A Cog in the Wheel

The walker was walking briskly in the forest. He regularly walked every day for over an hour. It had not always been that way. He had started walking seriously only a few years back. Something made him take up walking to an extent he had not walked earlier. He wasn't sure what had made him walk so much. But he walked around ten thousand steps a day, give or take a few steps. On some days, he nearly doubled the number of steps, driven by some unseen force. Today, when he had covered about six thousand steps he suddenly keeled over and crashed to the ground. Other walkers nearby rushed to help, but it was too late.

Simultaneously, fourteen other persons across the globe too fell to their death. Their death was intricately connected to one another though none of them knew each other.  They all had something in common that they were unaware of.

The number of steps that they took every day was tied to the destiny of many people in the world. Every step each of them took took away the life of a human being somewhere, leading to an average of about a hundred and fifty deaths a day. Some days when he or one of the others walked more than usual, some catastrophic event somewhere increased the average.

**

The "Man in the Moon", also known as the Force was amused to see all the fifteen die at the same time. Such a thing had not happened before. By  some strange coincidence, the Terminate function had been called for fifteen persons by different parts of the simlulation. It was the Force that entwined their walk with human deaths. It was the puppeteer controlling the strings of the great simulation that controlled the world. The simulation controlled who was a designated walker, i.e. a walker who, so to say, was the metronome by which The Grim Reaper hewed his scythe. It also controlled which human being was terminated as the designated walker took a step. Every designated walker was liable for termination too. In such a case, the simulation chose a replacement designated walker. And made him take up walking, like it had with others before him. Everything that happened was a part of the simulation. Every landslide, earthquake, snowstorm, flood and drought was a result of the operation of the simulation. Every election was rigged. Every winner of every  game, roulette or any other, was all determined by the Force's simulation.

The Force was based on the Moon and humans had failed to recognise the signs of existence of the Force. The Force had access to interfere in programs written by humans and not hesitated to save his turf when imminent danger was suspected. The Force had effectively neutralised a manned moon rocket a few decades back and an unmanned lander quite recently. 

It did introduce variables into the simulation from time to time. It rewrote bits of code to change or control the simulation as it desired. It was all powerful.

Or so it thought ...

Like every member of the military top brass, politician, gang-lord, corporate honcho, sports captains,  or classroom monitor, it had delusions of power.

**

But it was just another cog in the wheel. It itself was part of simulation in which he had several peers he was unaware of. The nearest planet with life, which was in no way similar to what Earthlings imagined, had two moons. The Force's peers in those moons not only controlled life on it, but actually played a game against each other. Like the Force, they introduced variables in their simulations or changed codes at the behest of the code that controlled them, under the watch of the Great Simulator, who controlled many such simulations.

GS too had delusions of power, but then GS too was just another cog in the wheel ...



                                                                             ***


Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

The Halo

Estella was delighted when members of her family first noticed the halo over her head when she was about ten years old. Like many achievers, she had started early. Initially it was quite dim and not easily noticeable. She had worked hard to get it. Everyone at home had enquired how she had got it. She had proudly mentioned that she had saved the neighbourhood cat from the large dog down the road.

She proudly wore her halo and held her head high. It was the “Family” halo and no one in the family did anything to surpass her achievement and snatch it away from her. It went on increasing in brightness as she did more deeds. But her friends could not see it as it was visible only to family members.

Around 12, they noticed a second and dim halo over the first one. Family members had difficulty in noticing it as it was faint and hardly visible in the brightness of the Family halo. But friends who could not see the Family halo could see it. It was the Friendship halo. People enquired what she had done to merit the new halo. But she did not brag about her activities. She continued doing what she did and this halo too grew brighter and brighter as days passed.

When she was about 14 years old, another fainter halo appeared. This was the “City” halo. She had now managed to scale up her activities to the extent that they affected the entire city. Like earlier, her previous halos shone bright and the new one was not visible easily to family and friends. But everyone else in the city could see it. Soon she had a “State” halo too.

At 16, she went national. Very few persons had five halos. It was almost as if she was carrying a bright set of rings of the Tower of Hanoi on her head. She became an instant celebrity. TV channels rushed in to interview her and newspapers ran articles on her. After all a “National” level achiever was hardly to be ignored or sneezed at. People flocked to take her autographs. They wanted to take selfies with her.

With all five halos in full brilliance, she embarked on her next mission at 18. She wanted to go international. She managed to hack into the computers of the Air Traffic Control of the largest international airport in the world. She fiddled with their software to incorporate differences between actual time and position of aircraft and the ones used for tracking traffic. Now the heights, distances, directions and speeds were all different from their actual place is 3-D space. The adjustments made ensured that several pairs aircraft would be at the identical place at the same time. In the next fifteen minutes, nearly 8 mid-air collisions occurred, involving airlines from 9 different countries and people of over 20 nationalities. Though deft handling by the pilots involved averted the disaster, her effort and ingenuity were noticed and rewarded.   And her “International’ halo appeared instantly. Not dim, like others initially were. In full brightness.

Oh, I had forgotten to tell you, her first halo had appeared when she had slit the throat of the dog that was troubling the cat, as had subsequent ones. With half a dozen halos, she wondered what she had to do get the coveted bright horns over the last halo. She decided she need to read more about the Mongol chiefs, German and Ugandan dictators, and the like to get some inspiration for the future. In future she would join this worthy crew – Estella had no doubt about that.

She decided to get a job in a virology lab. It was empowering to have the fate of the world in her hands. She had the means to get the world down to its knees. Last year, in 2019,  she joined the lab. And the rest, as they say, is history.

She now has the brightest pair of halo horns ever.

***

Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

Missing the Woods for the Trees

They were sipping at a coffee shop near their office. Maya had taken a latte and her friend, a cappuccino. 

He looked quite trim and she asked, "What do you do to keep yourself fit?"

"I work out at home at least an hour each evening and a couple of hours on weekends. In addition, I try to walk at least 5 kilometres every morning," he said.

"The footpaths in Bangalore are terrible, and the roads are dusty and full of potholes." she said, adding, "You walk on a treadmill, perhaps, to keep away from all that and vehicle pollution?"

"No," he said, "There's a little wood about half a kilometre from my house, which is ideal for walking. I love spending time there."

"Wood?", she asked, "You are really lucky to have the lung space so near! I would love to see it."

"Why don't you join me this Sunday morning?", he asked.

She smiled to herself. That was a beginning she liked, she thought.

"That would be wonderful," she said.

"Wear some comfortable walking shoes. It's just a mud trail, and pretty easy," he said, adding, "And remember to wear long pants to avoid thorns. I will pick you up from this coffee shop."

**

On Sunday morning, she turned up at the coffee shop duly outfitted for the walk. He picked her up and drove her to the edge of the wood and parked in a spot where his vehicle would be clearly visible to other road users, so that they could avoid it.

The wood was the property of the Forest Department and had a fence around it. They entered through a gate, which had a board specifying the timings the forest was open to the public. There was also a board with the "Do's and Don'ts" – advising them what they were supposed to or prohibited from doing there. They, however, had a discussion on whether the board should have read "Dos and Don'ts" or "Do's and Don't's". The discussion was inconclusive.

The walk itself was fascinating. They could hear the creaking of the bamboo trees as they bent in the wind and grazed against a neighbouring tree. They could hear the calls of various birds. They even managed to spot and identify a few, though they did have a small dispute on the identity of a particular species. Anyway disputes are part of the deal on the path to friendship. One should not let them break a friendship.

After covering around a couple of kilometres, they looped back by another route back to where the car was parked. He drove her back to the coffee shop.

As they parted, she said, "Let's do it again next Sunday."

He replied, "Sure. My pleasure," as he drove off.

