Fate

FATE

10 Years Back:

Exactly at 12:30 am at night, a group of policemen at a check-post located around 2 km away from the international airport intercepted a taxi carrying 2 men and a woman. As the young driver pulled the car aside, an old weather-beaten constable peeped inside the cab’s front-window and smiled…”zara dickey check  karaoge..??”

“Sirji..kagazz”..the driver mumbled before he got a rude nudge at his arm…”dickey khul..!!” this time a commanding tone. Nobody is  interested in his papers.

“What happened?” one of the back-seaters asked. The driver, though a seasoned late-nighter at this route, felt slightly perplexed. Why only this car while the others rushed through? Anyhow, deeming the thinking useless at that moment, he got down and moved towards the boot, opened it.

The LED in the constable’s hand beamed. The driver froze. Horrified.

Inside the boot, he could clearly see a ghastly smile pasted in the mouth of a girl. The body is bundled up like a sack. The hands are tied. Dried blood streamed down like a thin black thread near the edge of lips. Eyes bulging out of socket of the corpse, hairs flying out giving it a ghoulish appearance inside the dark of the boot. There’s a hint of tongue protruding out through the teeth and a bluish tinge already setting in the color of her fair skin. The teeth seemed to have come out due to last-moment struggle for breath. There’s smell of death lurking heavy in the air. Before the driver could feel himself nauseating, unbalanced and tending to fall down, a pair of strong, gruff grips steadied him, grabbing his neck.

There’s a terrified shriek as one of the lady passenger from the back-seat came down along with her male counterpart to see what had transpired. She followed the policeman’s torch-beam inside the boot.

“Saala..Bhos..**ke…Mad**od”…the driver could feel a merciless punch of a heavy boot at his back and he moaned and fell to ground. Before he could muster strength to ask what he had to do with all these, he was handcuffed, pulled up by the neck of his collar, pulled forward with the help of his tied hand and literally kicked inside the backseat of a waiting highway patrol jeep near the post.

Before he was kicked once more inside the jeep, this time at the back of his head, leaving him unconscious, he could catch a glimpse of what he perceived then as some close interaction with the head constable who was still near the cab and one of the male passengers in the cab’s backseat. He thought he could see something exchanged hands between the two, some papers – note?? He thought he could see them both happy and smiling. He couldn’t think anymore. He blacked out in pain.

**

Coming Back…

10 years later:

Mozammel is in his mid-forties, a strong burly muslim, who fought out in the mean streets to reach a stable position today. Currently the elected secretary of airport taxi-drivers association, he is having five cabs running under his possession. He enjoys popular support of nearly fifty odd drivers at the airport stand. And he does have connections at places that matter.

Leaving alone in his two-roomed house inside the colony near airport, he felt slightly alarmed and grabbed a sturdy metal rod as he anxiously looked forward at the front-door of his house.

There are some genuine reasons for his reaction. Its already midnight and there’s incessant rain from evening. The colony was already desolate and silent. Mozammel had his dinner at his friend’s residence nearby and just came back. Preparing to retire, he heard this loud, harsh banging on his door.

The nature of this banging startled him. Being very close to a mean world infested with fringe elements of the society frequented also by so-called social-protectors who often turns oppressors, he could very well make-out there was something mean in this banging. But why police at this hours at his doors? And with his contacts, he expected at least a prior tip-off if there’s any impending raids or any such royal visits. Confused, he armed himself and tiptoed towards the door.

“Kaun?” he barked ominously. “Main hoon, chachajaan”, a voice wafted from outside over pattering of raindrops.

Mozammael had to lower his arm. There’s something in the voice which forced him to do it. It’s a familiar tone, there are a limited number of people who could call him in that way, and somehow he thought there’s a soft, vulnerable tinge to the voice, which may be deceptive also. Curious, he took a chance and opened the door, ready to strike back if necessary. Then he stared at the stranger in half-belief.

Water dripping from his weather-borne dirty-white clothe, a man of equal height and built as his, with longish unkempt hair, unshaven peppered beard, broken cheek-boned face, dark-circled eyes – it seemed a sailor of long-haul is standing at his door. However, what chilled him to the interiors is a sudden, cursory look at the fingers of both hands of his guest. More than half of the nails are gone. What came out in its place is an ugly mound of distorted hard remnants. He started feeling uncomfortable.

