery channel about Angkor Vat temple complex in Cambodia. The initial pictures of discovery of the temple complex by the French showing a giant head peering at you through the thick canopy of tropical trees was breathtaking. Gradually they showed deformed edifice of temple heaving in sigh at the upheaval caused by the growing roots and branches of trees, the cracks in the walls with lush Peepul jutting out of those cracks making my imagination go wild. I wondered what the original temple would have looked like, awesome! Unfortunately the clinically restored temple did not meet my expectation, I longed to see that hidden piece of debris decaying gradually in the wilderness. I realized that restoring or preserving an historical monument is a bad idea.

We should let the Taj wither naturally. Let wild trees grow around it and in time let the minarets crumble naturally, its edifice turn and twist with every move of the roots of large trees deforming it irrevocably. Let the shining dome be partially hidden behind the thick foliage and snakes, scorpions make home in the cracks of those beautiful walls. The best strokes of genius are the strokes of nature and imagination always better than the real thing.

Let us allow these monuments live their natural life without any interference from us and then disappear. We will create new monuments in time and the cycle will continue. Every space deserves vibrant renewal.

The Fossilized Minds

2009-01-08T07:37:00.000-08:00

[There is enormous generation of wealth, stupendous growth in technology, exponential growth in knowledge, great strides made in philosophy, literature and medicine, an IT revolution going and general mellowing of mind, indeed we are living in exciting times. If there is also destitution, wide spread terrorism, mayhem and corruption, treachery and fraud and obscenely disproportionate distribution of wealth, it is no coincidence but only natural. It is human nature and latent animal instinct within us which is responsible for this mismatch. If still anybody thinks that there ever was a period in our history better than now, he must be a mad man. There are mad men in this world]

There are small coteries of largely geriatric men found in most society who look for inspiration in the past. They are generally soft spoken, articulate and scholars of ancient texts. Their needs are frugal and they set example in following the archaic moral standards. On their own they wouldn't harm a fly but can calmly order annihilation of societies. They are completely oblivious to reason and their world-view is completely focused on perceived ancient grandeur. They are the mullahs who would order amputation of limbs with complete sense detachment and they are Shankaracharyas who see no evil in sati. All windows of their mind are closed but the rear window. They peer through this window in distant past and see through impressionistic haze a glorious utopian society. They are concerned with the present moral degeneration and see salvation in the archaic morality and frozen wisdom in texts. They exist on the fringe and remain dormant like viruses, but when they do rise they explode on the scene like uncontrollable viruses and quickly lay waste a large portion of humanity and dissolve as quickly leaving a bewildered society to pick up the shattered pieces. The rise of Hitler in Germany and Ayatollah in Iran are just two examples.
They appeal to our baser instincts and play on our xenophobia, raising fears of insecurity and win our constituency. Masses, never doubting their sincerity fall for the promised windfall. In any case they appear morally straight in contrast to representatives of establishment who are perceived as corrupt and unfair. They are romantics therefore they do not encounter dilemma faced by pragmatists due to inherent contradictions in setting right today's problem with archaic means. The details never bother them, as they are happy with the big picture even though full of flaws. They brush aside all objections by shear numbers. Consider the designer shorts the RSS cadre wears in Shakhas. It reflects their rigid attitude to change.
The writings are already on the wall for anybody to see, yet the fatal attraction of any thing past, presented nicely wrapped up, blinds us to the pitfall of impending doom. If we remain passive spectators to fast rising numbers of converts to their mad logic, we shall perhaps not survive their present resurrection.

***************

The Conversation

2009-01-05T06:17:00.000-08:00

Once, while walking the desert sands,
I came across this dark man.
Curious, I asked,
“Good to see you around,
Pray, why you trail me,
In this god forsaken land?”
Amazed, he said,
“I thought it the other way round,
You’re trailing my footsteps,
Seeking company in wilderness.”
“Yes I fear the loneliness,
But do not seek togetherness,
Now I feel hunger,
Now I feel thirst,
You are lucky to have no flesh
Neither hunger nor thirst.”
“Strange to say this when hungry.
So what if I do not feel.
Nor the pleasure of flesh,
You enjoy a sumptuous meal!
Yet, I find your words so grave
Logic has a way with you,
Pregnant with deep sense.
Life being an accident.
Your words of wisdom
Weigh heavy on me,
My wit cannot defy you
No such qualms for me though,
Life I owe to the blinding glow
Sailing across the blue above
After all I am nothing,
But your shadow.