**

She did not call him during the whole week, so he called her on Saturday, to check whether the plan for Sunday was still on.

She responded in a frigid tone, "I tried to look up that wood on Google Earth. I also looked up the map and find that area is full of large houses. I find that there is no mention of that wood anywhere on the web. Are you trying to pull a fast one on me?"

He was terribly confused. He asked, "What do you mean?," adding, "I took you out there last Sunday. Maybe you looked in the wrong place. I can take you there again tomorrow as we had planned. You can check it out for yourself."

"Okay," she agreed, "May be you can pick me up tomorrow morning at the coffee shop."

"Certainly," he confirmed.

**

As he was driving to the wood, after picking her up,  he said, "You must have made a mistake and looked it up in the wrong place on Google Earth. Let me show it to you after we reach." 

"Are you insinuating that I cannot locate things correctly online?," she asked, with a confrontational attitude.

He backed off from the confrontation. Anyway disputes are part of the deal on the path to friendship. One should not let them break a friendship, he thought.

As he parked his car at the same spot as the previous week, he said, "Here we are! Look, you can see the wood we saw last week."

"Where?," she asked, "I don't see any wood here. I only see a palatial bungalow beyond the gates!"

To his horror, the wood had disappeared from before his eyes and all he could see was a big house with a circular garden in front of it.

Confused, he blurted, "Oh, yes! I see the house. Where has the wood gone?"

Then, he confided, "Sorry! I confess! There was no wood at all. I just hypnotized you into believing that there was a wood and we had walked in it. I just wanted to spend some time with you."

"Oh my god! And I had believed every bit of it. That wasn't a very nice thing to do, but I will forgive you this one time, considering your motive," she said.

She smiled and murmured to herself. "Gotcha!". It was exactly what she wanted – a person who would do every bidding, satisfy every whim and follow every instruction she gave.  Every word he had uttered from the time they had first met, including the previous sentence, was at her behest. A companion, whom she could mesmerise and control to such an extant that he believed he had hypnotized her and had her in his control! She had him exactly where she wanted him. After all, she was Maya1..

Author's note: I have not named the gentleman in order to protect his identity, as some of you may know him. Any name will work here, for most men often revel in the thought that they are in control and free to make their choices, when, in reality, they are not.

1 Maya means illusion or magic.

***

Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

Going Around in Circles

It was slightly chilly December morning and there was a light breeze as I zipped on my riding jacket and put on my helmet. As I pulled on the choke lever and kick-started my motorcycle, I thought this was as cold as it could get in Goa, except perhaps in the ice age.

My guide, who was the owner of the rental motorcycle, also doubled as a mechanic and helper in case I had problem with the bike. He put in his tools and a puncture kit in the rucksack strapped to the side pillion seat, which he would occupy.

Most passengers on bikes in Goa are carried on the pillion seat with the owner in the front seat, riding the bike. But I had insisted on it being the other way around. I liked to feel the wind in my face while riding and my friend, the owner of the bike had obliged. He also put on my backpack that contained some essentials like water and a few eatables for the day.

We rode south towards Margao and thence towards Quepem. Near Paroda, we had a small river on our left. It was the Kushavati, also known as the Paroda river, a tributary of the much larger Zuari, one of the lifelines of Goa.

Just after passing the Quepem town square, in reality a rectangular municipal garden, which also served as the local roundabout, we turned left and rode on a bridge that crossed the river. A little further, we came across crossroads managed by a dusty looking policeman. His uniform looked dirty as if it carried the dust of centuries. In reality, it was washed every second day and what I was seeing was just a day's worth of dust that flew off from the dumpers, that continuously crossed his station, carrying iron-ore to the Mormugao port, liberally dusting the country roads at every bump.

We turned right into a narrow road slowing down to avoid being hit by rows of dumper trucks. These trucks carried iron ore from the mines further in the interior and were usually driven as if they owned the road. They probably did in a sense of the word, having "taken care" of corrupt officials to get necessary permits. If you rode continuously behind one of them, you could be assured of an iron lung, or a need to have an iron lung in the not so distant future.

After we crossed the hamlet of Rivona, there were a couple of signs put up by the Archeological Department on the roadside, pointing the route to a protected site. After a few kilometres, the sign pointed to the right and we found ourselves on a gravelly road. We made slow progress over the loose stones, but the absence of the trucks made it easier.

A little further we turned left and rode uphill and past a large gash in the ground, having many paths with dozens of switchbacks. It was an opencast mine that had fallen into disuse, either during the mining ban that was there for sometime, or due to the sheer economics of getting low grade ore out from that deep pit. Some water had accumulated to form a small pool at the bottom. No doubt, it would be much larger during the monsoon, when Goa gets copious amounts of rain.

The path turned right and went downwards to a small clearing. We had arrived at the prehistoric site of Pansaimol/Usgalimol. Since the site was not very well known and not in the popular tourist circuit, there were no other visitors there.

When we got off the bike, we noticed that the rear tyre seemed to be under inflated. It looked like we had had a puncture. My guide said he would attend to it right away, now that we had the time, rather than repair it later when it went fully flat on a road with those monster trucks rushing by. He pointed me in the direction of the archaeological site, and I proceeded on foot.

Following his directions, I came to a small shack made of coconut trunks and fronds. A part-time caretaker, employed by the Archaeological Department, was seated inside. There was a narrow bridge, made of a couple of tree trunks, across a small rivulet. The crossing was a bit of a tightrope-walk and I slowly made it to the other side. I had reached a pretty large area of stone on the banks of the Kushavati, which was about 20 foot wide at this place. At my feet were dozens of carvings in the stone. Some figures were clearly animal and birds. Some required a bit of cleaning or imagination to decipher what the ancient artist was trying to say.

As I moved around, I came across what was clearly the depiction of a labyrinth, reminiscent of the chakravyuha in the Mahabharata .  I wasn't quite sure if it was the map of some specific, and as yet undiscovered, labyrinth in the neighbourhood or just an example of the artist's creativity. I put down the bag and sat down in front of the "entrance" and traced my finger along the engraved path. Going around in ever decreasing circles, my finger reached the centre of the diagram. When touching the centre, some unknown instinct prompted me to "Open Sesame" rather dramatically.

**

I found myself in a long corridor having several doorways on one side and windows on the other. Bright sunlight lit up the row of windows. The doorways were all identical and led to other corridors. It looked like the labyrinth carving in Goa had transported me to a maze.

Purists differentiate between the two terms labyrinth and maze. A labyrinth has just one entrance-cum-exit and no crossing paths. One cannot get 'lost' in a labyrinth, however winding it might be. Just following the wall will lead out. In contrast, a maze has multiple choices and crossing paths, which may potentially trap a person 'forever'.

I wandered around wondering where I had landed up, when I heard voices. Going towards the voices, I caught up with them, after a couple of false starts since sounds were getting reflected off the walls. I saw a group of around a dozen people stepping on to a terrace.

I heard a person, who was obviously their guide, tell them, in Hindustani, "You are now at the upper part of the Bhool-Bhulaiya.  You have to find your way back. I shall wait for you at the entrance we came through. I shall give you an hour to find your way out. Call me on the mobile number mentioned on my card if you want me to come and help you earlier than that. Here's my card."  Saying this he slipped back into the shadows and disappeared.

My mind was zapped into awareness by one word in that dialogue. Mobile. I realised could use my mobile's map function to find my location! I pulled it out and checked. To my utter astonishment, I saw I was at the Bada Imambara in Lucknow. I looked for further information on Wikipedia and found that the maze had nearly five hundred identical doorways and a thousand pathways between them. A nice place to get lost, I thought.