“They pulled them out during third degree”…smiled the stranger who followed his gaze…”chacha, plz don’t get scared, I won’t embarrass you, I’ll leave within an hr b’fore anybody sees. I just dropped for a while as you are my only known one left living now….can I have a glass of water..?....Can I come inside…or will you also….??”

“Plz come inside”…Mozammel let the stranger in, having a strange mixed feeling of sympathy and uneasiness. He’s a man of sharp memory – already the clock of his mind running back fast.

“When did you came  out…released at last, you, Sikander miyaan??” He opened the fridge and poured a glass of water. “Have a seat, bhaijan…why should I feel embarrassed?? You know, I bitterly fought for you…in fact, we all fought for you….you knew very well. You should know.”

“I know…I do remember…” the stranger replied very calmly. “The association involved three lawyers…they tried hard…you all tried very hard….I know”

“..but you also know…these media….there was a big, ugly story on it…I still think the police intentionally leaked it…thus we all failed…”

Sikander finished the water in a single sip and sighed…”anyhow…may be I was supposed to be hung…but b’coz of all your efforts….they gave me a very light 10 years sentence….effectively 6 years….as it took them 4 years to decide whether I was guilty or not….”

The next question Mozammel was not willing to ask as he knew the answer very well, but somehow this is turning to be a queer night. “Where will you go now…?? Your house……family……”

“I have no house now, neither any family….” A chilling element came to Sikander’s voice which froze Mozammel to heart. “Rokeya…?? Rokeya bibi…??” He couldn’t help himself fumbling.

“They raped her in front of me…in fact, gangraped her…..” the same chilling, cryogenic voice rolled on. “I had to finally sign on the false confession note…I had to…I confessed that I raped the girl and hid her body in the boot of my cab…they extracted that confession…before that they extracted some of my nails as well….poured acid on my bruise…when I gained consciousness…then also they raped Rokeya in front of me…then…”

“Your wife indeed came back home….but next afternoon we found both her and your daughter….”

“I know…you need not elaborate….if you already knew, then why on the earth did you ask ‘bout my family??”

The last part of his uttering carried such an innate fire yet uttered with such calm that it put the listener again back to uneasiness.

Mozammel wanted this chapter to be over as soon as possible. He moved forward and put his arms around Sikander’s shoulder. There’s an emotional trembling all over Sikander, as if there’s a nerve-wracking sob. But when he looked up, his eyes are bone-dry. “Chacha…little bit more water please….”

“Shall I serve you some….” He cut him short abruptly….”only water”, Sikander urged.

“Where’s Ismayel now…?” a sudden, brusque query from Sikander jerked Mozammel back to reality. “Ismayel…Ismayel who…??”

The stranger’s eyes narrowed….”Mohd Ismayel…miyaan…head constable of airport thana who nabbed me that night…and picked up Rokeya later on”…he continued inquisitively…”why chachajan…you don’t know?..he was quite known to you once…quite close you were…”

Mozammel weighed his options now. A man of sharp common sense, he started sensing trouble. He cursed himself for his foolishness, but its too late now. The easiest option now is to buy time and wait for sunrise tomorrow. He took a diversion….”look, after that ugly incident…Ismayel was abruptly transferred…that was around 6 years back…may be nearly the same time you were sentenced…I heard he’s now an SI..or an inspector somewhere not far…but none of us kept contact with him. But if you want…I can get him for you….” He lowered his voice as he is enticing Sikander for a delicious target.

“Chacha…as of now, I am feeling broken and dead tired…can I lie down here on the floor for an hr or so and will leave before sunrise….?”

“Sure…arre miyaan why on floor…there’s a cot here itself…have comfort…and why leave before sunrise…you’ve never done any wrong and have come back now honorably…I’m having five cabs under me….if I can’t manage something for you, who else??  More of that tomorrow….now let both of us have some rest…”

“Sukriya chacha…I’ll be grateful to you forever….” Sikander lied down quietly.

