MAJOR Rajiv Verma crawled through snow, shells and minefields - the terrain was treacherous but there was no looking back. He had to keep crawling to reach the other side of the snowy ridge, which was a safe zone for Indian soldiers.
Rajiv had been left behind... being hit by shrapnel, he had lain unconscious beneath a thorny bush. When he had regained his senses, it was already dusk. Realising what had happened, Rajiv lost no time and started crawling forward. The injury on his shoulder had made his limbs stiff and had restricted his movements.
Somehow Rajiv had to make it to the other side of the ridge to avoid being captured or shot dead. Night was approaching fast; incessant mortar fire and gunshots filled the air with rancid smoke as he prepared himself to meet his destiny. Although he was not afraid to die for his country, he would never give up without a fight.
In the midst of gunfire, Rajiv distinctly heard the crunch of heavy boots inching closer to him. Looking up, Rajiv found himself staring into the eyes of an enemy soldier who had his rifle pointed at him.
A shiver ran down his spine and before he could gather his wits, Rajiv clearly saw the silhouette of a Sikh army officer emerging from the shadows. Even in the gathering darkness, Rajiv could not miss the bravery in his eyes.
Abruptly turning around to face Rajiv, the Sikh officer growled his orders, “Get away my son, quick! Before the enemy gets you!” Unable to disobey the stern orders of an unknown officer on a desolate battlefield, Rajiv crawled on with all his energy towards his destination - the other side of the ridge.
The war was long since over. Rajiv had to go on an inspection duty to a nearby army base. It was an hour’s drive to the base into where duty awaited him. On stepping into the corridor leading to the main hall, he received a jolt and stood staring at a framed photograph of the Sikh officer he had encountered on the battlefield. Even in the photograph, his eyes shone with a rare brilliance. Colonel Ranbir Shekhawat had died in action during the Indo-Pak war.
Somewhere afar the bugle sounded and Major Rajiv Verma’s hand went up in a salute to his surreal benefactor.
Showing posts with label STORIES. Show all posts
Showing posts with label STORIES. Show all posts
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Eggs
RAHUL wakes up. He has just felt a tickling sensation, as if something is moving over his body. But it is dark inside his bedroom. Even his sharp eyes are blinded by it.
Rahul gropes for his mobile-phone. He gets it, flashes it on his legs, then on his entire bed, the floor, the walls. There’s nothing.
Maybe a roach. Time to spray something and get rid of them. He gets back to sleep.
And wakes up minutes later with an even more irritating sensation. The feeling this time is somehow spreading upwards — from feet to thighs to waist… Rahul half-opens his eyes, his brain dulled by sleep, mind not receptive enough. He tries to move his legs and cannot — his legs are too heavy, not quite his own appendages.
Rahul comes to his senses. A strapping boy of 17, he doesn’t fear many things in the world. He attempts to summon all his strength, trying hard to turn his body and get rid of the pest, but utterly fails.
The creatures start clawing and nibbling him all over. There is a number of them — two, three, and four— increasing every moment. Rahul loses count of them. He finds his body under seize. Their icy touch makes him shivers. He hears a weird and unearthly whisper. Rahul feels almost suffocated. His tongue dries up, lips quiver. He manages to press a bed switch for light. And what he sees makes his flesh crawl — hundreds of little tortoises crawling all over the bed and the floor. They are coming out, in quick succession, of a big plastic container under the bed, their heads sticking out, eyes fixed on Rahul.
Rahul closes his eyes and hollers.
Rahul’s mother comes running. Just as she enters his room all the tortoises are gone. Rahul points at the jar and narrates his tale, “Yesterday I chanced to catch some tortoises and collected some eggs. Seems that they had hatched.” “Shame on you,” was all his mother would say.
Rahul gropes for his mobile-phone. He gets it, flashes it on his legs, then on his entire bed, the floor, the walls. There’s nothing.
Maybe a roach. Time to spray something and get rid of them. He gets back to sleep.
And wakes up minutes later with an even more irritating sensation. The feeling this time is somehow spreading upwards — from feet to thighs to waist… Rahul half-opens his eyes, his brain dulled by sleep, mind not receptive enough. He tries to move his legs and cannot — his legs are too heavy, not quite his own appendages.
Rahul comes to his senses. A strapping boy of 17, he doesn’t fear many things in the world. He attempts to summon all his strength, trying hard to turn his body and get rid of the pest, but utterly fails.
The creatures start clawing and nibbling him all over. There is a number of them — two, three, and four— increasing every moment. Rahul loses count of them. He finds his body under seize. Their icy touch makes him shivers. He hears a weird and unearthly whisper. Rahul feels almost suffocated. His tongue dries up, lips quiver. He manages to press a bed switch for light. And what he sees makes his flesh crawl — hundreds of little tortoises crawling all over the bed and the floor. They are coming out, in quick succession, of a big plastic container under the bed, their heads sticking out, eyes fixed on Rahul.
Rahul closes his eyes and hollers.
Rahul’s mother comes running. Just as she enters his room all the tortoises are gone. Rahul points at the jar and narrates his tale, “Yesterday I chanced to catch some tortoises and collected some eggs. Seems that they had hatched.” “Shame on you,” was all his mother would say.
The Figure
JULIE was leafing through her biology scrapbook. She was supposed to write an essay on houseflies and complete the labelling and descriptions. She was putting in much care and effort, trying to live up to the standards her aunt Bidisha, a professor, had set for her.
Aunt Bidisha looked somewhat like an insect herself. She wore large spectacles, was reed thin and had straggly hair. In spite of her slight build, however, the learned aunt was a personification of unbridled energy. She was always doing one thing or another.
Aunt Bidisha would come the day after to check her scrapbook before she finally submitted it at school. Now all she had to do was draw a fly and describe it. While doodling the first outlines on the page, Julie observed a curiouslooking fly getting itself perched at the corner of the page. It seemed to be somewhat critically looking at its image being reproduced on paper. Julie yawned.
“It won’t be a good idea,” said a familiar voice, jolting Julie to her senses. The voice was her aunt’s, but the speaker was certainly not she. Once awake, the thing that arrested Julie’s attention was a fly; only it was as large as a human being. Julie was about to say, “Yes aunty, what do you say about the diagram?” but the words died on her lips.
The insect seemed to be introspective. “Do not ever experiment with flies. It doesn’t pay off. Look what has happened to me,” said Bidisha-fly.
“You begin with a diagram and you end up being the subject of it,” the creature that once was her aunt was losing its voice fast, degenerating into shrieks and croaks. “Why are you crying Julie?” asked aunt Bidisha, who was sitting at her desk, evidently impressed by the diagram. “Wake up! It’s good!” she said, “I’m proud of you.”
Aunt Bidisha looked somewhat like an insect herself. She wore large spectacles, was reed thin and had straggly hair. In spite of her slight build, however, the learned aunt was a personification of unbridled energy. She was always doing one thing or another.
Aunt Bidisha would come the day after to check her scrapbook before she finally submitted it at school. Now all she had to do was draw a fly and describe it. While doodling the first outlines on the page, Julie observed a curiouslooking fly getting itself perched at the corner of the page. It seemed to be somewhat critically looking at its image being reproduced on paper. Julie yawned.
“It won’t be a good idea,” said a familiar voice, jolting Julie to her senses. The voice was her aunt’s, but the speaker was certainly not she. Once awake, the thing that arrested Julie’s attention was a fly; only it was as large as a human being. Julie was about to say, “Yes aunty, what do you say about the diagram?” but the words died on her lips.
The insect seemed to be introspective. “Do not ever experiment with flies. It doesn’t pay off. Look what has happened to me,” said Bidisha-fly.
“You begin with a diagram and you end up being the subject of it,” the creature that once was her aunt was losing its voice fast, degenerating into shrieks and croaks. “Why are you crying Julie?” asked aunt Bidisha, who was sitting at her desk, evidently impressed by the diagram. “Wake up! It’s good!” she said, “I’m proud of you.”