But the map function was no great help in solving the maze because of two reasons: one, bad connectivity and two, lack of details of the insides of the maze. So I explored around, walking from corridor to corridor along the outer periphery, which had windows through which the outside world was visible, and planned going to the next row inwards, if I did find the exit on the periphery.

My self confidence proved to be overconfidence as I had now separated from the tourist group which, as a last resort, had at least a phone number to bank on.

As I walked into an inner chamber, I heard a rumbling noise and turned round to see a wall behind me slide and close the passage from which I had just emerged. Horrified, I turned around to see that the same thing had happened on the other side too. I had no idea what had triggered this activity. I was now effectively trapped inside the chamber.  To my knowledge I had not committed any offence that was punishable with death by "walling up", as was executed in the medieval times.

There was no source of light or air in my cell. Neither did my cellphone seem to work here.   I had no food or water with me. Slowly but surely I was running out of oxygen, as there was no window. I tried tapping on the wall all around me at different heights hoping to find some point which could trigger the wall to open. I was unsuccessful. Some time later I became unconscious.

**

When I regained consciousness, I once again started feeling around in the darkness to find an exit. My groping hands encountered something soft and fibrous, while my nose recognised the distinctive smell of animals.

As usual, I had forgotten the things my phone could do. I switched on its torch, and saw that I was surrounded by sleeping sheep, in the plural. I counted about eleven of them – I may have double counted some or missed some – but did not fall asleep. I am not kidding.

My phone, however, was unable to latch on to any network and its inbuilt location app did not work. I ventured out of the enclosure, but it was dark and cold. So I crept back into the warmth among the woolly creatures.

Presently, as the first rays of the pre-dawn sun peeked over the horizon, I heard the melodious voice of a young lady singing in a rustic dialect of Hindi as she approached. She sang not only about the power, grace and majesty of the male falcon and its love, attention and care  for the female of the species. The voice carried in the silence of the morning and the refrain went "Mera baaz baaz na aayega ...". (My falcon won't change its ways...)

The singer opened the ramshackle gate of the enclosure and made a beckoning sound at which all the animals except me trooped out. They seemed to bleat in consonance with her song. I followed the last animal out. She was around thirteen and was very beautiful.

She asked me,  "What are you doing in that enclosure?"

Having no real and credible answer, I truthfully replied, "Sleeping."

"Why are you dressed so oddly? What's that you are wearing?, she asked pointing to my biker jacket.

I removed it and she touched its soft faux-leather and said it was very soft and nice. The zip intrigued her as it was clear she had never seen one before. I showed her how to operate it and she was wonderstruck. I offered her the jacket as a gesture of friendship and a bright smile illuminated her extraordinarily pretty face, as she murmured her thanks.

I asked her her name and enquired about where we are. She said that she was called Roop by her friends, but her full name was Roopmati. As to the location, she said we were near Mandavgad in Malwa.

On a hunch, I asked her, "Who is the the king here?".

She replied, "The Mughals rule Delhi, but Mandu* keeps changing hands frequently. No one knows who the next ruler will be."

I remembered my high school history book. It had said Baz Bahadur had won the throne of Mandu and had married a beautiful shepherdess called Roopmati, who was said to have a melodious voice.  It is nice to know history before it happens. Little did this Little Bo-Peep know that she would one day be the Queen of Malwa.

I said, tongue in cheek, "You were singing of Baaz and Shaheen (male and female falcons in Urdu). Perhaps the next ruler will be a Baaz who will carry you away."

She smiled shyly and asked me how I had got there. I started my story from the time I started running my finger in the labyrinth on the banks of a river. I told her how I had got transported with the words "Open Sesame" and reached Lucknow first and then to her sheecote . I told her that I had no idea how to get back to my own town. I did not say anything about getting back to my own time.

Quick on the uptake, the wise lass gave me a suggestion which had not even crossed my mind. She said, "Maybe you should try saying, 'Close Sesame'."

"Close Sesame?", I asked, not having got the full import of saying her advice aloud. Perhaps the powers that be did not sense the question mark at the end of my query.

* Another name for Mandavgad

**

I found myself back near the labyrinth etched into the riverside.

My guide said, "Aah, there you are! I was wondering where you had gone."

He sniffed and added, "Why do you smell as if you have been sleeping among goats? And where is your riding jacket?"

He probably couldn't differentiate between smell of one animal or another, so I just gave him a sheepish smile. We searched around for the jacket though I knew it was in Mandu.

**

I wonder once in a way what Baz Bahadur would have thought of the zipper on my jacket. Or wondered which animal skin had been used to make the jacket. And I can never forgive myself for not photographing the pretty shepherdess on my mobile phone. Our phone vendors emphasise their phones' camera abilities, but I forgot to take a selfie with her. I would have had the only photograph of Roop in the world. Pardon my being rather familiar with her name, but that's how she had introduced herself. Life is full of missed opportunities.

***


Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

The Other Side of the Story

Subansiri was from Assam and had been named after the tributary of the Brahmaputra that flows through that state. She had just appeared for her final year medical examinations some time back and was excited about the results that were due today. She had no doubt about her results, though the question papers were of a quality that professional courses needed to have to ensure that their alumni were up to international standards. As always, she had performed well and would surely be among the top three ranks at the college. The question was which of the those three places she would get.

She knew she would be competing with two young men from her batch – Aashish and Aakash. Both had similar backgrounds. Both came from families with three generations of doctors, in contrast to her family where she would be the first. Both obviously had parents who subscribed to a common Indian thought that their child's name had to be the first in the alphabetically arranged college rolls and had named their son with names starting with a pair of 'A's.  However, in Aashish's case, their precaution had not been abundant enough – he had been outstripped by Aakash's parents, at least in that department.

                                                                                **

They met in the lobby and approached the results displayed on the notice board. As foreseen, they had indeed shared the top three spots. Aakash headed the list, followed by her and Aashish, all separated by just one mark each. They decided to retire to the cafeteria to celebrate and discuss their future plans. Their future academic plans had been discussed long back, for all the three of them had decided to pursue further studies in surgery and if possible, at the same college abroad, for the trio were truly inseparable.

The future plans they were discussing in the cafeteria, however, pertained to their immediate future. Siri, as she was called by them, had decided to take a break by going home to Lakhimpur. Aakash and Aashish, being locals, had decided to take a bike tour of the neighbouring states. However, fate had some other plans.

**

Aakash, riding on the exhilaration of having topped the course, decided to propose to Siri, then and there. Actually, he had already decided to do so before coming to college, irrespective of the position he would get. The results had only strengthened his resolve. He was a practical and no non-sense type of young man. He did not believe in the necessity of a romantic environment for proposing. Nor did he believe in getting down on his knees or proffering a rose. 

But he was flabbergasted when Siri turned down his proposal. Worse, as if to insult him –  in his opinion – she went on to admit that her heart beat for Aashish. Aakash was thunderstruck and could not understand how she could prefer the third ranker who had scored even less than her marks. 

His rage was uncontrollable. He had been worried that she might reject his offer and had brought along a dagger to stage a drama that he would kill himself if she spurned him. He drew the dagger from his bag and in a fit of jealousy, stabbed Aashish in the left side of his chest, going straight for his heart, with the precision which only a student of anatomy can muster.

Aashish doubled over, falling on the table, as blood gushed out his wound. Everyone around screamed. Luckily they were surrounded by doctors-in-waiting and the college's hospital was next door. As other students pulled Aakash away, someone called Emergency and within minutes an ambulance arrived. 

Siri was in shock, but her professional training had dictated her behaviour. She had stemmed the bloodflow with a pad made out a towel. She had already noted that the blood loss was not as substantial as it would have been if Aakash had damaged the heart. But her knowledge of anatomy told her that there was no way Aakash had missed Aashish's heart, the wound being where it was.