Mozammel left the room, waited patiently in the inner bedroom for an hr, pondering over his next course of action. When he heard snoring sounds, he silently bolted the bedroom-door, lifted the phone and dialed a cell-no. He needed to call urgently. A half-sleepy voice replied from other end.

“Ismayel bhai…o bhaijaan…are you in night shift…plz bhaijan listen…” he half-whispered….”we’ve trouble here..that s**of a b**ch dirty asshole bety**od is now out of jail….arrre myaan Ismayel bhai…Sikander…Sikander for….**’s sake!! Yes Sir….my dear Sir…..remember…you, we, all had a great time with that bloody sexy tribal whore inside the cargo room…..you, me, Shahidul the thikadar…even the CISF jawan…otherwise how did I manage the cargo room and the sack……?? All forgotten now..??”

“….then, you opened the boot of my car with the duplicate key I kept with you, trusting you as my senior partner when I went down to get the parking ticket….”

Mozammel whirled back. He cursed his luck again. For the sake of closing the door silently, he forgot to bolt it properly. Sikander stood like a menace inside, eyes steely calm.

Sikander moved forward, softly took the receiver out of Mozammel’s clutch, kept it back on the cradle and continued calmly, relaxed….”and then you dumped the sack beside my passenger’s luggage in the boot and closed it while I came back from the parking booth…but it was not a proper job you’ve done…the sack was loose..the corpse came out bundled inside the boot….but your plan with Ismayel was perfect…you took away 10 years of my life…and got me and my wife savaged….”

He slowly moved forward. There’s an absolute calm and relaxed undertone in his eyes and voice now. He’s sure of his task and target now.

Mozammel took a quick back-step, sensing for his table-drawer that contained his loaded protection. Alas, it’s still too far behind. His eyes could now catch the steely glitter of something long, sharp and vicious clasped in the hand of Sikander. He immediately knew he had run out of options. The final call has come.

**

Flowers

Somewhere in between….

Saleha had dreams. Dreams that are now confined to the world of music, melody & fragrance.

Beyond that, there lies a world of dark abyss for her.

She was born normal. Like all normal human beings, she breathed in a world full of all sensory pleasures. Then slowly, her creator dimmed the lights in her eyes. She suffered a rare optical nerve malfunctioning. Gradually she got immersed in darkness. Her country, her family was too backward and impoverished to take care of this debilitating disease.

However, she herself was a gutsy human being. Instead of breaking down, she rose from the ashes. Fortunately she got a pair of supportive parents, so uncommon in her country for a daughter, that too blind. May be the background and blood of both her parents, who were freedom-fighters, university-educated, fought shoulder-to-shoulder in bunkers, and fell in love with each other in trenches, shaped her as an unusually brave girl, resilient in life. Together, all three of them faced the struggle of post-war life head-on. Her father managed a small job and received some freedom-fighter’s pension, which her mother also received. With that, they got Saleha educated in a special school. She stunned everyone by learning and then mastering the software meant for computer-operations for blind. She was also egged on by the fact that govt has reserved some quota of jobs for visually handicapped. The day she landed up a clerical job in special category in the office of the same university which was once the alma-matter of her parents, it was a battle-won hard for her and brought tears of joy and pride in her parent’s eyes.

Her job posted her in the outskirts of state-capital, close to the university, away from her parents. Rahima, the two-decades old maid, and close confidant of her parents, accompanied her to the city from her idyllic small countryside hometown. It was an uphill struggle for them to find a suitable home. However, helped by her father’s ex-comrades-in-arms in the city, a small house could finally be located for her. Even Rahima found it too small, but Saleha adored it. It’s because of the flowers, the fragrances, a piece of small garden adjoining the house. For someone who is devoid of sights; smell and fragrance became her best companion. So also were the sounds, chirping of birds, pattering of raindrops on leaves.

The small house had a matching small courtyard. There were some plants with fragrant flowers planted nicely along its periphery. It appeared that the garden, once affectionately nurtured, was in need of tendering for long. However, the place being never short of rain, somehow, the flowers survived so as the fragrances, the chirping of birds, the buzz of bees. Somehow, Saleha found peace here and goaded Rahima to take due care of the garden.

As of now, however, she was feeling a bit disturbed.

**

“Apa…I’m going to market..will come back within half an hr..keep the front door closed”. Rahima left a while before.