The Divination
THE year was 1986.She could not find her name even on the second list of candidates for MA — English Literature under the University of Calcutta. A shaft of remorse and dejection sliced through her heart. Her whole was crumbling like a pack of cards. The only string of hope she was clinging to was also on the point of snapping. She felt despondency spiralling within her.
S h e d - ding copious tears and wallowing in self-pity, she was u s h e re d in by her sister into an empty classroom the door of which was left ajar. A shabbily clad elderly man was sitting on a desk with his feet dangling.
The man asked why she was crying so much. She was too choked up to speak. After looking at her for a while he said, “Don’t cry, my child. Your name will be there on the third list.” He simply exuded compassion and warmth.
Flooded with waves of sudden relief, she approached the clerk at the university office counter and asked him about the third list. He simply stated that the second list was the final one.
Her hopes were dashed. Her sister, who had got through, started attending classes.
A month went by. She had taken up a correspondence course under a lesser known University registered under the University Grants Commission.
One afternoon, while she was busy helping her m o t h e r with household chores, her sister returned from the university to break the news that her name had appeared on the third list and that she should get herself admitted the very next day. She burst into a crow of joy. How could this be possible?
She later came to know that no third list had ever appeared in any stream either before or after this incident.
She never met the man in shabby clothes in her two years at the university.
S h e d - ding copious tears and wallowing in self-pity, she was u s h e re d in by her sister into an empty classroom the door of which was left ajar. A shabbily clad elderly man was sitting on a desk with his feet dangling.
The man asked why she was crying so much. She was too choked up to speak. After looking at her for a while he said, “Don’t cry, my child. Your name will be there on the third list.” He simply exuded compassion and warmth.
Flooded with waves of sudden relief, she approached the clerk at the university office counter and asked him about the third list. He simply stated that the second list was the final one.
Her hopes were dashed. Her sister, who had got through, started attending classes.
A month went by. She had taken up a correspondence course under a lesser known University registered under the University Grants Commission.
One afternoon, while she was busy helping her m o t h e r with household chores, her sister returned from the university to break the news that her name had appeared on the third list and that she should get herself admitted the very next day. She burst into a crow of joy. How could this be possible?
She later came to know that no third list had ever appeared in any stream either before or after this incident.
She never met the man in shabby clothes in her two years at the university.
Like A Fairy Tale
DR MAHAMAYA Basu, MRCOG, stood outside the iron gate of the bleak mansion. “No memsahib,” said Mangal, the caretaker, “The babus can move in any moment.”
But his wife intervened and allowed her stay for a night. Simultala in 1952 was a remote area in Bihar. The train had come to grinding halt here, with no shelter for the night for her.
Mangal carried the bags upstairs to an antique hall leading to an overhanging balcony. She could see a large well, huge trees and a littered garden. The place plunged into darkness after the late December sunset.
“Memsahib, here’s the lamp. Lakshmi will bring your dinner and set up the mosquito net. Don’t open the balcony door.” Mangal repeated the last instruction twice before he bolted the door and left.
Mahamaya woke up to a cold wind in the room. The mosquito net was hanging from one side and the door of the balcony was open. “How could Mangal be so careless?” she thought.
It was almost one and bitterly cold. She closed the door tightly.
A girlish giggle snapped Mahamaya’s eyes open. “How could the door open again? Why is the mosquito net so loose?” she wondered. As the wind whistled around her, Mahamaya felt a presence in the room. She felt jittery and her limbs stiffened. At 2:30AM she gathered enough courage to secure the door and tie the net firmly again.
“Won’t you play with me aunty?”
Mahamaya sat up and stared at the balcony door — wide open. The mosquito net was sagging. She climbed down and dragged herself to the balcony. There was a pale moon in the sky, the world had fallen silent and a little girl in white was standing near the well. Mahamaya heard a jingling laughter and in a flash everything was gone. The pale moon continued to cast its spell.
Mangal found Mahamaya asleep on the armchair in the balcony next morning. “Memsahib, I asked you to stay inside at night,” he said as he handed over the tea. She blankly stared around as he continued, “She has no friend here and plays with anybody who comes. She had drowned in the well on a particular Puja. Zamidar babu called his daughter Khuku.”
But his wife intervened and allowed her stay for a night. Simultala in 1952 was a remote area in Bihar. The train had come to grinding halt here, with no shelter for the night for her.
Mangal carried the bags upstairs to an antique hall leading to an overhanging balcony. She could see a large well, huge trees and a littered garden. The place plunged into darkness after the late December sunset.
“Memsahib, here’s the lamp. Lakshmi will bring your dinner and set up the mosquito net. Don’t open the balcony door.” Mangal repeated the last instruction twice before he bolted the door and left.
Mahamaya woke up to a cold wind in the room. The mosquito net was hanging from one side and the door of the balcony was open. “How could Mangal be so careless?” she thought.
It was almost one and bitterly cold. She closed the door tightly.
A girlish giggle snapped Mahamaya’s eyes open. “How could the door open again? Why is the mosquito net so loose?” she wondered. As the wind whistled around her, Mahamaya felt a presence in the room. She felt jittery and her limbs stiffened. At 2:30AM she gathered enough courage to secure the door and tie the net firmly again.
“Won’t you play with me aunty?”
Mahamaya sat up and stared at the balcony door — wide open. The mosquito net was sagging. She climbed down and dragged herself to the balcony. There was a pale moon in the sky, the world had fallen silent and a little girl in white was standing near the well. Mahamaya heard a jingling laughter and in a flash everything was gone. The pale moon continued to cast its spell.
Mangal found Mahamaya asleep on the armchair in the balcony next morning. “Memsahib, I asked you to stay inside at night,” he said as he handed over the tea. She blankly stared around as he continued, “She has no friend here and plays with anybody who comes. She had drowned in the well on a particular Puja. Zamidar babu called his daughter Khuku.”
Disappeared
ONE more child vanishes without a trace and never returns. The parents keep their voices silent even as pain sears through their hearts, while other villagers live in fear lest their children form the next string of victims.
A distant God-forsaken village in Uttar Pradesh had witnessed the third incident of child disappearance. The villagers kept quiet and authorities knew nothing. An uncanny silence prevailed over the area. Plagued with prolonged droughts and misfortunes, the people held a staunch belief in some kind of curse plaguing them. In spite of regular worships to appease the Gods, conditions refused to improve.
All of a sudden, mutilated bodies of lost children started cropping up on the outskirts of the village, sending a ripple of foreboding through the sedentary lives of the rustic people.
A couple of days ago, young Karuna vanished. Bilas, her father, started looking for his daughter in the darkness of a chilling February night. While on the hunt, he noticed a streak of light from a distant abandoned temple. With every step he took, the night sky became brighter with the subtle yellow glow from the distant fire. Somebody was chanting mantras and the air was heavy with the odour of country liquor and pot smoke.
As he peeped inside through the dilapidated walls, he saw six tantriks dressed in red robes, their forehead smeared with turmeric powder. They were squatting around a fire, hands folded, preparing for sacrifice. One of them, supposedly the leader, read out ancient phrases from a scripture. Karuna sat in a stupor at a dark corner, her hands tied. She was wearing a similar read robe along with heavy gold jewellery and her head was clean shaven. Parts of the floor and walls were patched with dry blood. Burnt bricks were scattered around. Evidently, the room stood witness to many horrific rituals. The tantriks cast a merciless glance at the child. One of them took out a sword. Bilas watched terrified and clueless…
The decapitated body of the child was found next morning. The news featured prominently on most papers. Bilas never returned. His death was not officially recorded or reported.
A distant God-forsaken village in Uttar Pradesh had witnessed the third incident of child disappearance. The villagers kept quiet and authorities knew nothing. An uncanny silence prevailed over the area. Plagued with prolonged droughts and misfortunes, the people held a staunch belief in some kind of curse plaguing them. In spite of regular worships to appease the Gods, conditions refused to improve.
All of a sudden, mutilated bodies of lost children started cropping up on the outskirts of the village, sending a ripple of foreboding through the sedentary lives of the rustic people.