As she accompanied the stretcher to the ambulance, Aashish grimaced at first and then grinned at her.

He said just three words, as he winked, which made a world of difference to her, and brought a smile to her face and hope in her heart.

"Situs inversus totalis."

***

  

Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

Burning Desire

Author's Note: This story is wholly fictional, though it does draw on the prevailing social conditions in Goa in the mid-eighteenth century

Caetano D'Costa had wooed and won the heart of Consuela de Albuquerque, but her father was an old world elitist. She had been baptised at Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Consolação in Sesimbra when her father was in Portugal and had been named in the Spanish fashion after the patron saint of the church. In his book, he was a member of the ruling Portuguese elite; a member of the prestigious imperial hierarchy that ruled Goa – a fidalgo1, with the right to rule the locals. It was another matter that he was just a middle order nobleman. His claim to eliteness was to a large extant based on the fact that he was a distant relative of Afonso de Albuquerque, the Governor of Goa.

When he came to know of the romance, the lesser of his worries was whether a commoner, especially a newly converted one,  could give his daughter all the comforts and privileges that a member of the administrative services of the empire could give. But, privately, and more importantly, he dreaded the slight to his status that such a marriage would bring. He could have packed her off to Portugal, but he knew that the Europeans there would still look down upon her, as one from the colonies. There was only one way out, he decided. He would make her join the Church.

For this he chose one of the oldest nunneries. It was a very austere order and resided in a cloistered campus. The nuns lived in seclusion and had no contact with any male except their father, paternal uncles or brothers of the inmate, or the convent's doctor, in case the need arose. Even the male relatives who were allowed to visit were permitted to do so just twice in a month and under supervision.

On admission, Consuela's hair was shorn before she took up the veil. Due to her father's Portuguese ancestry, she was given the privilege of wearing a black veil, while nuns of Goan descent had to use a white one. Of course, this small concession did not spare her from the hard life that all the inmates led. Other than their time spent on prayer and activities directly linked to the convent, they spent their time making vestments, tending the extensive garden in the quadrangle and in cooking jam and other preserves. During prayers conducted by the Archbishop, once in a year, they sat in the choir loft to observe the mass without being themselves seen. The segregation was complete and absolute.

Caitu, as Caetano was commonly known, was flabbergasted at what her father had done. He knew that if he did not take necessary steps, there was no way of meeting Consuela again. He realised that becoming a doctor was one way of doing that. In Goa, a dotor2 is a well respected person and usually considered above suspicion. He was intelligent enough to qualify as a doctor as early as possible, but there was a hitch. He needed to be the doctor whom the convent consulted.  There was little chance of his taking the place of the existing incumbent.

1 nobleman, in Portuguese
2 Not a typo! This Goan Konkani word for doctor comes from the Portuguese "doutor"

**

So he hatched a plan – he would join the church and become a doctor in the service of the Church.  For this he selected to join the order that had its campus just across the road from the convent. It took him a few years to become a physician. The nunnery quickly grabbed the opportunity to take him on as their consultant doctor as he was easily accessible as compared to the previous one who had do come from the nearest city at a time of his convenience.

Soon he began regular visits to the nunnery whenever he was called to attend to one inmate or another. He was always supervised on these visits by an inmate, other than the patient,who escorted him from the door to the ailing inmate. Several months passed and it looked that Consuela never fell ill. So, he did not get an opportunity to meet her, even in the presence of another inmate.

One day, he was informed that one of the older inmates of the nunnery appeared to be in a critical condition. He hastened to the nunnery and knocked at the entrance he usually used. As the door opened, his heart took a leap, as it was opened by Consuela, who was to escort him to the bedside of her ailing senior.

**

Seeing him at the door, Consuela was unsure of her feelings as she led him through the building. She had taken the vows of her order, but seeing him in flesh made her doubt her own resoluteness. While he too was happy that his plan had worked, he was not quite sure what the future held for both of them. For the moment, he attended to his duties towards the patient and was let out silently. The surprise of seeing each other had stunned both Caitu and Consuela to silence.

**

He made several similar visits to see the same patient, but never encountered Consuela again. He was not sure if it was providence at work or whether she was avoiding him. At the end of one such visit, he was let out through the room which was used by nuns to meet their visiting relatives. Though he could not see Consuela as she was yet to arrive, he recognised her father who was waiting to meet her. Her father was shocked to see his daughter's old flame in the nunnery, that too in religious clothing and apparently having a free run of the premises.

**

As soon as Consuela's father left the premises, he went straight to the former palace of Adil Shah, the erstwhile ruler of the area before the Portuguese colonisation. The palace was now re-purposed as the head-quarters of the dreaded Holy Inquisition in Goa.  He announced his name and asked for the Inquisitor. The Albuquerque in his name got him an immediate audience.

He informed the Inquisitor that he had learnt that Caetano D'Costa, a convert who had been ordained as a priest, continued to carry on the practices of his erstwhile religion. In those days, a mere complaint was enough to start inquisition proceedings, and the burden of innocence was on the accused. Caitu was picked up by the Inquistion and taken to the notorious Big House3, as the palace was euphemistically known.

3 'VhoDle Ghor' or 'Orlem Ghor', in Konkani, as it was called in whispered horror

**

Caitu was subjected to various kinds of torture to make him confess. However, he resisted the urge to make a false confession, knowing very well that a confession would certainly lead to dire consequences. When Consuela's father heard that a confession was not forthcoming, he decided to get rid of Caetano once and for all. He put in a suggestion that the accused be pronounced guilty and subjected to an auto-da-fe, a public execution by burning. He was willing to do anything to that end and managed to achieve his objective by pulling appropriate strings.

**

Caetano D'Costa was burnt in the public square as ordered by the Inquistion. The flames consumed his body turning it to ashes that fell to the ground in the praça.

**

A few days later, wholly unaware of what had happened to Caitu, Consuela took part in the rites that marked the commencement of Lent. On Ash Wednesday, ashes obtained from burning palm leaves consecrated in the previous year's Palm Sunday celebrations, were applied to her forehead, amidst chants of "Memento, homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris", reminding her that humankind was dust and to dust it would return. Some people paraphrase it 'Ashes to ashes, dust to dust'.

She never saw Caitu again. Little did she know that her old flame had been extinguished by another flame.

^{4 Bahadur Shah Zafar says the same, "Main vo ek musht-e-gubaar hoon" in his poem "Na kisi kee aankh ka noor hoon". Listen to Mohd. Rafi's poignant rendition in the movie Lal Quila here.} 

***

Post-script: The last auto da fé in Goa was held in 1773 and the Inquisition was disbanded in 1820.

Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

The Trekker

The man sat at a table under the canopy outside a restaurant on the road to a Nandi Hills, a favourite getaway for Bangaloreans. It is about fifty kilometres from the city. The road up the hill was a moderately tough climb for both cyclists and trekkers. The last couple of kilometres of the road had a dozen hairpin bends which were a challenge for the cyclists who had to cope with the gradient and other vehicles as well. When they reached the top, they usually turned back to coast downhill using up all their potential energy. They did not climb the hill to take in the visual treat that the heights offered and hence did not spend time at the top. It was exhilarating to reach speeds of over seventy kilometers an hour when rushing downhill. The adrenaline rush that ride gave was fantastic. The wind cooled their bodies overworked by the uphill ride and blew off whatever sweat that still remained on them. It did get a bit scary when one reached speeds where a brake failure could mean that one would take up flying without even a trainee licence.