Sitting in the drawing room, Saleha was listening a haunting, favorite number dated back to her parents’ period of struggle. She was feeling nostalgic and home-sick, which she feels every Sunday afternoon. She was feeling the warm glow of setting sun caressing her cheek. And then she could pick-up a soft rustle of the curtain which slowly shaded the sun from her face. She could hear soft, tip-toed steps in the same room; soft cautious steps which could well cheat a normal ear. And alongside the fragrance of white Bellies wafting from the garden, she could smell something pretty old, a bit stale. She was no longer sanguine of her solitude. Feeling a bit uneasy, still a braveheart as she was, she raised her voice….”who’s there…?? Tell me, who’s here…?? What’do you want?? Want me to shout?? Want yourself to get lynched??”

The softness and warmth of the voice that replied her back took her by surprise…”Saleha, if you shout, I’ll immediately jump out of the varendah and by the time people arrive here, they will find you alone. So what’ll be the use of all these hue and cry??”

That means he’s here..!! “Who the hell are you…?? What do you want?? How did you manage to sneak in, you petty thief…?? Don’t you feel ashamed to move in the house of a lone woman?? Or you want to loot me, you dirty…*!@!!!” A gradual anger was surging within her and her voice was ringing harsher without much effort.  She is no longer afraid and prepared to face it head-on.

“Saleha dear…first of all let me make it clear that I am not a trespasser here.” The voice turned very serious and grave, leaving her unprepared. “Secondly, you are the daughter of my friends who fought the same war with me in the same bunker, so I may also treat you as my daughter. Thirdly, I am here to set some destinies straight, to take account of my own destiny, to check a thing or two with you precisely, and then will leave immediately. And kindly be aware that I no longer need any loot, nor do I need to loot my daughter’s modesty. If I wanted I could have done all these much earlier. I was here for last 10 minutes, as soon as the great Rahima Bibi left. And you had no idea’bout it. So plz relax.”

Saleha had a wave of mixed feelings. Terrified as she came to know she was in noble company of a stranger all alone for last 10 minutes without any hint to her, quite stunned as well to know that the person maybe known to her parents, she also felt curious about this man’s intentions. She also tactically thought of passing some time and engaging this unknown entity till Rahima returns and planning something drastic together thereafter.

“Are you a ghost who can move through closed door?” This time, the stranger laughed aloud..”the front door is still lying ajar…Rahima might have told you to close it…but you might be unmindful..its not only me…but a hundred men could have entered here by now.”

Saleha felt like kicking herself. She changed topic : “And how do you know my parents, by the way?”

A sighed, wistful reply came…”because we were bonded with our blood. We shed blood, sweat and tear in the same bunkers and trenches to gift you a free nation. Your father Farhaad Hussain was a hero. He risked his own life and saved your mother Naazneen from the clutches of enemies. There were so many names, so many faces…Nazeem, Barkat, Ansar, Abdul, Raqeeb, Nazmul, Farhaad, Nazneen, Rokeya, Mukta, Babul..” his voice faded…”all belonging to the same group, same regiment, same formations…only a few of us could come back…the rest all are memories now, buried in dust..somewhere..”

The names he rattled are quite familiar to Saleha as she heard some of them when her father told stories of war to her. Either this person is genuine, or he may be an exceptionally well-informed cunning crook. Why Rahima is delaying today, she cursed her under her breath.

“Don’t worry Madam..Rahima won’t be back within another hour..” she got startled. “How come you know that..? You know crystal gazing as well?”

This time came another hearty laugh…”I was following your Rahima bibi’s movement for last few days…and she seemed to have developed more than a bit of soft corner for the young man working in a grocery-shop nearby…she always have a good-time…..of course only chatting…whenever she goes out marketing. So I still have some time in hand and request you to relax as well.” The confident assurance in his voice made Saleha feel absolutely helpless now. Showing a brave face though, she continued her grilling…”and now may I know what are your queries, please?”

“First, accept my admiration for maintaining the garden, the flowers, the Bellies, Juins; I am bowled over by their fragrance and transported back to the time when we had planted our dreams in this garden with the young saplings, which my wife so lovingly reared, tendered, cared, loved like her own child. Even my daughter also loved their fragrance. Each one of those saplings still carry the warmth of love and memory of a long-lost happy family. My request to you is kindly look after them as long as you are in this house.”