A couple of days ago, young Karuna vanished. Bilas, her father, started looking for his daughter in the darkness of a chilling February night. While on the hunt, he noticed a streak of light from a distant abandoned temple. With every step he took, the night sky became brighter with the subtle yellow glow from the distant fire. Somebody was chanting mantras and the air was heavy with the odour of country liquor and pot smoke.
As he peeped inside through the dilapidated walls, he saw six tantriks dressed in red robes, their forehead smeared with turmeric powder. They were squatting around a fire, hands folded, preparing for sacrifice. One of them, supposedly the leader, read out ancient phrases from a scripture. Karuna sat in a stupor at a dark corner, her hands tied. She was wearing a similar read robe along with heavy gold jewellery and her head was clean shaven. Parts of the floor and walls were patched with dry blood. Burnt bricks were scattered around. Evidently, the room stood witness to many horrific rituals. The tantriks cast a merciless glance at the child. One of them took out a sword. Bilas watched terrified and clueless…
The decapitated body of the child was found next morning. The news featured prominently on most papers. Bilas never returned. His death was not officially recorded or reported.
Ethics
I INITIATED the process. Weak electrical signals reached the amygdala of the detainee. He twitched momentarily, his sinewy frame evident as he adjusted on his chair. Deep, somewhere inside his body, a few endocrine cells were stimulated. A powerful fluid diffused through his blood, alarming, tightening his vessels. The adrenaline set his heart to vibrate faster. Suddenly his eyelids opened to reveal bloodshot eyes.
“It is a panic reaction,” I said, breaking the silence as I looked over my shoulder at the handful of intelligence service recruits, who I was to train.
“A few years back a team of neuroscientists inserted electrodes in the brain of a depressed patient. These electrodes sent small electrical signals to the part of the brain responsible for joy, when they sensed low electrical activity in it. They called it the Brain Pacemaker. It was supposed to be a permanent cure for major affective disorders.” I continued.
“Help me please, someone, no…. no, please!” cried the detainee.
I pointed my finger to a region known as the anterior insula on the hologram vision of the brain scans of the detainee. It lighted up.
“This would bring him to a state of anticipatory worry.” I resumed after a pause, “The pacemaker though, was approved on ethical grounds.”
“What was unethical with that?” interrupted an inquiring intern.
I was not reluctant to answer, “The device, unlike anti-depressant drugs, was able to produce elation even in a normal individual and came sans side effects. They said that the super rich would abuse the technology to be in a constant state of happiness. A world where money would be able to buy happiness. The research was not allowed to meet the public eye and further development was abandoned.”
All of us carefully monitored the detainee. He seemed distracted, facial muscles tensed, despondent as if anxious of some unknown danger.
“We harnessed the technology, made it accessible, but changed the sites in the brain where the electrodes would be embedded. We can make him insane, in a state of mania. We can make him act furiously, make him feel what agony is.” I heard myself saying.
“But that is not ethical either,” protested a young intern.
“Ethics don’t work here. We work on instructions. This is Guantanamo Bay, 2035. You will soon learn. Class dismissed.” I said my usual lines.
“It is a panic reaction,” I said, breaking the silence as I looked over my shoulder at the handful of intelligence service recruits, who I was to train.
“A few years back a team of neuroscientists inserted electrodes in the brain of a depressed patient. These electrodes sent small electrical signals to the part of the brain responsible for joy, when they sensed low electrical activity in it. They called it the Brain Pacemaker. It was supposed to be a permanent cure for major affective disorders.” I continued.
“Help me please, someone, no…. no, please!” cried the detainee.
I pointed my finger to a region known as the anterior insula on the hologram vision of the brain scans of the detainee. It lighted up.
“This would bring him to a state of anticipatory worry.” I resumed after a pause, “The pacemaker though, was approved on ethical grounds.”
“What was unethical with that?” interrupted an inquiring intern.
I was not reluctant to answer, “The device, unlike anti-depressant drugs, was able to produce elation even in a normal individual and came sans side effects. They said that the super rich would abuse the technology to be in a constant state of happiness. A world where money would be able to buy happiness. The research was not allowed to meet the public eye and further development was abandoned.”
All of us carefully monitored the detainee. He seemed distracted, facial muscles tensed, despondent as if anxious of some unknown danger.
“We harnessed the technology, made it accessible, but changed the sites in the brain where the electrodes would be embedded. We can make him insane, in a state of mania. We can make him act furiously, make him feel what agony is.” I heard myself saying.
“But that is not ethical either,” protested a young intern.
“Ethics don’t work here. We work on instructions. This is Guantanamo Bay, 2035. You will soon learn. Class dismissed.” I said my usual lines.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Beyond Time
I am 15-years-old. I live with my parents in Golf Green. I have no siblings. I am in Class X. My favourite subject is Physics. Dr Sumit Banerjee is our physics teacher. He is a bachelor and lives in a one-room flat somewhere in Beliaghata. Our Bengali teacher Muktadi is Dr Banerjee's cousin. She lives in the adjacent flat. Muktadi knows that I often visit Beliaghata. My father is a dentist and he has his clinic there. As I was leaving for Beliaghata yesterday, she gave me some books. "Give these to Sumitda", she said and scribbled his address on a piece of paper.
I reached Dr Banerjee's flat around 5 pm. He lived in a shoddy looking building. I was about to ring the doorbell when I noticed that the door was open. The light was on and the room was quite empty. As I looked around I saw a metal box in a dark corner. It was just big enough to accommodate a human being of average height. As I moved close, I noticed that the box had a door which was well bolted. I tried to open the door. After a brief struggle, I entered the box and the door closed, suddenly. Quite on its own. It was completely dark and as I banged the inside wall, I seemed to hit a button. My head began spinning wildly. Suddenly the box was filled with a strange light. I lost consciousness.
When I came to, I found myself near the Sealdah flyover. Everything seemed different, strangely new. And then I saw him. He looked like me. He walked like me. And then I suddenly understood who he was. We were near Dr R Ahmed Dental College. And my double was actually my father who was a student at the college. We were in the mid 70s, I guessed. Dr Banerjee had built a time machine and I had unwittingly become a time-traveller.
I decided to speak to my father. Gathering all the courage at my disposal I spoke. "Ranjanda, its evening now. Why have you not returned home?" Dad appeared puzzled. He surveyed my face closely and started moving towards the bus-stop. I followed him. A group of eager looking boys appeared from under the flyover and started talking to Dad. They took out cigarettes and all of them started smoking. Now, I am allergic to smoke. I decided that these boys must be stopped or I would start coughing badly. As I ran towards them, one of the boys, a tall fellow pushed me. I nearly fell. Then, another boy who wore glasses, kicked me. Someone else punched me hard. I started throwing my fists wildly. And then it happened. I hit my father accidentally on the face and he fell down. He appeared to have lost consciousness. But somewhere deep down I was scared that I had killed my own father. I bent down and started shaking him. "Dad,", I said, "I am sorry. Get up, please!" We were now surrounded by at least a hundred onlookers and someone mentioned the word 'Police...". I was about to say, "I am really sorry..." when I felt water being splashed on my face. I was in Dr Banerjee's room again. The metal box had disappeared. Dr Banerjee was standing before me, bucket in hand. The bucket's contents, probably tap water, had been used on me. I handed Dr Banerjee his books and left quietly. Was that really time travel? I guess I'll never know!
I reached Dr Banerjee's flat around 5 pm. He lived in a shoddy looking building. I was about to ring the doorbell when I noticed that the door was open. The light was on and the room was quite empty. As I looked around I saw a metal box in a dark corner. It was just big enough to accommodate a human being of average height. As I moved close, I noticed that the box had a door which was well bolted. I tried to open the door. After a brief struggle, I entered the box and the door closed, suddenly. Quite on its own. It was completely dark and as I banged the inside wall, I seemed to hit a button. My head began spinning wildly. Suddenly the box was filled with a strange light. I lost consciousness.
When I came to, I found myself near the Sealdah flyover. Everything seemed different, strangely new. And then I saw him. He looked like me. He walked like me. And then I suddenly understood who he was. We were near Dr R Ahmed Dental College. And my double was actually my father who was a student at the college. We were in the mid 70s, I guessed. Dr Banerjee had built a time machine and I had unwittingly become a time-traveller.