* * *

Cezanne

2008-12-15T09:53:00.000-08:00

Paul Cezanne [pronounced ‘sizaa(n)’] was arguably the most innovative and mysterious painter of all the impressionist. His works show early signs of geometric simplification of form which laid foundation for the various twentieth century movements in art. In the picture alongside you can notice cylindrical simplification of tree trunks, soothing serene color scheme and short emotional brush strokes making this uncomplicated painting extremely impressive.

Sound of Silence….

2008-12-08T05:11:00.000-08:00

[Picture along side is one of the most expressive work of art, a painting by Edvard Munch (titled 'The Scream'। Need I say more!] I saw this man holding his cell-phone to his ears tightly। He seemed as if trying to listen to faint sounds. But he was holding it for so long, he may just be listening to silence. What does silence tell us? Silence talks to us about our own self. It only holds mirror to our own weird thoughts and ideas, which sound bizarre sometimes. It makes us look intelligent and thoughtful or perhaps only intelligent and thoughtful can listen to silence. It crystallizes our thoughts, tells us of our standing in space and time and in relation to world at large. Silence tells us so much only if we care to listen.

Silence is indeed deafening in Mumbai carnage context................

Ethical Behavior and Relgion

2008-11-27T07:32:00.000-08:00

Is ethical behaviour a consequence of religion or is it our natural trait? I think we are by nature ethical and this has to do with our evolutionary development. The essential element of evolution is survival and all trajectories focus only on our ability to survive in shifting environment. Community living is also a consequence of evolution (there is safety in numbers) and ethical behaviour is necessary for the survival of community.

By this logic it seems that ethical behaviour is embedded in religion due to our basic nature and not as a consequence of it.

Surrealism

2008-10-28T07:54:00.000-07:00

At the fold of nineteenth century when a tired post-impressionism was dying, a raucous movement led by Henry Matisse, known as Fauvism (Fauve, pronounced Fa-O in French, means wild beast) characterized by bold distortion of form and use of dazzling pure colors shocked public’s sensibility. Not satisfied Marcel Duchamp moved one step ahead with Dadaism which completely outraged public's perception of art. These artists would put up things like skewed shit-pot against pristine white wall and present it as piece of sculpture. But, thankfully public's capacity to absorb shock is very brittle therefore soon fatigue set in and these movements quickly petered off. One positive spin off of this shock and awe was to energize moribund artists and goaded them to think more innovatively. Soon more sedate cubism, abstract art forms of expressionism appeared and also mystic dream like fantasy of Surrealism swept Europe.

Surrealism is about mystery, stillness of time and a dream like fantasy, something akin to Sufism in spiritual realm. The magic of surrealism never seems to fade because it is our nature. The most representative painting of Surrealism is Salvador Dali’s Persistence of Memory, you can find surrealism in literature and Photographs too. Just look for these elements; Mystery, fantasy and complete stillness!

Impressionism

2008-10-14T21:01:00.000-07:00

The smudgy strokes of molten gold are as rare as the gold itself and the azure overpowers it easily. The morning stillness hangs in balance and the only boatman ploughs his boat cautiously lest it disturb still water. Attempt of mild mist to obscure distant mountains fails tamely. In all this stillness, the sun is reduced to a mere speck.

This Claude Monet painting is representative of path breaking movement in European art the Impressionism। The name itself derives from the title of the work Impression: Soleil Levant.

Babar

2008-10-10T21:50:00.000-07:00

[Legend has it that when Humayun was down on deathbed, Babar circled his bed three times and prayed to Allah to spares his son's life in exchange for his own. Soon Humayun recovered but Babar inexplicably fell sick and died ]

Now extremely frail, just a bundle of bones wrapped in thin dry wrinkled skin, Humayun was fast slipping irrevocably towards the end. One by one ace medicine men of Babar began to beg excuse of emperor at the same time advising him to invoke mercy of Almighty Allah. That seemed to be only hope for them to revive terminally ill Humayun. At first Babar felt anger at their utter incompetence and threw them into the gallows, yet they would come and seek his excuse oblivious to their fate for they could see the writing on the wall. Soon, however, Babar too reconciled to inevitable his anger giving way to frustration. This was a completely new situation for him, baffling and confusing, for he had always been in control of his life in good times or bad times. He was truly self-made. He had arrived at his position through deft use of his uncanny sense of timing and the power of the blade of his sword. Successes and victories to him were merely logical conclusions of his efforts therefore did not make him euphoric, just as setbacks and reverses were rationalized as errors of judgement and did not cause any depression in him as there was always another time to make amends. He was brave and persistent and his, this ability had brought him to his present position of power, without ever looking at anyone for support. This had instilled in him super confidence at his ability to get what he wanted therefore he had never known to beg for anything from anyone not even Allah. Never in his life he had felt helpless but now with every painful sigh of his son he began to cringe at the thought of loosing his only son. This being absolutely new experience, he did not know how to respond. Initially he threw his medicine men to the gallows but soon realized utter futility of his action. Not knowing what to do, he followed the only thing that was there to do., pray to Allah for his son's life. Now completely drained, his sharp practical mind fogged and in a state of delirium he began to circle his son's bed softly uttering,
"Lord Almighty, spare my son, take my life instead," the deal maker aspect of his persona still active in his subconscious.