The inside of the restaurant was nearly full and people returning from treks and bike rides. The bikers preferred to sit under the canopy while they sipped a lime juice or two. They could keep an eye on their bicycles propped up against the canopy's supports. The trekker was wearing garments suitable for his sport – light, but heavy duty, to save his arms and legs from getting scratched by the shrubbery –  and rubber-soled ankle boots. His alpenstock rested against the table, while his backpack sat on the adjacent chair. He had driven on these roads many times and walked on many paths well enough to know each turn and slope.

He had just driven down from the top and his vehicle was parked near the restaurant. He had crossed two cyclists a couple of kilometers earlier on his way down. They now arrived at the restaurant and parked their bikes. They occupied the table next to him and ordered their drink and breakfast. One biker was pretty short and other was moderately tall. Both were trim and wore skin tight tops and shorts.

As they waited for the order to be delivered, they started talking. The shorter one said, "I know you are in a bad mood because of your break-up yesterday. Shrug it off and enjoy the ride."

"Shall we go up again?" he asked.

The taller one grinned and replied, "Who told you I am in a bad mood? I am rather glad that we broke up yesterday. In fact, I have already fixed my date for tonight."

The trekker broke in saying, "I had cycled all the way from Bangalore to the top of this hill in 1977. We had to push the bike up some slopes. All we had were roadsters which did not give us the benefit of gears."

Shorty was amazed and with widened eyes, exclaimed, "Wow, Uncle! That must have been quite an adventure. We drove down by car and cycled from here to top and back."

Tallboy's phone rang and he made a grimace. Shorty asked him, "Is that call from your ex?"

Tallboy replied, "Yes, she has been calling me all morning and I have not taken her calls. I am done with her. Who wants a pregnant girlfriend?"

He cut the call and placed the phone on the table. A little later, it rang again. This time, he looked at the name on the screen and brightened up. He took the call enthusiastically and walked away from the table.

The trekker asked Shorty, "What do you guys do? Are you working or studying?"

Shorty replied that they were students at a college in the city.

"How many trips do you do?" asked the trekker.

Shorty replied, "At present four round trips, but we want to increase it. At least two more trips today."

After some conversation, Tallboy ended the call and came and sat down again.

Shorty asked him, "Looks like someone else this  time. Your date for tonight?"

Tallboy gave a big smile, saying, "No. Different girl. She said she found me very cute. Fixed up a date for today evening.Will get away well in time for the night date."

Shorty laughed and commented, "You seem to have got over your breakup pretty well. Already two in the pipeline?"

Tallboy bragged, "Actually five in the pipeline." He added, "They all seem to be attracted to me. Getting into a relationship with Maya was the biggest mistake in my life. I would have missed out on so many girls. In fact, yesterday she threatened to create trouble for me, when I asked her to abort. Worse, a couple of these girls called me when I was with her and she found out I was playing the field. I told her point-blank that I was not interested in her any longer. She was infuriated and told me that she would tell her dad about us and he would know what to do with me. He is a police officer and can create trouble. When we were riding down, a police jeep crossed us. I was worried that they were looking out for me."

He added an afterthought, "She doesn't know how powerful my dad is.  I need to speak to him to get her father transferred somewhere far. "

He also added, "I need to take care of Maya too if she persists on carrying on with the pregnancy. I will probably pretend to make up with her and bring her here for a drive. Unfortunately for her, she will lose her step and take a tumble. Certainly one will die, two if I am lucky. I don't care for her any more."

The trekker was aghast to hear this. He did not display his horror and said, "Time for me to drive up. See you on top."

**

He walked away towards the parking lot. He went to the rest room and spent time washing his face and hands. Coming out, he spied the cyclists starting their next round. He waited around ten minutes and then drove up and parked in the parking lot at the summit. From there, he spotted them arriving and taking a U-turn to start their ride back.

He waited a few minutes and then started driving downwards slowly. A couple of minutes later he could see them on the road below him just beyond the next hairpin bend. He continued driving slowly till he reached a location from where he could see a deep curve he had in mind, As he approached the bikers, he gave one last look in his rear-view mirror. Seeing no one, he accelerated a little and drove dangerously close to the bikers. "That's for Maya," he shouted through the window as he overtook them and stopped such that they had no space to take the curve or stop their bikes in time. He had selected the location with care for he knew they would not survive the fall there. Unable to stop in time, their bikes hit the retaining wall and cartwheeled in unison, catapulting both down the cliff.

He got out of his vehicle and peered down the cliff and could see their bodies on the ground far below.

He went back to his jeep and picked up the handset of the police radio fixed near his dashboard and called up the control room, introducing himself and saying "I was driving down the hills and saw two bikers go off the road. Please send an ambulance. I think they might be seriously injured or worse."

He had no remorse. Tallboy had made his intention to dispose off his daughter and deserved to die, he felt. It was absolutely clear he would not do justice to his daughter. He recalled his conversation with his daughter the previous night. She had told him that Tallboy had even refused to meet her the next morning. She had quoted Tallboy saying that he was going cycling with Shorty and that cycling was more important to him than her. Shorty was just collateral damage that could not be helped – bad company had its consequences, he reasoned. Nandi Hills had a reputation of people being pushed off cliffs for several decades. There was nothing to tie him to the accident – neither he had touched them nor had his jeep brushed with their bicycles.

***

Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

 

Herbert

Margarita was upset with Herbert over something she felt was wrong. In spite of her telling him so, he had stood his ground. His insistence – that there was nothing wrong – in her opinion, was an affront to her. It was the worst thing he could have done, she felt. And she had told him so several times. She was so irritated with him that had also barred him from any further communication with her. The two had parted ways and there seemed to be no scope for reconciliation. He did not know what had hit him.

He had waited a few months and then tried to contact her. But she was not traceable. No one knew where she had disappeared. He too moved out of the town that gave him uncomfortable memories. It really didn't help. The mind is a funny thing – it remembers what one would like to forget, yet forgets what one would like to remember. Her memories remained. He knew they would remain for the rest of his life.

**

Margarita had given up her job and left town, and taken up a new job and settled in a new place. A few months had passed and she made new friends. He gradually faded from her memory as her well-paying new job kept her busy and took her to exotic places around the world. But once in a way, he had an uncanny way of coming into her thoughts. She regretted her rigid stance and tried to contact him, only to discover that his talent for disappearing was as good as hers. He too had vanished without a trace.

**

Margarita loved travelling. She had been around the world on work and on holiday. She loved sun- kissed beaches and decided to travel to Mauritius during her Christmas holidays. A week by the seaside should do wonders to her, she hoped. On a hunch, when in Port Louis, she decided to take a day cruise to a nearby French island, where Indians are not required to have a visa. The cruise boat left in the morning and reached late at night and included a gala dinner with live music and dance.

**

As she walked up the narrow gangway of the cruise vessel, she noticed a pizza delivery boy carrying a pizza carton was just in front of her. She was intrigued and asked the sailor at the entry point, "Your cruise advertises that it provides the best and varied cuisine to its passengers. How come some one is ordering pizza from the shore?" 

The sailor replied, "Our Entertainment Manager likes to eat pizza, whenever we are on shore or about to cast off, though we have to keep it warm for him till he asks for it. He always gets it on COD basis just when we are about to cast off. I shall attend to the delivery boy after I finish with your paperwork."

He added, "By the way, he is an Indian like you," as he checked her papers.

The pizza delivery boy was still waiting for his cash. Feeling generous, Margarita paid off his bill, adding a generous tip, telling the sailor. "Well, tell him that his pizza today is a treat from another Indian."

The sailor beamed and said, "Thank you, Ma'am. I shall certainly inform Mr. Al. He doubles as our keyboard player and lead singer. Maybe he'll sing an Indian song for you tonight. After a couple of drinks on the rocks, he really rocks!" 