I decided to speak to my father. Gathering all the courage at my disposal I spoke. "Ranjanda, its evening now. Why have you not returned home?" Dad appeared puzzled. He surveyed my face closely and started moving towards the bus-stop. I followed him. A group of eager looking boys appeared from under the flyover and started talking to Dad. They took out cigarettes and all of them started smoking. Now, I am allergic to smoke. I decided that these boys must be stopped or I would start coughing badly. As I ran towards them, one of the boys, a tall fellow pushed me. I nearly fell. Then, another boy who wore glasses, kicked me. Someone else punched me hard. I started throwing my fists wildly. And then it happened. I hit my father accidentally on the face and he fell down. He appeared to have lost consciousness. But somewhere deep down I was scared that I had killed my own father. I bent down and started shaking him. "Dad,", I said, "I am sorry. Get up, please!" We were now surrounded by at least a hundred onlookers and someone mentioned the word 'Police...". I was about to say, "I am really sorry..." when I felt water being splashed on my face. I was in Dr Banerjee's room again. The metal box had disappeared. Dr Banerjee was standing before me, bucket in hand. The bucket's contents, probably tap water, had been used on me. I handed Dr Banerjee his books and left quietly. Was that really time travel? I guess I'll never know!
Coming Home
It was close to midnight and raining when I stepped out of the editor’s chamber. Generally I have to walk some distance but today, at the end of the lane, I saw a cab. Lucky me! In the darkness I could faintly see the driver trying to close the boot of the cab. I quickened my pace and reached him. He seemed to
be off duty for he did not have the regular uniform. But this was normal for drivers doing the night shifts. I was about to ask him to take me to my destination when he turned around. I felt as if I was hit by a brick! One of his eyes was swollen and under the
dim streetlamp, I saw that his pale shirt had some buttons missing. It also had dark patches on the front. I stepped back.
He kind of smiled at me strangely and said, “Madam, please don’t be afraid. I just got looted by some hoodlums. I have lost all that I earned today. I have to keep working.” He almost seemed to plead. I thought for a moment. The drizzle was now heading towards a downpour and I had little choice. “Hazra”, I said and hopped in.
The rain hardened. I was starting to feel sorry for the driver when suddenly, the cab screeched to a halt. “What happened?” I asked. “The boot has opened again madam. Give me a minute.” I turned around to check while he stepped out into the rain. I could see him trying to push down the boot but it was as if something inside was pushing back. The boot suddenly opened up fully and hid my view. I could hear thudding noises, and the driver cursing under his breath. Then the boot was shut.
We reached soon. As I paid him his fare, he turned and looked. His eyes were like embers and his face had now swollen even more. Across its breadth ran four straight bloody marks, as if some animal had just clawed at it. His breathing was laboured and the cab suddenly seemed dingy and smelly. I stumbled out.
As the cab swerved and sped away, I thought I saw a fluttering blue cloth hanging out of its boot. It seemed like the end of a sari. But it was too late to scream.
be off duty for he did not have the regular uniform. But this was normal for drivers doing the night shifts. I was about to ask him to take me to my destination when he turned around. I felt as if I was hit by a brick! One of his eyes was swollen and under the
dim streetlamp, I saw that his pale shirt had some buttons missing. It also had dark patches on the front. I stepped back.
He kind of smiled at me strangely and said, “Madam, please don’t be afraid. I just got looted by some hoodlums. I have lost all that I earned today. I have to keep working.” He almost seemed to plead. I thought for a moment. The drizzle was now heading towards a downpour and I had little choice. “Hazra”, I said and hopped in.
The rain hardened. I was starting to feel sorry for the driver when suddenly, the cab screeched to a halt. “What happened?” I asked. “The boot has opened again madam. Give me a minute.” I turned around to check while he stepped out into the rain. I could see him trying to push down the boot but it was as if something inside was pushing back. The boot suddenly opened up fully and hid my view. I could hear thudding noises, and the driver cursing under his breath. Then the boot was shut.
We reached soon. As I paid him his fare, he turned and looked. His eyes were like embers and his face had now swollen even more. Across its breadth ran four straight bloody marks, as if some animal had just clawed at it. His breathing was laboured and the cab suddenly seemed dingy and smelly. I stumbled out.
As the cab swerved and sped away, I thought I saw a fluttering blue cloth hanging out of its boot. It seemed like the end of a sari. But it was too late to scream.
Knock! Knock!
I regard myself as a rationalist. Being a doctor, I remain so even today, but my rationality no longer stands on strong foundations.
A long time ago, I was on night shift at a hospital and, having been satisfied that on my mandatory rounds I had found nothing wrong, I closed the door of my chamber and settled down for some rest. I eased out of my moccasins, lay down and opened a recently purchased bestseller. After about half an hour, I heard a distinct languorous knock on the door. I got up and slipped into my shoes. There was another knock. “Who’s there?” I asked. “Doctor saab, ek mariz hai,” came the reply. I opened the door within seconds but found no one.
My chambered opened to a long corridor with no room in between. It was practically impossible for
anyone to traverse the corridor so fast. However, I did not pay much attention to it. Attending to the patient was even more important. I made my way to the beds and learnt that no one had gone to call me. Everything was fine. I went to another room and everything seemed quite unperturbed there as well.
While making my way to the top floor, I found a boy coming down with a call book in his hand. I rushed with him to the patient who needed attention and found a just expired local lad.
On checking patient details, I found that the boy was a non-Bengali. Everyone, however, assured me that no one had gone to call me.
My efforts to explain the incident—conscious-subconscious, sleep, dream, imagination — are yet to bear fruits.
Even now, I can recollect those fateful words, “Doctor Saab, ek mariz hai!”
A long time ago, I was on night shift at a hospital and, having been satisfied that on my mandatory rounds I had found nothing wrong, I closed the door of my chamber and settled down for some rest. I eased out of my moccasins, lay down and opened a recently purchased bestseller. After about half an hour, I heard a distinct languorous knock on the door. I got up and slipped into my shoes. There was another knock. “Who’s there?” I asked. “Doctor saab, ek mariz hai,” came the reply. I opened the door within seconds but found no one.
My chambered opened to a long corridor with no room in between. It was practically impossible for
anyone to traverse the corridor so fast. However, I did not pay much attention to it. Attending to the patient was even more important. I made my way to the beds and learnt that no one had gone to call me. Everything was fine. I went to another room and everything seemed quite unperturbed there as well.
While making my way to the top floor, I found a boy coming down with a call book in his hand. I rushed with him to the patient who needed attention and found a just expired local lad.
On checking patient details, I found that the boy was a non-Bengali. Everyone, however, assured me that no one had gone to call me.
My efforts to explain the incident—conscious-subconscious, sleep, dream, imagination — are yet to bear fruits.
Even now, I can recollect those fateful words, “Doctor Saab, ek mariz hai!”
The Contract
THE hand fell. Granules of golden sand witnessed crimson globules. The teeth gave them way. It happened in a flash but time froze, as did Mohan, who instantly embraced the dust. The sound of thunder was still fresh, his eardrums confirmed and brain amplified.
God knows where the khaki-clad ghosts came from but they ensured that Mohan was bleeding and in pain when he was tossed into the lock-up. His age was listed as 20, although he was four less than that. Then, a few days later, he was fed to the huge gates of Yerwada Jail.Two Sundays had now passed. He could tell that from the menu served. Everything had changed. He had cleaner roads to walk on, a better bed to sleep in and a strict routine to adhere to. Things were much better than the Pune slum he lived in. What remained the same was that he was still an under-trial waiting to be showed up in court; and he longed for a glimpse of his mother’s face.
“Kilos of cannabis; you’ll be gone for years”, a constable had whispered through the bars of the lock-up. “You are booked under the NDPS Act.” Tears had rolled down Mohan’s cheeks “It was for 50 rupees... To carry the bags to the municipality bus stand... He said it was spices.” Plain facts chanted for hours. Now he often stared at the inescapable high walls of the prison and thought about the day that exploited his innocence and ignorance, snatched away years of freedom. They were to have a proper meal after so many days. Ma was so happy. The stranger had given the note to her, in advance, and the bags to Mohan. “There, I would take it from you,” he had said.