Soon he collapsed and blacked out. Then he heard a voice in his head,
"You don't think Allah has anything to with your son's illness? Do you! Why do you make it so complicated, won't random occurrence of events much simpler to explain."
Surprised at this, words came out of his mouth involuntarily,
"O Lord, All mighty Allah, you run this universe, all that happens in his qayanat has your sanction. Random occurrence of events without objective boggles our mind and makes the world senseless "
"That’s a sweeping statement, however later on that, but wouldn't In that case there must be valid reason for his sickness. After all there must be order in this disorder, Allah couldn't be whimsical."
"Who am I to question your wisdom Lord, there must be valid reason for all your actions. You are merciful and have the ability to make anything happen."
"And what happens to the reason for which Humayun is sick if He concedes your request?"
"Surely the reason stands, some one has to come forward and take it upon himself to bring it to logical conclusion. Since the cause is not known to this creature but the affect is obviously illness of Humayun leading to his death, I submit myself to carry out the effect."
"You make it as if the actions are transferable besides even if it is transferable, won't it be an unequal exchange?"
"Unequal! Why O Lord?"
"You are much older than your son, aren’t you? So your remaining life is much shorter than your son's, besides the quality of life is substantially different. You offer a shorter and a weak old man's life in exchange for a longer and a young man's life."
"That's true Lord, but you could make my death that much painful to even out the anomaly."
"That's very interesting. Why should pain compensate for length of life and its quality? Human suffering is creation of humans only, pain on the other hand is merely a message for your body. You make it, as if, Allah is not Allah but a sadistic lowly satrap, who derives pleasure out of seeing humans degrading themselves. Strangely you assign noble attributes to God and go on to treat Him in just the opposite way."
"Mercy my Lord! Never thought it that way. In spiritual world material things don't count yet when we part with them for an exchange in mundane world it leads to subtle suffering. I was merely drawing a parallel from physical to spiritual world. Since suffering and satisfaction is common feature of exchange I was expect that the satisfaction of seeing my son survive could be compensated with my suffering"
"This is ridiculous. Mundane exchanges involve tangibles with differing perception of values. Each of the party perceives value of other party's item more than the value of his own item that is why exchange takes place. The same principle applies to intangibles too. Why should anyone see any value in pain and suffering at all?"
"I don't seem to have logic to contest you Lord Almighty, but we humans are immotional people and often do things impulsively. Logic in any case wins arguments on relative basis depending on the skill and knowledge of individual. How can I compete with you? To us suffering and pain is symbolic of sacrifice. I give what I have and I do so impulsively therefore O Lord of the Universe accept it."

"You have dug your own grave. Humans are strange, aren’t they! If you make them happy they wouldn't believe, it is real. They perceive reality from suffering and pain. They make simple explanations complicated to enhance their own importance in the universe. "
"Oh merciful Allah, I seek death in exchange for my son's life not because I have death-wish."
"Don't call me Allah. I am not Allah. "
"What should I call you Lord?"
" Why don't you understand, I am not Allah or God or anything supernatural. I am your own image, your sub-conscious self. I am your ego, your free spirit, your eternal soul. Your son could yet be cured on his own, but if you will not recognize me and continue to confuse me with Allah, you will die irrespective of whether Humayun survives or not."

Strange thing happened. It wasn't miracle but just a random occurrence, Humayun, developed required antibodies against the decease. Once that happened his recovery was very quick and startling. At the same time Babar began to wither. Believing firmly in God's interference he expected to die in exchange for his son's life. This firm belief autosuggested his brain to send terminate signals all over. One by one his organs began to fail eventually he too succumbed to his own will.