The pizza boy handed her the receipt which she subconsciously dropped into her purse as she was led to her cabin by a steward.

**

The Entertainment Manager, Albert had a habit of having a drink or two at the ship's bar before he had his lunch. As he was about to walk in, he stopped as if he had seen a ghost. On a stool, at the far end of bar, was a person he recognised. He was not sure whether it was appropriate to approach her. He decided to be cautious.

**

The live music started just after sunset, and she struggled to see the stage. The blinding lights prevented her from seeing anything clearly. Albert too could not see the audience clearly, but hoped that she was in the audience. The band played several popular and classic songs. Some of these she recognised, as Herbert used to play them. 

After around ten songs, she heard the singer announce, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I hear that we have an Indian aboard this boat today.  I am told that she has been kind enough to pay for my food. I am grateful to her generosity. In return, I would like to play a couple of Indian songs for her. My only regret is that, as my other friends in the orchestra are not be familiar with these songs, I shall be playing it alone."

He announced, "The first one is a song in my mother tongue Konkani called GoDDacho Pão1."

Margarita had heard this one before. At Herbert's.

Al came back on the mike after the song and announced, "And now, a Hindi song that's close to my heart. Friends, please bear with me if you are not familiar with it. I shall sing a popular Elvis number after it."

Before he started playing, there was a little faux-pas, as the words of the steward who delivered his drink to him came over the sound system, "Here's your fifth Margarita, sir. The last one for today."

As the first few notes of "Pal pal dil ke paas tum rehti ho"2 came over the system, Margarita had an odd feeling. This was Herbert's favourite too.

She clapped heartily at the end of the song, for it had evoked dormant feelings in her. Al announced that he was now going to play the last song for the night, Marguerita3 . He added that he sought the audience's attention to an extra stanza that he had added near the end. Several stewards gathered behind him to assist him in the opening chorus as he started playing.

As she heard him say Marguerita, the way he pronounced it awakened some memories. She suddenly remembered that Herbert had been her name for him. He was earlier called Bert by his friends. After getting to know her, they had started calling him her-Bert, and she had happily adopted the nickname. She had used Herbert so often that she had relegated his real name Albert to a distant part of her memory.

She recalled him saying, in another world, long ago, "I drink, eat, sing and dream Margarita". With a strange premonition she dipped her hand into her purse and pulled out the pizza receipt. The receipt showed a charge for one pizza – a Margherita, as her intuition had told her. Her mind in a whirl, she fell into deep thought.

When she came out of her ruminations, the song was still going on. Al was singing the additional verse:

Once she and I had a difference,

Somehow we drifted apart,

But still, I feel, both of us,

Should have tried to make a new start.  

Margueritaaaa-aaa-aaa-aa-aa ....

As she heard this, and the song started ending with a crescendo, a tear rolled down her cheek ...

  

The ship's horn tooted announcing that they had arrived at Réunion.

***

1. Sweet bread, in Konkani. Video of this song from the movie  Amche Noxib can be seen here.
2. Video of this song from the movie Blackmail can be seen here.

3. Gentlemen are welcome to sing this song using their sweetheart's name. It works specially well if her name ends in the letters "ita". Try it, guys. Ladies whose names end in "ita", may imagine their names in the song too. Try it, gals.  If her name does not end in "ita", try substituting a generic Señorita. It should work well too, though not as customised. Video of this song from the movie  Fun in Acapulco can be seen here.


Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

The Snake Charmer

Fani was a tall girl by Indian standards. She was nearly 6 feet tall, and many words could be used to describe her physique – slim, svelte, slender, snake-hipped, lissom, graceful and sylph-like, for example. You will note that I have intentionally not used words like willowy. There is a reason for this. I picked words that had the 's' sound in them.  These were the words she might have  used to describe herself, because her brain somehow seemed to show a preference for sibilant words. They seemed to roll off her tongue smoothly – almost as if she was hissing them.

She was quite a girl. Her healthy skin tone did not betray her real age. It was as soft, glowing and youthful as if it had been renewed periodically. Few encountering her had realised that that was the reality. Though like all of us, her skin underwent shedding of dead surface cells of the epidermis by washing or scratching, combined with replacement of these by a layer of younger cells moving outwards and dying in a continuous cycle, she also underwent a deeper annual shedding of skin. For, in reality, she was a snake. She was quite a charmer too. Hence, a snake-charmer.

She was a living specimen of what has been described in Indian lore as an Ichchadhaari Naagin, a female serpent who can change her form into a human at will. Ancient knowledge had classified her kind as a type of Visha-kanyas or poison-maidens. Many rationalists, scientists and seekers had dismissed such creatures as part of mythology or imagination. Apart from these creatures themselves (and other so called 'mythological' creatures), few believed in these so called 'old-wives tales'. Only the creatures themselves knew some of the 'rules' that effected their existence. They were seldom aware of 'rules' that applied to other species.

One of rites of passage was the annual moulting. Every year, she disappeared from her work place to go to her native town of Agumbe. Perched on the eastern and upper edge of the Western Ghats, Agumbe in Shivamogga (also anglicized as Shimoga) district of Karnataka, receives very heavy rainfall. It is surrounded by extensive rain-forests and is home to the King Cobra. After arriving at Agumbe, she disappeared into the forest and changed back to her serpent form for shedding her skin, for it had become too tight because she had grown a bit.

She grew around an inch every year, both as a snake and as a human. She had kept changing jobs every few years so that people around her did not notice it. On top of it, she dropped old friends in a regular cycle, so they did not discern the growth of a few inches. A couple of inches could always be ascribed to footwear but it was difficult to explain larger growth after her adolescence. But, with a height of 6 feet, towering over other women, being she was getting noticed most of the time. And that could be potentially dangerous for her. She had to stop – stop growing any longer, that is.

**

There was only one solution for that, as per the lore of her species – marriage, to a human. Till now she had her pick of men, but they were just one-night stands and passing fancies. In fact, all of them had passed away in the woods she had taken them to. Of late, she had taken a fancy to a young handsome chap in her office. Standing tall, at 6 feet 2 inches, she thought he would be an ideal spouse, a help-mate who would help her shrug off her reptilian side.

She had tried to catch his attention a couple of times at the office cafeteria, but when he looked in her direction she felt that he had not noticed her, but seen through her head without registering her face. She had to take the initiative, she felt.

She carried her food tray to his table and sat opposite him. He smiled in acknowledgement. As he reached for his glass of water, she extended her hand to it as if it was her glass and made contact with his hand. She felt a peculiar tingling that she could not interpret. He withdrew his hand as if he had experienced an electric shock.

"Ssorry," she said, "I'd ssupposed that wass my glasss."

He smiled.

She smiled back, and extending her hand, introduced herself, "I am Fani. I am a ssenior ssupervisor in the Ssoftware Ssystems."

He accepted her hand and replied, "Glad to meet you, Fani. Of course, your name is Fani. Funny, doesn't it refer to the hood of a serpent1?"

She felt the tingle again, though it looked like he did not get jolted.

1 Fani means one with a hood, Fan, in Hindi, from the Sanskrit FaNam.

**

They met several times after that and got closer. After a few encounters, her tingling too subsided. He seemed to be quite well off. In fact, she was quite sure that, apart from his salary, he had other sources of income, though she could not find out more. She did not care. She was happy that she had found a wealthy guy who could give her any luxury she desired. She decided to go in for the kill – figuratively or literally, only time would tell.

**

As they sat under a tree in the forest, she decided to pop the question. She had decided what she would do if she had declined her offer – one more body would be discovered in the woods.

She asked him, "We sseem to be sspecially ssuited for one another. Sshall we sseal our romance by becoming sspouses?"