“Hope you had your food Ma,” Mohan sobbed. He dreamt of her, healing his sorrows with her smile. They would meet again some day, he was quite sure of that.
Food was still waiting when the stranger had come again. The kitchen knife deceived its owner and a sack engulfed her. The only witness of the deal silenced forever. Stray dogs barked as a shadow passed the sleeping slum. “Accomplice absconding my Lord,” the Counsel pleaded. A clueless pair of eyes searched for that one glimpse. They had waited so long. The empty benches had nothing to offer.
God knows where the khaki-clad ghosts came from but they ensured that Mohan was bleeding and in pain when he was tossed into the lock-up. His age was listed as 20, although he was four less than that. Then, a few days later, he was fed to the huge gates of Yerwada Jail.Two Sundays had now passed. He could tell that from the menu served. Everything had changed. He had cleaner roads to walk on, a better bed to sleep in and a strict routine to adhere to. Things were much better than the Pune slum he lived in. What remained the same was that he was still an under-trial waiting to be showed up in court; and he longed for a glimpse of his mother’s face.
“Kilos of cannabis; you’ll be gone for years”, a constable had whispered through the bars of the lock-up. “You are booked under the NDPS Act.” Tears had rolled down Mohan’s cheeks “It was for 50 rupees... To carry the bags to the municipality bus stand... He said it was spices.” Plain facts chanted for hours. Now he often stared at the inescapable high walls of the prison and thought about the day that exploited his innocence and ignorance, snatched away years of freedom. They were to have a proper meal after so many days. Ma was so happy. The stranger had given the note to her, in advance, and the bags to Mohan. “There, I would take it from you,” he had said.
“Hope you had your food Ma,” Mohan sobbed. He dreamt of her, healing his sorrows with her smile. They would meet again some day, he was quite sure of that.
Food was still waiting when the stranger had come again. The kitchen knife deceived its owner and a sack engulfed her. The only witness of the deal silenced forever. Stray dogs barked as a shadow passed the sleeping slum. “Accomplice absconding my Lord,” the Counsel pleaded. A clueless pair of eyes searched for that one glimpse. They had waited so long. The empty benches had nothing to offer.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Never Ending Life
TODAY is the third day of her life and the man will come at any moment. But I will not let him inoculate my sweet little daughter. We shall hide somewhere. But how…?
In this mid-23rd century world, nobody can hide.
My husband is the chief scientist in the inoculation project and team leader of innovating nanotransponders. This inoculation process, though has stopped the extinction of the human race, the nanotransmitters, when injected into a three-day-old baby, actually makes the person reachable through satellite scanning and modulates its activity and even cures any disease, which the man accrues.
“You must admit, today our life is problem-free. Our ancestors would fight for trivial matters like land, or for almost dumb ideas like religion or freedom. Today, there is one nation, less population and clean environment. Everything is taken care of by the supreme Omnipower,” my husband said.
“But your new research finding will make a man immortal. Is that desirable?”
“What’s the harm in it? Omnipower will decide about the genius to become immortal. Other people will die after their assigned work is over.”
“But won’t that person feel lonely when others around him die?”
“Loneliness is a state of mind. Our daughter, about to be born in a few days, will be a genius in genetics. One day she will be able to generate chlorophyll in animal body. It will be amazing..”
“Why don’t you try it out first time on animals? Why on my daughter?”
I began crying.
“My dear, you know that animal trials have long been abolished as Omnipower loves all animals and plants as HE loves human beings. And don’t you want our child to roam till this earth survives?”
“But how lonely will she be then?”
My husband did not have any answer.
Motherhood is a wonderful experience. My husband was delighted a lot more, perhaps, being the proud father of the first immortal being on earth. But that very idea was making me breathless and feebler in fear.
My nanotransmitter will be off for these three days, just to relish motherhood on my own. I am weak, but for my daughter’s sake, I shall have to hide in the forest, where my genetically modified gorillas help humans in cultivation. My daughter will grow up among those primates and will be more human than us.
But why is the doorbell ringing so early? Oh, the inoculation man with my husband has come. I shall have to fly away through the window. But how do I get the Taxifly from this 57th floor window? The doorbell rang louder followed by a thud on the door.
Oh no! They will break the door it seems. “Please, please, is there someone, who can bring a Taxifly beside my window, so that my daughter can get the right to die…”
In this mid-23rd century world, nobody can hide.
My husband is the chief scientist in the inoculation project and team leader of innovating nanotransponders. This inoculation process, though has stopped the extinction of the human race, the nanotransmitters, when injected into a three-day-old baby, actually makes the person reachable through satellite scanning and modulates its activity and even cures any disease, which the man accrues.
“You must admit, today our life is problem-free. Our ancestors would fight for trivial matters like land, or for almost dumb ideas like religion or freedom. Today, there is one nation, less population and clean environment. Everything is taken care of by the supreme Omnipower,” my husband said.
“But your new research finding will make a man immortal. Is that desirable?”
“What’s the harm in it? Omnipower will decide about the genius to become immortal. Other people will die after their assigned work is over.”
“But won’t that person feel lonely when others around him die?”
“Loneliness is a state of mind. Our daughter, about to be born in a few days, will be a genius in genetics. One day she will be able to generate chlorophyll in animal body. It will be amazing..”
“Why don’t you try it out first time on animals? Why on my daughter?”
I began crying.
“My dear, you know that animal trials have long been abolished as Omnipower loves all animals and plants as HE loves human beings. And don’t you want our child to roam till this earth survives?”
“But how lonely will she be then?”
My husband did not have any answer.
Motherhood is a wonderful experience. My husband was delighted a lot more, perhaps, being the proud father of the first immortal being on earth. But that very idea was making me breathless and feebler in fear.
My nanotransmitter will be off for these three days, just to relish motherhood on my own. I am weak, but for my daughter’s sake, I shall have to hide in the forest, where my genetically modified gorillas help humans in cultivation. My daughter will grow up among those primates and will be more human than us.
But why is the doorbell ringing so early? Oh, the inoculation man with my husband has come. I shall have to fly away through the window. But how do I get the Taxifly from this 57th floor window? The doorbell rang louder followed by a thud on the door.
Oh no! They will break the door it seems. “Please, please, is there someone, who can bring a Taxifly beside my window, so that my daughter can get the right to die…”
True Copy
THE SID (Space Investigator Department) had received some radio-signals in reply to their signals, which were directed arbitrarily into space. Many times they found it happening from the northwestern part of the space (taking earth as a reference frame). Eminent mathematicians found that the “replying body” was 200 million kms away from earth. They decided to send a superfast spaceship (Capollo 1) to the celestial body and they chose Ahmed, a student of astrophysics to confirm its character.
Ahmed was supplied with modern kits: a radio-wave detector, gravitation detector, pressure detector and space-suit.
His radio-wave detector suddenly started beeping. “They are sending waves, trace it and find its source, OVER,” boomed the Earth-based control station. Ahmed concentrated on the direction of the signal.
Suddenly he realised that the wave connection from Earth was destroyed. He became furious, but could not find any way to recover. He decided to calmly concentrate on the northwestern part of the space.
A bluish planet was coming nearer and nearer. The space ship entered the gravitational field of the planet; its gravity replicating that of his own planet. As the ship landed, Ahmed dived out with a parachute and realised that the pressure was equal to that of earth. Completely flabbergasted, he landed on ground covered with lush vegetation. He realised that it was a garden. He went ahead and saw a human being standing at the middle of it. The man was old and had a long beard. He unceremoniously introduced himself to Ahmed. Scientist Alfred Helter, who was lost in space twenty years ago.
Still baffled, Ahmed said, “But how can this planet be exactly like the Earth?” Helter said that it was a replica of earth; the comet which once brought life on earth also passed by this planet.
There was another Ahmed here, another mummy and another papa.
When humans sleep, they travel from earth to this planet, and the path is called ‘dream’. This has been continuing over years. Ahmed asked, “But who sends the radio signals to earth from this planet?”