* * * *

The Nemesis

2008-10-03T23:42:00.002-07:00

This was a lazy afternoon, a hot uncomfortably warm April afternoon. Weary and bored E.Babu stretched his arms, took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, releasing with the breath the creeping lethargy he felt in the office doing nothing. He stood up and walked over to the window. Peering down the window from his fourth floor office, he could see to his left, Mohammed Ali road leading up to Bhendi Bazaar and to his right as far as the Byculla Bridge, if he craned his neck far enough. Mohammed Ali road ran parallel along the length of his office block though right below his office he could see only the far side of the road due to projection over the Windows of lower floors. The traffic below now was much less chaotic than in the mad morning rush of people trying to reach office in time. There were no unnecessary honking of horns or pushing and jostling to get ahead. The afternoon traffic was much more disciplined, leaner and quieter. As E.Babu was scanning the traffic casually, he saw a funeral procession silently moving up in his direction far in distance near the Bhendi Bazaar. The men looked pensive and grim in their white kurta-pyjama and round white caps. They were carrying the body covered in a green and red fabric decorated with glistening foils, tinsels and real flowers. There were six men carrying the fully draped body placed on a bamboo frame wedged over their shoulders. The entire procession seemed noiselessly floating towards him rather than walking as if a light paper boat gently pushed in quite still water moving out of force of its inertia. By appearance and the attire of the men, it was a Muslim funeral procession. Soon they were near enough for E.Babu to have a clearer view of the body. Now he could see the profile of a human form under the heavily flower laden cover. Something appeared to him bizarre about the body. He saw it simmering like images you see over burning hot roads in summers. It wasn’t such a hot afternoon, perhaps a little uncomfortable. He looked at the body curiously, which was now a lot closer to him. It was a bizarre sight indeed. He saw a strange quivering simmering vision. Just a few inches above the body, there were two human figures arguing and occasionally pushing each other while a crouching man with snow-white beard at the head of corpse looked at them amusedly. The man turned his head and looked straight at him. Involuntarily he hid his face behind the wall. Immediately realizing his folly, he again looked at the corpse sheepishly, which was now quite close at the road below him. He chided himself for the act and looked at the scene down below with a lot more positive aggression expecting to see a perfectly normal funeral procession passing by. He was surprised to see the same simmering transparent animated images suspended above the body of dead person. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief, peeled them wide to have a clearer view, it made no difference. The images were very real. He felt a wave of fear surge through his whole body. All this while the crouching bearded man seemed to be looking at him intently. He felt a momentary blackout and then heard someone talking to him inside his head without any audible sounds.

“What do you think?”

Surprised he looked curiously around him and then at the bearded man, who nodded his head in acknowledgement. He kept quite.

“What do you think, E.Babu?"
“What do you mean? What is going on out there?” E.Babu called out.

“Well, this person lying dead under the ornate cover is Jamal Ahmed. Apparently he led a boring average life, therefore sum total of his sins against his good acts end up in a dead heat except a rare incident, which is the cause of argument between these blokes you see at the base of the corpse. The fellow with tiny horns on his head is from hell while the fellow with wings and a shining ring above his head is from heaven. They both agree about extremely dull existence of Jamal, what they are unable to agree on is whether his one act of aberration was morally good or bad.”

“Isn’t an average person regarded as sinner?”
“No!”
“So, what happens to him?”
“I don’t know. All the sacred books say that if you sin you go to hell and if you do good you go to heaven. None tells about a guy’s fate who is exactly in the middle, zero balance person.”
“What is the dispute?”
“Well, Jamal once gambled and won some cash, he did not keep the cash though. He gave it all to a charity. These two gentlemen are unable to agree on totality of action if in its entirety it was morally correct or wrong.”
“Isn’t this a farce?”
“Why?”

“ I mean the whole concept of stick and carrot, reward and punishment and hell and heaven does not make any sense.”
“It makes sense to me.”

“I mean the basis of reward and punishment is very brittle and stands on our sense of feeling pain and pleasure. But pain and pleasure are only relative to our physical existence in this world. Therefore if a hell or a heaven exists it has to exist in this world only. Parameters of existence beyond death, if there is any, are bound to be qualitatively different, otherwise death, as an interface to such existences has no meaning. Without a physical body the kind we have in this world, there is no way one can feel the pain or the pleasure, besides both feeling of pain and pleasure evolved as necessary tools for our survival. That pain and pleasure are used as tools of retribution and reward is merely a by-product of cultural evolution and not the needs of our survival kit”, said E.Babu.

“Assuming that pain and pleasure can be experienced only with a physical body and also granting that after life necessarily have different sets of parameters, still something akin to pain and pleasure will replace them. After all, thread of continuity has to link the two lives to make adjustments and corrections. Agreed though, hell and heaven have clear stamp of human imagination but something similar has to exist.”