“Are you a crook?? Or a professional storyteller?? You want money for telling me all these??” Saleha was feeling a bit incredulous, though her mind is now running fast backwards in time. She was recalling something.

The stranger didn’t mind the nudge and continued as if he’s in a trance..”And I know that at one corner of the backyard within the inner boundary, there’s now a growing mango tree which gives cool shadow on your house, a sweet guava tree now just risen above the boundary wall…and at one corner there is a small Tulsi. Every evening, my wife, and I also joined her when home, used to light up a candle under the plant in memory of all our unnamed, unsung fresh-faced blood-mates whom we could not carry back alive from the trenches. That was our worship. They were our God. That place was a memorial for us. We imagined their presence there every evening for a quite moment and could offer only a candle lit up in their honor. Do you still maintain that Bontulsi sapling?? Please light up a candle every evening there. They all carry memory of a once-happy family.”

“Who’re you, whats’ your name??” Saleha is remembering something. “Did you stay here once?” There’s no way one can know the intimate details inside the backyard. She also remembered that this house was rented quite cheap as someone told about an unfortunate past. Being strong-minded and knowing she had no other alternatives, she refused to listen the episode then. “What happened to you? Why did you leave this house? Where do you stay now? What do you do now?”

“I’m leaving now.” Came a quite, choked reply in a trembling voice. “Its not important who we were, what happened here. Only remember this much that we earned for all of you a free country, free earth, free air to breathe, but our country could not give us a work, a dignified life, neither could…..”

The voice stopped abruptly. Saleha waited for a moment or two. Probably she could hear soft steps moving towards the door. “What happened? Where are you?” There was a soft sound of the door opening inwards.

“Apa…..apa….offf..sorry I was a bit late….” Rahima entered panting a moment later…”it was so crowded out there and the shops don’t listen to women..its so dirty, so horrible, so hot..offfs..…apa what happened?? What happened to you??”

Saleha was silently staring with a blank gaze, her blind eyes may not portray it, but her expression says she has moved far away past Rahima in a nowhereland. When she spoke, it seemed the voice came from deep inside her heart..”Rahima Bibi, there’s a Bantulsi plant at the corner of our courtyard? Isn’t it??”

Rahima was looking at her strangely “yes it is…whats wrong with you Apa?”

“Nothing, just make it a point that every evening, just after sunset, light up a small candle below the plant. Do it even if I am not back home. Call me also there when you light it up, provided I am back home. Got it or not?”

“But Apa…how can….we are…”

Rahima was firmly interrupted…”Do what I say. And please don’t make me repeat this.”

Rahima felt indignant inside, but fell silent. She knew her malkin. It will be of no use arguing here and now.

**

It started raining late evening and rained whole night. Next morning, Rahima again went to market, but instead of one hour, this time, she came back within fifteen minutes with ashen face …”Apa…its really horrible. Someone broke-in Mozammel chacha’s house last night and brutally murdered him. Its gruesome, merciless, he was stabbed at least thirty times all over. Apa…I am dead scared…they’re saying a convict is moving around free…I won’t leave you alone for long. Sorry Apa….I’ll never be late again…” Rahima’s voice turned moist as she clasped Saleha’s palms in hers.

“Don’t worry Rahima” she replied calmly. “If something would have happened here, it would have happened already. But its’ not got to be our destiny. Someone’s out there to take account of his own destiny. You need not worry. The path of your destiny never happened to cross his. We are safe and secure.”

Rahima stared at her apa silently, without understanding a single word of hers. She was a rustic simpleton. She really felt dead-scared. She had a glance of the dead-body this morning. She shivered recalling the sight of it and clasped her apa’s hand firmly.

The birds chirped on, the flowery fragrance wafted in gentle breeze. Did it also carry a distinct smell today? Saleha recalled her father talking of a strange feeling of scent of blood persisting long after their coming back from the battle. She felt as if she could also get the same whiff now, fragrance of Bellie and Juin getting mixed with the smell of blood. The battle is still raging within.

**It ends here**