“Why? Am I not eminent enough to do it?”
Ahmed was supplied with modern kits: a radio-wave detector, gravitation detector, pressure detector and space-suit.
His radio-wave detector suddenly started beeping. “They are sending waves, trace it and find its source, OVER,” boomed the Earth-based control station. Ahmed concentrated on the direction of the signal.
Suddenly he realised that the wave connection from Earth was destroyed. He became furious, but could not find any way to recover. He decided to calmly concentrate on the northwestern part of the space.
A bluish planet was coming nearer and nearer. The space ship entered the gravitational field of the planet; its gravity replicating that of his own planet. As the ship landed, Ahmed dived out with a parachute and realised that the pressure was equal to that of earth. Completely flabbergasted, he landed on ground covered with lush vegetation. He realised that it was a garden. He went ahead and saw a human being standing at the middle of it. The man was old and had a long beard. He unceremoniously introduced himself to Ahmed. Scientist Alfred Helter, who was lost in space twenty years ago.
Still baffled, Ahmed said, “But how can this planet be exactly like the Earth?” Helter said that it was a replica of earth; the comet which once brought life on earth also passed by this planet.
There was another Ahmed here, another mummy and another papa.
When humans sleep, they travel from earth to this planet, and the path is called ‘dream’. This has been continuing over years. Ahmed asked, “But who sends the radio signals to earth from this planet?”
“Why? Am I not eminent enough to do it?”
New Place
JULY 11, 2041... 11:30 pm... It’s time. Adrish murmurs, “Are you ready Peter?” “I must be...” Peter closed his eyes. Adrish Banerjee, a renowned neurosurgeon, was astonished when he first listened to psychologist Peter Gomes in a medical conference on “neuroelectronic power” at Kolkata almost 20 years ago. Peter believed that with the help of electron flow in the human brain, one could create digital impressions to study people’s mind and even know the ‘post-death’ thinking of a man. A sense of ridicule was mingled with the claps after his speech was over. That night, Adrish personally met Peter... “I believe you Prof. Gomes.” Adrish was ecstatic. “Any sensible person will...” “What can I do for you?” “Join me, and I really mean it!” Peter was calm as always. Twenty years had passed since that night. In the meantime, numerous experiments and a huge amount of paperwork took place and most of them resulted positive. But today’s is the biggest of them all... It is to discover the truth of death... Peter is sacrificing his life for the sake of truth as the experiment needs a dying person to capture the impression of human brain at the time of death.
Legal permissions were managed by Peter. He was not afraid at all. Rather, he was eager to experience death.
An adequate amount of morphine was already injected into his veins. Numerous specially decorated wires were attached to his skull which were feeding the electron signal of his brain to a super-computer to produce the digital impression.
Adrish is monitoring the heart-bit rate as well as keeping a close eye on the computer screen. The rate is dropping, and the end of Peter is here.
Suddenly, a flickering grey image started to appear on the screen. It was the image of Prof Peter de Gomes who was walking in a valley like land. Nothing was there, not even a tree or a bird.
Adrish has his heart in his mouth.
So this is the world after death...
Suddenly, he saw another image, a man stretching his hands towards Peter from the farthest corner of the valley, as if saying “Welcome friend!”
It was Dr Adrish Banerjee himself with a mysterious smile on his face. A smile that Adrish will never smile again...
Legal permissions were managed by Peter. He was not afraid at all. Rather, he was eager to experience death.
An adequate amount of morphine was already injected into his veins. Numerous specially decorated wires were attached to his skull which were feeding the electron signal of his brain to a super-computer to produce the digital impression.
Adrish is monitoring the heart-bit rate as well as keeping a close eye on the computer screen. The rate is dropping, and the end of Peter is here.
Suddenly, a flickering grey image started to appear on the screen. It was the image of Prof Peter de Gomes who was walking in a valley like land. Nothing was there, not even a tree or a bird.
Adrish has his heart in his mouth.
So this is the world after death...
Suddenly, he saw another image, a man stretching his hands towards Peter from the farthest corner of the valley, as if saying “Welcome friend!”
It was Dr Adrish Banerjee himself with a mysterious smile on his face. A smile that Adrish will never smile again...
Daily Life
THE POLICE officer looked at the trembling man. “What happened?” Deepak, who was squirming in a chair in the interrogation room, looked up at him. “I couldn’t handle it anymore.” A few days ago, Deepak woke up beside Payal, his wife, and felt a sharp stab within him. He went through his routine listlessly — Payal nagging as she always did, the same breakfast, the same bus to office, slogging in the same way once there and being ordered by the same irritating boss. He returned home miserable settled down in front of the TV. Every channel had almost the same soap to offer, albeit in different packages. Payal, who was sitting next to him, reached for his hand. Once he held her hand, she promptly pulled it away and grabbed the remote control over him. They had an argument shortly after. “Anything would be better than living with you. You’re a sad, useless man who manages to suck the life out of everything around him. Why don’t you just die?”
The next few days were just the same. Deepak went about doing the same chores both at home and office. He was having trouble concentrating and his boss brought the fact rudely to his notice. Regular arguments with Payal — to top it all. He badly needed a change.
The change came one morning in the form of a pretty young lady, who sat next to him on his way to office. None of them spoke to one another. She took her seat beside him every morning, but refused to acknowledge his presence. It was, however, enough for Deepak. The morning rides had a rejuvenating effect. He kept thinking about seeing her again. His work improved and even irksome Payal appeared agreeable. His boss was pleased with him. Life was good.
He perpetually thought about the girl and felt charged up. The anonymous but pleasant acquaintance somehow made him enjoy life once again.
One sudden day, she didn’t board the bus. And never did again. To cut a long story short, he was fired after a few days.
“You intolerable bastard!” Payal screamed.
There was a knife within an arm’s reach.
“And I stabbed her,” Deepak told the police officer.
The next few days were just the same. Deepak went about doing the same chores both at home and office. He was having trouble concentrating and his boss brought the fact rudely to his notice. Regular arguments with Payal — to top it all. He badly needed a change.
The change came one morning in the form of a pretty young lady, who sat next to him on his way to office. None of them spoke to one another. She took her seat beside him every morning, but refused to acknowledge his presence. It was, however, enough for Deepak. The morning rides had a rejuvenating effect. He kept thinking about seeing her again. His work improved and even irksome Payal appeared agreeable. His boss was pleased with him. Life was good.
He perpetually thought about the girl and felt charged up. The anonymous but pleasant acquaintance somehow made him enjoy life once again.
One sudden day, she didn’t board the bus. And never did again. To cut a long story short, he was fired after a few days.
“You intolerable bastard!” Payal screamed.
There was a knife within an arm’s reach.
“And I stabbed her,” Deepak told the police officer.
Play With Shadow
I STOOD silent, deep in the shadows. Old Marvan had taught me how to track quarries. “Softly”, he used to say, “Go as softly as a feather skimming over the ground. Call on the shadows and they would stretch out to you. The last thing your quarry should feel is your breath on its back. Then, do what you do best.”
Old Marvan had taught me well.
Tonight, I had been tracking her for a long time. She was a little creature who scurried on nervously, clutching at her bundle of rags and wrapping her blanket around her. As if it would shield her from the rainspattered dark.
As if it would shield her from me.
Sometimes I long for the day. When I would just sit by, a lost soul in rags, and look at the human herd. What would they really know of the sweet, squishing sound of death under the crescent moon?
It was time. She had reached the end of the road, a small culde-sac with an overflowing dustbin. She stood for a moment, as if not knowing which way to go. Then, she looked back, exactly where I was. But that was a moment ago. More than enough time to shift on the ledge above her. I could feel my eyes turn red. Slowly, I bared my fangs to the night. And jumped.
I was fast. She was faster.
The blanket was lost on a crimson blur. As I hurtled down on the little figure, I could see it transform. The back straightened. She gained height. In one swift motion, she put down her bundle of rags, whirled around, and jumped at me. Her hair, dark as a raven’s wing, flew around a bloodless face now contorted with hideous intent. She screamed as her hands reached up, yellow talons quivering in the anticipation of a kill.