“Not just human imagination, but the very concept is not tenable on other arguments too. For example our morality, on which the foundation of good and evil are laid, itself is transient Therefore what is regarded as good today may not be good some time later and similarly sins of today may not necessarily be sins some time in future. As we know sati was once an act of high morality just as child marriage a socially accepted virtue. By the way, who are you? Jamal Ahmed!”
“I am Maya”
“Maya?”
“Maya! You know the illusion.”
“Oh, I always thought Maya to be a woman.”
“Funny, you thought so, illusion to be either man or woman.”

E.Babu felt yet another momentary blackout. This time when he came to sense he found himself peering down the window at Mohammed Ali road. He said aloud, “What a vision in the middle of an afternoon. Maya, indeed Maya.” He chuckled. As he turned away from the window, he felt a sharp pain in his chest and collapsed.

He felt very light, in fact completely weightless and floating above the floor. He saw from high above grim and anxious faces of his colleagues carrying his body on a stretcher. There at the back of the stretcher he saw the quivering transparent images of the two fellows floating and trailing the body arguing over his fate.

The Crimson Haze

2008-10-01T09:42:00.000-07:00

CP had slowed down considerable, all his senses on hyper alert looking for any signs of approaching faint lights or sounds to avoid any contact with anything moving. The thick white fog, which had descended rather suddenly, was quite unusual. Normally wet weather is not conducive to formation of fog but climate is specific to a region and frankly he was not familiar with this part of the world. He could still see damp slushy maroon earth on both the sides of narrow raised road half a meter above the stretched paddy fields on either side. The soft music playing on his car stereo made no difference to the all round gloom. Soon it will be dark, CP became apprehensive that at the rate he was moving, there was no way he could make it to Bareilli before nightfall. He looked at his watch, it showed half past five, but that was no consolation in this weather. His eyes drifted towards the glove compartment on the dashboard, was instantly annoyed at seeing bold ‘CP’ printed at the compartment lid. He had never liked his name, CP was merely an acceptable compromise which he encouraged but only as a compromise to more loathsome Chandar or Chandar Prakash. He wished he had a perkier name like his spiritual guru E.Caulla, whom he was on way to see. ‘Chandar Prakash’ sounded juvenile, lacked luster even though it meant moonlight and certainly did not reflect his cautious and slow analytical personality but then it was not in his hand to alter his name. All this while he was alert as always even though his thoughts were on a rather annoying subject. Suddenly he saw some thing, which drew his attention, something sprawled on the ground on his side of the road. If this was clear weather and he was speeding down the road he might have completely missed the strange object on the road but he was driving very slowly and his senses were on hyper alert.. He immediately brought his car to stop and slowly backed off to the place he had seen the curious object. He parked the car on the side as far off the road as he could and then took his flashlight out of the glove compartment and began walking towards the strange object sprawled on the wet paddy field near the road. There was still sufficient light so flashlight was not really needed nevertheless, he did it on reflex. He jumped off the high road to the wet paddy field below and approached the murky body, which looked like an adult unconscious person sprawled on the ground face down. When he went near the body he realized that the man was beyond any help. His head sheared, lying next to his dead torso. There were streams coagulated blood which had slowly diffused in the soil before hardening. The man must have been dead for quite some time now. CP looked at his watch, few minute to hit the six o’clock so he decided to leave the corpse as it is and call the police from nearest telephone.

Now there was some urgency in his driving but not the casualness. His senses were as alert as they were earlier. Soon enough he reached a muddy road branching off presumably to a nearby village. He turned the car on the branch road unmindful of damage it may cause to his car. A quarter mile up the dirt road he saw first signs of habitation. A silhouette of well-structured cottage surrounded by a high wall was the first dwelling he saw at the outskirts of what seemed to be a well off village. He stopped the car at the gate of the cottage and looked at the nameplate, it said “Judge Sahay”. This is queer, he mumbled. Is this a name or title and name! As the light was falling, he hastily pressed the bell. There was no activity, as he waited impatiently. He pressed the buzzer again, longer this time. Soon he heard some one shouting in annoyance, “Come in Saxena, the door is open.”
Bewildered, CP opened the gate, walked up the drive and gently knocked at the door. Again there was no sound, but a gently nudge revealed the door was open. He entered the room and announced mildly, “Hello! Anybody home.”
This time he heard footfalls approaching the living room. Soon a graying but robust man radiating authority walked in. He seemed surprised at seeing a stranger, apparently he was expecting someone. He said mildly, ”Well, who are you?”
CP said, “Sir, I am a police officer. Could I use your telephone, there is an emergency.”
A wry smile materialized on the man’s face, “Phone’s don’t work in this part of the world, gentleman. I am Judge Sahay. What is the emergency, I may help perhaps.”