He gave her a long look, and said, "Nowadays, people don't believe in ancient lores. But you know better than that. For you are an Ichchadhaari Naagin, as you very well know."

Surprised, she asked, "Sso you guesssed ssomehow!"

He explained, "It was not a guess. Your serpentine figure, diction and accent would be clear indicator for those who watch out for these things."

She persisted, "Sstill a guess."

He added, "And the glitter in your eyes when I told you that you should not nag me. Also, your annual disappearance to Agumbe re-confirmed it." He pronounced nag in an extended fashion and mentally chuckled at his own pun2.

"Sso you know about my vissits to Agumbe?", she asked.

"Yes, I have been keeping an eye on your activities for the last couple of years, from the time I first saw the large naaga-maNii3 in your head. I have been watching it grow," he added.

She observed, "Sso you know lotss about ssnakes."

"Yes," he concurred, "I also know you cannot harm me for I am blessed with the GaruDa-rekha4, which will protect me from you as it has done on many earlier occasions. You have asked me a couple of times about the source of my wealth. It comes from sale of the valuable naaga-maNis.  I am a snake-charmer of a different kind." 

"You cannot esscape me," she warned, realising that her romantic dreams had just got shattered and  changing her form into a serpent, she bared her fangs.

He smiled, "Don't warn me. You cannot harm me. Your senses did warn you to keep away from me, but you chose to ignore the warnings till they died down. The first time you shook hands with me I had decreased my immunity for a second to judge the level of maturity of your gem, but turned it on immediately after assessing you. It is the right time to harvest your gem. It will fetch me plenty," he said.

She lunged at him, but he deftly stepped aside and expertly caught her from behind, just below her jaw, with one hand and sliced off her head with one smooth movement of his knife held in the other hand.

He walked back to his car,  singing in Hindi, "Shikaar karne ko aaye, shikaar hoke chale.5" 

2 Naag is the Sanskrit word for a serpent

3 A gem said to be found in the hood of a serpent
4 A line which according to some palmists represents the Garuda and protects a person, on whose palm it appears, from serpents.
5 He meant, "(you) had come to hunt, but became hunted (yourself)", though the lyricist of the song Hasraj Jaipuri did not mean exactly that in the song from the 1968 film Shikaar sung by Mohd. Rafi..

                                                                           ***

Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

Digital Crime

Assistant Commissioner of Police Pinakini smiled. Inspector Murthy from the Anti-Corruption Bureau had just been ushered into her office. She had gathered that he was not the type to curry favour with his seniors and hence had remained an inspector even after several years of service.  She had met him earlier at some departmental meetings and parties. He had once been a hot-shot detective with the Crime Branch, but had been having a pretty bad success rate of late and had hence been transferred out to the ACB. She also felt that he had been shunted to the ACB because corrupt politicians and bureaucrats liked to have either inefficient or corrupt police officers there, so that cases never reached court. She knew that Inspector Murthy had a reputation of being clean. So it was the former reason, she deduced.

ACP Pinakini had been aptly named by her parents, who had lovingly called her Pinky, referring to  her complexion. Pinakini means 'bow shaped'. No, she did not have bow legs. But her entire demeanour was that of a bow with its string drawn taut. She appeared to be ready to shoot anytime. She was sure the doddering middle aged Inspector, though not corrupt in the monetary sense, would be bowled over by her charm. She was sure he knew that she was single. She also knew he was single, and hopefully susceptible.

She did not worry about being the subject of the ACB's investigation. She had a clear conscience with respect to corruption. She knew with absolute certainty that she was not corrupt. The ACB would not be able to pin anything on her. They were probably working on the complaint of some disgruntled person on whose toes she might have trod.

Her present position in the department included various tasks including assisting the Deputy Inspector General, who too was a woman, and an ex-officio member of the State Women's Council. The SWC handled complaints about ill-treatment and harassment of women in workplaces and families.  It was her dream job, because she got the opportunity of ensuring retribution on erring men. She had seen plenty of such men and despised them.

Inspector Murthy greeted her, as he entered, "Good morning, Madam."

She smiled again. She had got used to older male colleagues not saluting her though she was technically senior to them. She had objected to it initially, but seemed to have taken it in her stride, though deep down she still resented it.

"Please be seated, Inspector," she said, subtly reminding him of his rank.

"What brings you here?" she asked, adding, " I am sure you know that I, like you, am equally averse to bribery."

"Yes, Madam," he agreed. He continued, "But some of our colleagues have brought such a reputation for the force that the public believes otherwise."

Pulling out a sheet of paper, he added, "But the ACB is bound to investigate complaints received by it. I will be honest with you. Some influential person seems to have been aggrieved at something you have done and has lodged a complaint. We have received a telephone call from the Home Minister himself, asking for immediate action. I have the duty of searching your office, bank lockers and residence. Here's the search warrant, signed by the magistrate."

"My men are waiting outside and will forthwith search the premises. After that I request you to accompany me to your residence for further action," he continued.

"What a cheesy pick up line!", she thought.

As she had foreseen, the search at her office yielded nothing. They next drove to her residence, Inspector Murthy recalled a meeting he had had with the DIG a few months back when he was still in the Crime Branch.

**

"Of late the number of untraced missing persons has shot up," the DIG had told Inspector Murthy. "We need to solve these cases early," he had added.

The Inspector had replied that he had studied the profiles of several missing persons and disclosed what he had found common between many of them. The DIG concurred with him. 

"This is a very sensitive matter, " his boss had commented, saying, "We need to be very careful in handling it."

"Do you have a plan?" he had enquired.

Inspector Murthy said, "To handle this and succeed I need to be shifted out from the Crime Branch for some time. As you know, I have been training my subordinates in their endeavours to solve cases and let them take the credit, without coming into the picture myself. You can cite my inefficiency in solving cases and say that I am incapable of handling cases myself. You can then make my transfer. We need to build a reputation that I am past solving mysteries."

                                                                              **

As they reached the ACP's quarters, he asked his team to wait there and asked her to fetch the locker key. Then they drove to the bank. As she opened the locker for him, she said, "Inspector, you are free to have a look. As you will see, there's no cash here and all the jewellery that you will find is pretty old. You will not find any significant cash or jewellery at home too." She explained, "I have never found the need for jewellery to adorn me."

He had no other course of action than to agree to her statement.

They returned to her residence.

                                                                              **

As she admitted him and his team to her house, she teasingly told him, "I request that your team can search the remaining part of the house, except my bedroom. I think only you will be sufficient to carry out the search there."

Maintaining a stoic face, he had nodded consent. As required, a woman constable was present in the room, but the ACP had asked her to be seated and let the Inspector do his work. Pinakini had kept a close watch on him as he rifled through the contents of the room. She was amused by his seemingly unperturbed demeanour as he ran through her garments in the closet. He did not find any substantial material, especially amongst the lingerie.  She was playing Despacito on loop on her mobile. As the song reached the liness Quiero respirar tu cuello despacito, Deja que te diga cosas al oido,  she gave voice to the words in a husky voice just loud enough for him to hear. 

Then she asked him, "You know what that means, right? I read somewhere that you know quite a bit of Spanish."

He merely nodded, knowing very well that the first part meant "I want to breathe on your neck slowly", thinking to himself, Let me get one bit of evidence, I shall be breathing down your neck, in a way you would not appreciate. It had taken a lot of will power to control his reaction. The second part meant Let me whisper things in your ear – it reminded him of a Hindi song that went Raat Akeli Hai, Bujh Gaye Diye, Aake Mere Paas, Kaanon Mein Mere, Jo Bhi Chaahe Kahiye. He hoped that she did not voice the more explicit lines of the song which were to follow a little later. Though he liked the music of the song, he knew the Spanish lyrics were too scandalous for his taste. It could have got embarrassing if she continued, he felt.