They clutched at empty air. I had already stalled, twisted, and as I went past her, the dirk of the black moon found its way into her heart. As I landed, she fell beside me, a quivering mass of slowly melting flesh. I waited till her trace vanished, and picked up my dagger. The bundle of rags gave a small whimper. The baby needed to be returned to her mother. And I could feel her companions coming.
The game would be played once again.
Old Marvan had taught me well.
Tonight, I had been tracking her for a long time. She was a little creature who scurried on nervously, clutching at her bundle of rags and wrapping her blanket around her. As if it would shield her from the rainspattered dark.
As if it would shield her from me.
Sometimes I long for the day. When I would just sit by, a lost soul in rags, and look at the human herd. What would they really know of the sweet, squishing sound of death under the crescent moon?
It was time. She had reached the end of the road, a small culde-sac with an overflowing dustbin. She stood for a moment, as if not knowing which way to go. Then, she looked back, exactly where I was. But that was a moment ago. More than enough time to shift on the ledge above her. I could feel my eyes turn red. Slowly, I bared my fangs to the night. And jumped.
I was fast. She was faster.
The blanket was lost on a crimson blur. As I hurtled down on the little figure, I could see it transform. The back straightened. She gained height. In one swift motion, she put down her bundle of rags, whirled around, and jumped at me. Her hair, dark as a raven’s wing, flew around a bloodless face now contorted with hideous intent. She screamed as her hands reached up, yellow talons quivering in the anticipation of a kill.
They clutched at empty air. I had already stalled, twisted, and as I went past her, the dirk of the black moon found its way into her heart. As I landed, she fell beside me, a quivering mass of slowly melting flesh. I waited till her trace vanished, and picked up my dagger. The bundle of rags gave a small whimper. The baby needed to be returned to her mother. And I could feel her companions coming.
The game would be played once again.
Do Not Look Back
ANITA quickened her steps nervously. At 11.30 pm the street was surprisingly deserted. Presumably all the laggards had gone home early to get up at dawn for the World Cup match. She had been the only person to alight from the Metro at Kalighat, and now she was hurrying home after a long workshift filled with irritations. She was worried about her sick mother’s blinding mouth pain and wondered whether her elderly father had actually escorted her to the multi-medical clinic. She had not called in case he found her supervision irksome.
The streetlights were dim and the aged crone who had emerged from nowhere, was walking directly behind at a pace which belied her years. Anita took one look and gasped in horror. Half the face appeared to have been eaten away leaving a toothless mouth below the skeletal nose cartilage. The woman glared at her and muttered strange imprecations. In her hand she held, without using for support, a sturdy stick with jagged knobs.
Anita quickened her steps and the crone quickened hers. It was only a 15 minute walk, but it seemed to last forever. The stray dogs barked neither at her nor the wraith-like figure whose sibilant whispers made her hair at the nape of her neck, stand on end. She decided that come what may, she would not turn to look again. It seemed to enrage the other. “So turning once she turned no more head, because she knew some frightful fiend doth close behind her tread.” Misquoted she thought, but relevant. The momentary relief at remembering that there had been others in her predicament, passed all too soon. She decided to walk faster and the steps behind got quicker too.
Anita flung herself at her flat door, the doorbell did not ring, yet another blasted power cut. She banged hard and after a gap, the door opened. In the dark, with a candle burning dimly at the back, she saw a figure with an open mouth and front teeth missing. She screamed again and again till darkness overtook her.
“The doctor says it’s just exhaustion,” said her father to her weeping mother. “Who would have thought that seeing you with two front teeth just extracted, would have shocked her so.”
Anita did not even try to explain the coincidence. It felt so good just to lie down and breathe normally.
The streetlights were dim and the aged crone who had emerged from nowhere, was walking directly behind at a pace which belied her years. Anita took one look and gasped in horror. Half the face appeared to have been eaten away leaving a toothless mouth below the skeletal nose cartilage. The woman glared at her and muttered strange imprecations. In her hand she held, without using for support, a sturdy stick with jagged knobs.
Anita quickened her steps and the crone quickened hers. It was only a 15 minute walk, but it seemed to last forever. The stray dogs barked neither at her nor the wraith-like figure whose sibilant whispers made her hair at the nape of her neck, stand on end. She decided that come what may, she would not turn to look again. It seemed to enrage the other. “So turning once she turned no more head, because she knew some frightful fiend doth close behind her tread.” Misquoted she thought, but relevant. The momentary relief at remembering that there had been others in her predicament, passed all too soon. She decided to walk faster and the steps behind got quicker too.
Anita flung herself at her flat door, the doorbell did not ring, yet another blasted power cut. She banged hard and after a gap, the door opened. In the dark, with a candle burning dimly at the back, she saw a figure with an open mouth and front teeth missing. She screamed again and again till darkness overtook her.
“The doctor says it’s just exhaustion,” said her father to her weeping mother. “Who would have thought that seeing you with two front teeth just extracted, would have shocked her so.”
Anita did not even try to explain the coincidence. It felt so good just to lie down and breathe normally.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Horse Power Motor
THE local police — responding to an electronic alarm — found Dr Neogi, a robotics expert, shot dead in the living room of his flat along with another corpse.
Dr Neogi, a bachelor, lived alone with a manservant, Hari, who was helped by Robby, the robot. The reception had a record of Hari leaving on the evening of the murder and Kalu, a local goon, coming in shortly afterwards. Nobody came to or left the flat after that.
CID’s inspector Chatterjee took charge completely puzzled. He consulted Anjana Dutta, who had been a junior colleague but now ran the AD Detective Agency. Anjana and her young nephew Pintu listened to him eagerly. Inspector Chatterjee said, “There was the Robacuum, a vacuum cleaner, plugged to a socket. Robacuum alternates between cleaning and charging up. It has a wireless control centre and can be guided. Robby, another robot, slightly over four feet tall with a smiling face, was sitting on a chair plugged to another electric socket.”
“Dr Neogi had purchased a property and was going to renovate it. Kalu, a supplier of inferior building materials, was insisting on being hired. Dr Neogi had refused, there were hot words and then gun shots, all recorded by the flat’s electronic video survelliance system. But after the shots were fired, the system was switched off. Kalu was found suffocated in the room locked from the inside. His face was distorted and his nails broken.”
Anjana ended the meeting by saying, “It’s time to eat. All this brain work makes me very hungry.”
After lunch, Anjana said, “Don’t you worry Inspector. The case is almost solved. But first ask the Doctor whether Kalu’s lungs were completely collapsed.”
When Inspector Chatterjee checked and confirmed that there was no air at all in the lungs, a very strange case indeed, Anjana said, “This is first recorded case of homicide by robots, the revenge of the robots.”
Pintu objected, “First law of robotics is not to injure a human being.”
Anjana explained “There is an additional law — the Zeroth Law, a robot may harm an individual in service of humanity. “
“But how did the robots kill Kalu?” asked Inspector Chatterjee.
“Robby rushed Kalu in a rugby tackle and threw him on his back. Robacuum clambered over Kalu’s face and vacuumed him. Kalu stuggled and broke his fingernails but he had no chance against a three quarter horse power motor.”
Dr Neogi, a bachelor, lived alone with a manservant, Hari, who was helped by Robby, the robot. The reception had a record of Hari leaving on the evening of the murder and Kalu, a local goon, coming in shortly afterwards. Nobody came to or left the flat after that.
CID’s inspector Chatterjee took charge completely puzzled. He consulted Anjana Dutta, who had been a junior colleague but now ran the AD Detective Agency. Anjana and her young nephew Pintu listened to him eagerly. Inspector Chatterjee said, “There was the Robacuum, a vacuum cleaner, plugged to a socket. Robacuum alternates between cleaning and charging up. It has a wireless control centre and can be guided. Robby, another robot, slightly over four feet tall with a smiling face, was sitting on a chair plugged to another electric socket.”