“Look at our feet, stranger, “ barked Judge Sahay, noticing CP’s mud splattered shoes.
“Sorry!’ whispered CP realizing his folly, he backed off immediately. Out side the room, he vigorously rubbed his shoes on the doormat and then re-entered the room looking sheepish, he said,
“What a pity, I had to report a dead body, Justice Sahay.”
“A dead body! That’s not an emergency, officer.”
“A body with its head sheared off on the high way. A murder, Justice Sahay.”
“Oh! A murder! On the highway! Now this is becoming rather monotonous I am afraid. Is the dead man wearing a scarlet windcheater? By the way, call me Judge Sahay, everybody does the same here.
“Yes, indeed. The fiery red windcheater had actually attracted my attention even in this thick fog,” said CP completely taken by surprise.
“You have not encountered a murder but a serial murder. And officer, do you have a name!”
“Er, well! Sir, I am CP”, he paused and then continued, ”Chandar Prakash to be precise Judge Sahay.”
“I guess your friends call you CP, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right Judge Sahay.” CP, meanwhile noticed a dinning table set up with an array of neat glasses placed upside down with a sealed bottle of whisky and a couple of other assorted bottles of liqueurs in preparation of what appeared to be a small get-together. He continued,” I see that I have intruded into a planned celebration, Judge Sahay?”
“You have indeed, CP, but you are welcome to join. You will here some very interesting things from my guests about the serial murders I am talking about. Meanwhile I see there is nothing you can do about that emergency of yours in this inclement weather. Anyway, this fog will not disappear until the morning therefore you may as well be my guest for the night. It is early yet, the other guests will not be here till 9 PM, so you can make yourself comfortable. If you are cold, help yourself to a stiff Brandy.” The Judge disappeared in to the kitchen.
CP made himself a stiff whisky and gulped it down. He then ran down the drive, opened the gates wide and brought in his car. And again closed the gate. He was temporarily satisfied with the arrangement. There was no way he could drive in this weather and Judge Sahay’s placed looked most promising to spend the night. Yet something was strange and eerie around here, may be because of gloomy weather, he thought but was not quite satisfied with his own reasoning. Fear, the word crossed his mind, he shook his head in surprise.

. First to arrive was a scowling aging lanky and tall individual walking with a pointed cane seemingly at war with the world. Immediately on arrival he yelled,” Banwari!”, baring his past high ranking government status, the type having ”Koii hai” kind of mentality. He took instant dislike to CP, his scowl getting even more pronounced. He made no effort to camouflage his feeling, said loudly in a mocking voice,” Well, well, we have a visitor .and an extremely dirty door mat” The racket caused by the man brought Judge Sahay to the living room.
“Eh, Saxena, why this gentleman is a stranded police officer. I am afraid you will have to make do without Banwari. He is off to his village for a couple of days. Help yourself, I will be with you in a while.” He disappeared into the house.

Saxena made a stiff whisky for himself and took seat directly opposite CP. CP decided to reciprocate antagonism with even more hostility, after all he was a police officer not many take him so lightly. They both sat facing each other in awkward silence peering intently in their respective drinks. After some ten minutes another visitor arrived. He was quite the opposite of Saxena in manner and temperament. He was short and round, wore kurta and dhoti, had applied large tilak on his forehead. He cheerfully acknowledged CP’s presence,
“Ah! We have a visitor today, how nice. This will make the evening interesting.”
“Acharyaji, you are late today. Did you notice the mud at the door mat,” said Saxena.
“Indeed Sir Prabhakar, guess this rain has loosened the soil. Looks like Banwari is not attending to his chores properly. Where is the good Doctor?” Then turning to CP he said,
“I am Sharma,” then added for effect” Shubhakar.” He took seat next to him. CP was puzzled, Judge Sahay called the pugnacious man Saxena while this amiable man whom Saxena called Acharyaji, calls him Sir Prabhakar. He briefly informed Sharma reason for his presence there. Soon Judge Sahay joined them.
“Acharyaji, I will need your help in kitchen. As regards Saxena and Doctor the less said the better,” he said helping himself to a soda and scotch. He then cleared his throat and said in a deep baritone,
“CP here “ pointing towards CP,” has found yet another body with severed head. Obviously severing of head is amateurish attempt on the part of assassin to derail the investigation but few minutes at the post-mortem investigation will reveal Vader died of poisoning. Yes, He is Shashi Vader, the officer will vouch for that.” He looked in CP’s direction.
“If you allude to scarlet windcheater, then yes the corpse had a red windcheater on”
At this moment they heard mild knock at the door then a dark bearded gentleman entered.
“Dr. Bhaskar, you are beyond redemption. I give up,” said Judge Sahay.