He wondered how she knew so much about him, as his knowledge of Spanish was not widely known. He suspected that she had probably dug into his past to find out more about him, when he was handling the cases of the missing young men in Crime Branch, not out of romantic interest, but to trap him if the need arose.

He then turned to the dressing table which had a number of boxes of lipsticks and nail polishes of various hues and other cosmetic material usually found on such tables. He knew she used none of these when on duty. He wondered whether they could really increase her allure. She was perfect without any of these embellishments, he thought. He consciously controlled his train of thought and brought his mind back to the work at hand.

He observed that there was an ornate rosewood box with the word "PINKY" etched into its top in pink. 

Picking it up, he asked, "Pinky?"

She nodded, agreeing. She explained, "That's what my parents called me. Short form of my name. Also a reference to my complexion. Now that they are no more, only my sister calls me that. There's nothing in that box except my mother's necklace and a few trinkets."

He opened the box, and found, as informed, a beautiful necklace which was clearly old, given the exquisite workmanship that was no longer seen. He took out the necklace and held it between his hands, admiring the composition of stones of various colours harmoniously blending in to create a masterpiece.

He remarked, "I am sure this necklace would look wonderful on you."

"Would you like to see me wearing it?" she inquired tauntingly, arching an eyebrow.

"No," he firmly replied, suppressing all his emotions and senses which were exhorting him to say "Yes, I would love that."

As he put the necklace back in, he observed that the inner depth of the container was substantially lower that its external height. Intrigued, he prised out the false bottom of the container. What he saw in the lower compartment shocked him to his core.

There were nearly fifty phalanges in the the box. He had enough knowledge of anatomy to recognise that they were phalanges from human hands. Some were single, separated into distal, intermediate and proximal, while some were attached to each other forming a pair. It was clear to him from the ones that had all the three parts, that these were the bones of the little finger, a fact that the forensic team would later confirm. When they did have flesh on them, one could have called them Pinkies. Pinky had been true to the name lovingly bestowed on her by her parents.

                                                                              **

As the ACP was being taken away, Inspector Murthy recalled how his meeting with his boss had ended. 

After the Inspector had apprised his senior that several missing persons had been themselves accused of harassing or ill-treating ladies. Their cases were being handled by ACP Pinakini, who was unable to proceed further due to political interference. Inspector Murthy had suspected her of taking justice into her own hands. No bodies had been found and it would be difficult to pin anything on Pinky. 

The DIG had apprised the ACP's superior about the plan and had announced the same day that Inspector Murthy was being transferred due to his inability to solve the missing cases and all the cases would now be handled by his subordinate who had recently shown promise. The DIG had also obtained one of the complaints  against the ACP that could be used to procure a search warrant.

                                                                              **

On interrogation, Pinakini confessed having lured each of her victims to the forest, where her sister was the Range Forest Officer and done them to death, leaving the bodies to disposal by wild animals. Pinky had snipped off their right pinkies as a souvenir. After cleaning off the flesh from the them, she had stored the phalanges in the box. 

Inspector Murthy was transferred back to Crime Branch.

                                                                             ***


Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.

A Cat and Mouse Tale

Shardul was worried. He had a home territory of nearly a hundred square kilometers, which was rather large considering the density of tigers in the state. Other tigers in the state, by comparison, had just around sixty square kilometers of territory and were always on the verge or losing some of it to another younger and stronger male. He regularly undertook systematic tours in the form of a rough oval of sorts to inspect his part of the forest. and intended to guard every inch of his kingdom.  He was worried; for he had come across something that is most alarming to a male tiger – the scent of another male!

He nosed around the forest till he identified the direction in which the spoor was stronger and started out on a quick run. His strong muscles rippled under his skin as he ran.  The scent was a couple of days old and he would have to travel some distance before he caught up. He periodically paused to confirm that he was moving in the right direction and also to estimate the freshness of the smell. He also made out that the intruder was not alone and was accompanied by a female. Now that's interesting, thought Shardul. It was time he started a family himself, he mused.

As the scent grew stronger, he paused and set off at a slower pace. He stopped at every vantage point and looked around if he could spot the couple visually. A couple of stops later, he could see them resting at the side of a small pool of water. The male was slightly older than him and well built. And the female was quite comely, he observed. He saw that there were a couple of cubs too gamboling among the grass on the side of the pool. They got into the shallow water sometimes under the watchful eyes of their mother, who ensured that they did not venture deeper. Tigers are good swimmers but these cubs were too young to have built a good technique.

Shardul sat downwind from the family he was observing. The infiltrating male would have to be finished off. There was no way two adult tigers could share territory. He examined the female carefully. He thought that she seemed to be ideal to be his mate. The fate of the cubs could be examined later, he decided.

He chalked out his plan of action. He decided to slink through the grass which would camouflage his orange and black fur. Where the grass ended a few feet from the water, he would break into a run and go for the male's jugular. Hopefully, the element of surprise would be on his side.

He got up and started to slowly walk towards the pond. Careful placement of his foot pads ensured that no sound betrayed his movement. As he neared them, his pace was even more slower. He lifted one tentative foot at a time and cautiously put it down, softly and gently. As he was about twenty feet from the edge of the grass, the wind changed direction. He could see the male smell his presence. The male perked up his ears and turned round to face his, rising up and emitting a growl to meet his challenge. Shardul had lost the advantage of surprise.

Stealth was no longer Shardul's strategy of choice. It was too late to back out. Turning around would mean exposing his back to the intruder. That could end up badly for him if the intruder chose to give chase and attack. He decided to press on and broke into a run. At the right speed and distance he launched himself at the intruder, who too took a leap towards Shardul.

Their strengths were well matched and they grappled each other for several minutes. Each inflicted fang and nail injuries on the other, but without any decisive result. As they rolled together towards the water, the intruder dropped his guard for a moment as he looked towards his family. Shardul mercilessly bit the intruder's neck as it was turned away, and got a firm hold on it. His fangs punctured the intruder's windpipe. The intruder collapsed. Shardul was on the alert till he confirmed that the intruder was not a threat anymore.

He then got off the carcass and walked into the pool for a quick wash before he sat at the banks and licked his wounds. He found that the intruder had got close to cutting his flank open. It was time for rest and recuperation. He would have to be very careful for the next few days, and keep his wounds clean and infection-free. He would probably have to settle down at the pond for some time, he thought.

He looked over at the tigress. He had no eyes for the cubs. Now that he could see her at close quarters, he realised that she was a magnificent looking specimen. Quite majestic and a queen in her own right, he told himself. He loved the way she was catwalking. He would call her 'Sundari' – the beautiful lady. And now the spoils of war was his, he reasoned. But such a statement would be politically and factually incorrect. She was no chattel to be claimed by him, if she was unwilling. And, then she certainly was not a part of the winner's swag - she was the strategic objective of the whole fight. She had not intervened in the fight, which gave him some consolation that there was scope for friendship and more.

He looked at his own reflection in the water and admired his looks. A handsome and strong tiger looked back at him, even if he said it himself, he thought. But that did not seem to have impressed Sundari. He looked at where she was pacing around her cubs protectively. Couldn't she see that he would make a great step-father to those cubs and look after them as his own? But, in the first place, he needed to take steps to become a step-father, She did not seem interested in approaching him, the victor in the latest fight to death.

Shardul too did not approach her, because that's when he discovered that, in reality, he was not a tiger or a big cat. He was not even a small cat, he felt, but a mouse when it came to dealing with the other gender. He simply did not have the guts to approach her.

***

Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.