“Dr Neogi had purchased a property and was going to renovate it. Kalu, a supplier of inferior building materials, was insisting on being hired. Dr Neogi had refused, there were hot words and then gun shots, all recorded by the flat’s electronic video survelliance system. But after the shots were fired, the system was switched off. Kalu was found suffocated in the room locked from the inside. His face was distorted and his nails broken.”
Anjana ended the meeting by saying, “It’s time to eat. All this brain work makes me very hungry.”
After lunch, Anjana said, “Don’t you worry Inspector. The case is almost solved. But first ask the Doctor whether Kalu’s lungs were completely collapsed.”
When Inspector Chatterjee checked and confirmed that there was no air at all in the lungs, a very strange case indeed, Anjana said, “This is first recorded case of homicide by robots, the revenge of the robots.”
Pintu objected, “First law of robotics is not to injure a human being.”
Anjana explained “There is an additional law — the Zeroth Law, a robot may harm an individual in service of humanity. “
“But how did the robots kill Kalu?” asked Inspector Chatterjee.
“Robby rushed Kalu in a rugby tackle and threw him on his back. Robacuum clambered over Kalu’s face and vacuumed him. Kalu stuggled and broke his fingernails but he had no chance against a three quarter horse power motor.”
A Murder
“I WANT to murder my wife. I don’t hate her; she is
too good to be hated by anyone. Being a mystery writer myself I have always thought that it would evidently be the perfect crime but it had always eluded me until now. I want to kill her to prove that it is possible. It would be solved, I believe but...”
The maid discovered the kitchen knife tainted in blood lying on the floor. What was more horrific to her was that the person sitting right next to the dead body had blood smeared all over. She recognised the person... She screamed. “I have killed my husband,” confessed Madhabi. The maid’s statement was more than proof of the murder.
The judge was much too horrified to have read the diary and the gruesome methods depicted in it to plan the murder. The handwritings in the diary were confirmed to be of Subrata’s, her husband. Madhabi was released by the court as the ruling was done in her favour. She confessed to have killed in self-defence.
“I told you it was impossible for anyone find out any mismatch to the handwritings of the diary. It was done by an expert so don’t worry. I love you, Mads.”
“I love you too, baby,” exclaimed Madhabi. “I want to murder my wife. I don’t hate her, she is too good to be hated by anyone. Being a mystery writer myself I have always thought what would evidently be the perfect crime but it had always eluded me until now. I want to kill her to prove that it is possible. It would be solved, I believe but the only absolute crime that exists is not the one that remains unsolved but the one which is solved with the wrong culprit.”
too good to be hated by anyone. Being a mystery writer myself I have always thought that it would evidently be the perfect crime but it had always eluded me until now. I want to kill her to prove that it is possible. It would be solved, I believe but...”
The maid discovered the kitchen knife tainted in blood lying on the floor. What was more horrific to her was that the person sitting right next to the dead body had blood smeared all over. She recognised the person... She screamed. “I have killed my husband,” confessed Madhabi. The maid’s statement was more than proof of the murder.
The judge was much too horrified to have read the diary and the gruesome methods depicted in it to plan the murder. The handwritings in the diary were confirmed to be of Subrata’s, her husband. Madhabi was released by the court as the ruling was done in her favour. She confessed to have killed in self-defence.
“I told you it was impossible for anyone find out any mismatch to the handwritings of the diary. It was done by an expert so don’t worry. I love you, Mads.”
“I love you too, baby,” exclaimed Madhabi. “I want to murder my wife. I don’t hate her, she is too good to be hated by anyone. Being a mystery writer myself I have always thought what would evidently be the perfect crime but it had always eluded me until now. I want to kill her to prove that it is possible. It would be solved, I believe but the only absolute crime that exists is not the one that remains unsolved but the one which is solved with the wrong culprit.”
699
FILE # 699
Text version of original audio file (recorded in Sony portable cassette player model no. BL34009/678) retrieved from the National Security Department of India on June 29, 1990.
C/O: Department of Extraterrestrial Research (Under Col. Richard Garson, Pentagon)
Status: Highly confidential Six forty five PM — Getting an almost 95 per cent reading. But cannot see or hear anything noteworthy.
Sounds of heavy breathing (Duration: 0285 seconds).
Sudden change in surrounding e nv i ro n m e n t . Heavy cold breeze developed out of nowhere accompanied by thunder and lightning. Proceeding to open window to check status.
Hasty movement followed by shrill noise of fast wind (Duration: 0139 seconds)
Wind speed above normal. Extraordinary conditions. Heavy clouds covering the horizon have come out of nowhere within just five minutes. Everything’s shaking within the house.
No change in background sounds, silence from anonymous observer’s end (Duration: 079 seconds).
Voltage fluctuating within room. Reading showing a full hundred first time since I modified the transistor. Lights going on and off. Must go outside.
Sounds of varying nature including hurried footsteps, wind, thunder, etc. (Duration: 0377 seconds).
I’m out now. Walking towards field. Situation getting more intimidating by the minute. What the...
No change in background sounds (Duration: 0578 seconds)
I have no explanation for what I am witnessing right now. It’s beautiful, intriguing and scary at the same time. The clouds are parting in a way so as to form a huge circular void in the middle of the sky. Void emitting distinct fluorescent green light. By the way it has stopped thundering. I’m flabbergasted to the core. Palpitation, heartbeat above normal. Something’s descending from the void. Getting closer for better view.
Dull, grim sound with strange noise in the background (1179 seconds)
Trying my best not to sound emotional. My perseverance has borne fruit. I’m standing in front of an alien spaceship. It has an awkward build, unable to be examined with so much light around. Not one of those regular disc types we get to see in Hollywood movies these days. Hesitant about getting closer. Let’s wait and see what happens. Long silence interrupted occasionally by a mechanical sound (Duration: 0721 seconds) Door has opened at last. Sharp light distorting my sight. Force of gargantuan strength pulling me towards the door. Can’t hold on to the recorder. Maybe, this is my last. Unnatural sounds lasting for fifteen minutes follows. End of record.
Text version of original audio file (recorded in Sony portable cassette player model no. BL34009/678) retrieved from the National Security Department of India on June 29, 1990.
C/O: Department of Extraterrestrial Research (Under Col. Richard Garson, Pentagon)
Status: Highly confidential Six forty five PM — Getting an almost 95 per cent reading. But cannot see or hear anything noteworthy.
Sounds of heavy breathing (Duration: 0285 seconds).
Sudden change in surrounding e nv i ro n m e n t . Heavy cold breeze developed out of nowhere accompanied by thunder and lightning. Proceeding to open window to check status.
Hasty movement followed by shrill noise of fast wind (Duration: 0139 seconds)
Wind speed above normal. Extraordinary conditions. Heavy clouds covering the horizon have come out of nowhere within just five minutes. Everything’s shaking within the house.
No change in background sounds, silence from anonymous observer’s end (Duration: 079 seconds).
Voltage fluctuating within room. Reading showing a full hundred first time since I modified the transistor. Lights going on and off. Must go outside.
Sounds of varying nature including hurried footsteps, wind, thunder, etc. (Duration: 0377 seconds).
I’m out now. Walking towards field. Situation getting more intimidating by the minute. What the...
No change in background sounds (Duration: 0578 seconds)
I have no explanation for what I am witnessing right now. It’s beautiful, intriguing and scary at the same time. The clouds are parting in a way so as to form a huge circular void in the middle of the sky. Void emitting distinct fluorescent green light. By the way it has stopped thundering. I’m flabbergasted to the core. Palpitation, heartbeat above normal. Something’s descending from the void. Getting closer for better view.
Dull, grim sound with strange noise in the background (1179 seconds)
Trying my best not to sound emotional. My perseverance has borne fruit. I’m standing in front of an alien spaceship. It has an awkward build, unable to be examined with so much light around. Not one of those regular disc types we get to see in Hollywood movies these days. Hesitant about getting closer. Let’s wait and see what happens. Long silence interrupted occasionally by a mechanical sound (Duration: 0721 seconds) Door has opened at last. Sharp light distorting my sight. Force of gargantuan strength pulling me towards the door. Can’t hold on to the recorder. Maybe, this is my last. Unnatural sounds lasting for fifteen minutes follows. End of record.
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