Dr.Bhaskar was a dark, bearded and studious fellow having an easy laid back life style. He was a person of few words not used to raising his voice but very persuasive. He wasn’t a physician but a retired professor of psychology from the famous Berrieli Collage and that partly explained his quiet persuasiveness. He was a mild drinker but smoked heavily. He set for himself soda and gin, greeted everybody with a smile briefly glancing at CP interestedly then settled down next to Judge Sahay. Acharyaji spoke first after the interruption caused by arrival of Dr.Bhaskar,
“The fellow had it coming. I say these young yuppie types have no regard for their own glorious cultural heritage. They are the kind, who bring disgrace to society. I do not think he was poisoned. I strongly believe he was strangled.”
Dr.Bhaskar cleared his throat, sending signal to be filled in on the subject of discussion. Judge Sahay repeated the whole incident briefly then threw the question,
“Who could have killed the fellow?”
“Every man is a potential killer,” instead of replying, Dr.Bhaskar made that enigmatic statement puffing on his cigar. Dr.Bhaskar’s replies were crisp and terse often of general nature rather than specific. CP began to assemble a discernable picture from the bits of conversation around him. This coterie of queer individuals often met at Judge Sahay’s house. The common feature of their interest was crime and deliverance of justice. This Vader fellow was here a few days when they had a similar conclave. From there conversation he could now vaguely draw caricature of Vader. Apparently Vader was a ruthless FMCG salesman with focus on rural marketing. He stomped the villages around here in his motorbike selling sundry commodities. Seems he had a pathological fixation on guarding his turf. His motorbike breakdown near Judge Sahay’s house so like him he too sought help from Judge Sahay and was invited join their gathering just like happened with him. Eventually these four men had systematically peeled every layer of his personas and what emerged was quite grotesque. Vader had a turbulent childhood. He was diminutive and frail that made him prime target of young bullies. One particular kid who was a relentless bullying died in tragic circumstances that left deep scars on his psyche. This bully died in a bizarre accident in which Vader fatally injured him with an arrow. Dr.Bhaskar later ripped apart Vader defenses to make him concede that he had practiced shooting of arrows prior to this incident but Vader had remained adamant that the incident had been purely an accident. When they had left him last he was shaken and doubtful. His thought train was broken by Dr.Bhaskar’s rare monologue,
“Vader was adept at persistently suppressing and blacking out unpleasant facts which did not meld with his conscious persona, that caused innumerable subconscious conflicts in mind. There is always a possibility of suicide …..”

Instinctively CP began to discern a dangerous pattern in Dr.Bhaskar’s technique of autosuggestion. Suddenly he felt that all four of them were playing a kind of macabre game. May be one of them is a pathological killer. He looked around him and decided Sir Prabhakar is unlikely to be subtle murderer, on the other hand Acharyaji wouldn’t kill any one himself. He was most likely to find a faithful zombie to carry out his mission. Judge Sahay and Dr.Bhaskar are most dangerous to pin down. He felt his own life is in serious danger and then realized that there was complete silence in the room. They were all eagerly looking at him. As looked at them bewildered Judge Sahay repeated helpfully,
“We were saying CP, you too might have killed people in course of your duty perhaps. After all you are in the police.”
CP decided to be very very careful with this criminal lot. He said presently,
“I have an investigative job therefore I have been assaulted several times.”
Judge Sahay said soothingly,
“You mistake CP, no offence of course. What we meant was if you had killed someone in self-defense. We, of course, did not have murder in our mind.”
“No, never,” said CP dryly. He had no wish to become subject of their discussion. But they persisted.
“Of course, of course,” said Acharyaji then added slyly,” Have you come across unnatural death at any time in life!’

“Depends what you consider unnatural death. I have been to city morgue several times in connection with my investigation,” said CP unhelpfully yet he wasn’t ready to annoy them and provoke into something. He was by now veering towards an opinion about seedy character of this gathering but not quite convinced though. He was intrigued by the swings in their approach sometimes soft some times brutally candid.
Dr.Bhaskar said.
“What is your most profound recollection, something very poignant like untimely death of a very dear person?”
“I have no such recollection, no tormenting memories if that is what you mean, “ said CP adding,” fortunately!”
“Eh! Yes, yes of course. Your parents, aren’t they alive?”
“Yes they are, very much so,” said CP showing traces of annoyance.
“And your grand parents? As a child you were very fond of them, weren’t you?”
“ I was indeed. Unfortunately they died a long time ago.”
“As a child it must have shocked you as it should indeed you being fond of them.”
“Grandma died in village far away I have no recollection of that. Grandpa died from a heart attack, I guess that rattled me,” CP was surprised saying that.
“He lived with for a while for you to remember all this. A long time back I guess,” said Judge Sahay.
“ And he would send you on minor errands, “ Dr.Bhaskar added.
“Yes indeed, now that you describe this so graphically. He used to give me ten paise to fetch a packet of beeri and two sticks of Panama cigarettes from nearby pan shop,” said CP lost in reminiscence.
“And sometimes it would irritate you, naturally!”

“Yes, always two Panama sticks and bundle of beeri. He wouldn’t deviate on that ever even if I had to go out many times. I didn’t like that,” said CP enthusiastically. But the trap was began to tighten without his realizing. Now they were making very helping suggestion as if hypnotizing him.
“You say your grand father was frail and weak, did your parents discourage him to walk up the stairs, may be in regard to his weak heart, “ suggested Judge Sahay.
“Yes you are right. Now I remember we had small room on the first floor we called it Barsati. Those days houses had high ceilings therefore the stairs up to ceiling were tiresome for Grandpa. The Doctor had strictly forbidden him to climb stairs. He was not allowed to climb up to Barsati. I would often run up the stairs to avoid his frequent errands. “

By now it was very late. There was complete stillness about the house some kind of disturbing eerie silence apart from the conspiratorial whispers of those old men. CP seemed to be in some kind of trance flowing along the suggestive path led by the men. Sir Prabhakar, who was quite silent all this while took over from Judge Sahay, said in a surprisingly different tone, his voice quivering,

“Grandpa died in Barsati. It was a cold winter day. He had sent you to the shop, I guess at least twice to get those cigarettes and beeri. You didn’t like that one bit and were very unhappy. I think it was afternoon. There was no one in the house save young CP. Grandpa was talking to neighbor said goodbye to him and knocked at the door. Sulking CP didn’t open the door. As I said it was cold outside, so Grandpa had no option but to climb up the stairs. He was found dead much later. Of course nobody was blamed.” After a brief silence Sir Prabhakar continued rising from his seat,
“It is now getting late. I guess time to call it a day now.”
Ashen faced CP looked completely lost in thought. One by one they all began to rise. Abruptly CP said,
“Wasn’t winter. It was a very hot day in summer.”
“Of course of course!” they chorused in sympathy.

When a morose, shaken and completely deflated CP saw Dr.Bhaskar heading for toilet, he followed him stealthily. When away from the eyesight of others he confronted him with the question,
“Is Sir Prabhakar a schizophrenic?”

This startled Dr.Bhaskar. CP saw first sign of crack developing in enamel like façade of Dr.Bhaskar. Showing first sign of anxiety Dr.Bhaskar said anxiously,
“But they all are schizophrenic! Look if they saw me talking to you in the dark, I am dead meat.” Then emphatically gesturing him to use the toilet first he retreated to the living room.
Later CP saw them huddled together in an animated discussion.

Avaricious Atiputi Cerma couldn’t stop gloating over the windfall. He was assigned a thoroughly dull and tedious audit of IT department when suddenly this message to audit UP Nal Koop Nigam (UP Tube Well Corp.) came his way. Now anybody who has any knowledge of audit knows what a gold mine it was to audit most corrupt of the state’s undertaking. So first thing the next day he firmed up the tour lest authority changed his mind. Now he was heading towards Bareilli in the corporation’s van. As they were nearing the destination the van was blocked by smashed a red Maruti 800 lying in the middle of the road. Some shepherd kids were vigorously gesticulating towards the treetop of a nearby Peepul tree. Atiputi Cerma came out of the van and looked in the direction of the tree. He was shocked to see a bloodied man with multiple stab wounds was hanging from the tree. Shaken he looked inside the smashed car, he could still see bold CP embossed on the dashboard. He immediately returned to his van barked swift instruction to driver to maneuver the van from the side of the car and speed off from this site.

* * * * *

For away, Sir Prabhakar watching the preceding through a powerful binoculars said resignedly,
“I told you, this rascal can only be trapped by monetary inducement. He speeding away from the scene as if Huns are after him.”