This one is somewhat cliche but it seems to be the best among the pile which turned up for the creative writing contest organized by L'nD as a part of Spitfire'08. Nowadays I seem to be able to write only when someone gives me a topic and a deadline...This time we were given 3 pictures a pig, a cellphone and a pair of spectacles. Someone in L'nD is a major animal lover...for Ragam, we got a baby elephant, an i-pod and an ancient manuscript. That one fetched me Rs.500 in virtual cash as first prize.Well, this time, it got me the chance to shake hands with the great Chetan Bhagat...ironical given that I despise his work. Anyway here is the fruit of my imagination, you may draw your daggers.
Angel
Chinnappa was drunk…as usual…The silent hills took up the lyrics of his song like a tipsy chorus. I tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible on the pile of hay where I had been lying on my back trying to make sense of the muddled mess my life had turned out to be. I might have succeeded if it had not been for my white shirt…no, that would be wishful thinking.If he was up to his eyes in the stuff today, he was swimming in it the day he found me lying in the mud beaten within an inch of my life on one of the forest trails one evening 2 years ago. And that day my shirt was not white- I don’t remember if I even had one on me then... I steeled myself for a few hours of ‘You know, Sahib, when I was young…’ but the old guy was silent today. He was in one of his rare ruminant moods. Finally he turned to fix me in his beady gaze- “Sahib, you see those pigs? They have an easy life don’t they? Eat, sleep and shit. What else do they do? Lucky buggers aren’t they? No, Sahib, poor creatures, they are alive today just so they can die another day- who wants salted pork when you can get fresh. But look at the cow, she will live till God decides she has to die, she is more useful alive, see? Me and you, we are also like that. We live today because we are more useful that way. Always remember that Sahib. Always see that you are more useful alive than dead”. I was startled, aghast- he had spoken what I had been thinking for some weeks now. My work was nearing completion. Soon I might be of no use alive…
I was barely alive when Chinnappa found me. I was delirious for two weeks before some subconscious part of me which was not beaten yet decided to pull the rest of me back to life. After I became strong enough to walk and my head became clear of the hummings and buzzings that had been filling it, I met him. My first impression of him was of his imposing stature. But I noticed later that he was neither very tall nor broad. It was his carriage, his posture all exuding confidence and power that intimidated people. He did not introduce himself but started telling me my life history. He knew that I was the best student in my graduating class. That I had a first-placement with a package of 8.5 lakhs. That I had quit 6 months later to join an energy firm ‘Helios’. He knew that my wife eloped with a man who had lesser brains and more machismo. He knew why I had been beaten up by those thugs and left for dead. He knew that I was now a dead man in the eyes of the world. This was what he said last- ‘You are a dead man in the eyes of the world. You enemies like dead men to stay dead. But here we believe in ghosts. This is a sea where ghost ships sail, they have no anchors to drop, nowhere to make port. You are one among many. Outside, your life has no purpose any more -you have no family, no future and no dreams. Here I can give you a purpose; at least for some time. Think about it. We will meet again.’
A week later, he came again to see me. We walked together on the sunny slopes. He stopped in the middle of a large bare expanse and turned to me, his glasses glinting in the sun. “Mr. Quasi, I am an honest man, by and large but I find that to keep this land of ghosts functioning, I have to steal. I steal power from the hydroelectric project in the opposite valley. I pay for it in other ways but stealing is stealing. I have come up with an idea to amend the situation. I need your help to implement it. Have you thought about what I told you earlier?” I agreed and we went back to my quarters where he showed me the blueprints of the project. It was a solar power plant for want of another phrase, that he proposed to set up. A large area of collapsible solar panels equipped with sun seeking systems, using a new type of tandem sells giving 60% output and a new formation for maximum irradiation. This man was enormously rich and the man who designed that was surely a genius.
“Who designed this?” I asked hardly unable to restrain my curiosity.
“I did.”
“Then why don’t you build it?”
“Unlike you Mr Quasi, I am not dead and therefore, I don’t have an eternity of inactivity stretching before me. Can you or can you not do it?”
“Of course I will. This is a dream of every energy engineer. I would die for such an opportunity”
“Since you are already dead, that will not be necessary.”
Days passed. The work started. One day I got a package from him. It was a
mobile phone of the latest model. A small handheld wonder - a camera, music player and a computer all rolled into one. But there was a snag. He could call me. I could call no one. Not that I wanted to. I still did not know what he was called. Everyone spoke of him as Saab or Sirjee or some other salutation indicating respect. I learnt that the other ghosts were escaped convicts who were supposed to have been executed for crimes not their own. A Doctor who was ‘silenced’ by those whose organ transplant racket he refused to entertain. People to whom the world had not shown justice. I was given an assistant- Prakash. He was a murderer who killed rich bad men for other rich bad men. I learnt that the Boss owned a pharmaceuticals manufacturing firm in the outside world and the ghost land was a sort of vocation. He was also feared by all the bad guys for reasons that no one was very sure about.
The work progressed finely. I had lengthy discussions with him almost every day and each left me more impressed with his intelligence. Now for a few weeks we have been going over the last stages of trouble shooting. In a few more days, we will have a field of green solar panels that open to face the sun in the morning, turning to face him throughout the day and folding up like umbrellas in the evening safe from winds that blow down these slopes. The power output will suffice to sustain the settlement. In a few more days I will outlive my utility.
The day after the plant started operating, I stood again on the same slope with him.
“Mr. Quasi, you have done well. I am no longer a thief. Have you thought about what you want to do next?”
“No.”
“You were in trouble because you refused to be a part of murder. Because you
loved your country. Because you believed that you could be an Indian and a Muslim. Isn’t that correct .”
“Yes”
“You did not like the fact that young men of your community were taught to believe that Allah sanctioned these holy wars”
“No, I didn’t”
“Would you like to be an angel Mr.Quasi?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just like you have to contend with these elements in your community, I have to deal with their saffron coloured counterparts. I have a group of people from different communities who work to draw the poison before it spreads too far into the brains of our youth. I call them my angels. Would you like to be one?”
I did not respond for some days. I did not trust him. Like Chinnappa said I had to
be of more use alive than dead… Wasn’t this whole missionary thing a pretty picture painted to get me into some communal riot and out of the way? I noticed that Prakash was hanging around in the area all the time and was that bulge at his side a gun?
I was taken blindfolded to the outskirts of the nearest town. I had a new voter’s ID, passport and driving license in the name Mohammed Iqbal. I had seen him before leaving. He had said- “You are the only man who has ever gone back from this land of the dead. You will not betray us in any way. It is true that you know nothing of danger to us, but if you even try to, I will know. In sending you back I give you life, I will take what I have given if the situation arises that I have no choice. Please see that such a thing does not happen. And keep the phone as a token from me for the wonderful job that you have done. Goodbye my friend, if I need your help I’ll know where to find you.”
I took up my bag and set off down the road to the railway station.
What did he mean by he would know where to find me? Must be the phone. Must be bugged or something. Such a thing will be child’s play for his ingenuity. It was with regret that I threw it into a bush by the roadside. It was a beautiful piece of technology.
Throughout the short distance, I had the feeling that I was being followed. But whenever I turned, there was no one behind me. I got a ticket to my destination and got into the train. As it started pulling out, I saw someone running down the platform and jump into the carriage two bogies behind mine. It was Prakash and he had something black in his hand. I was going to die. I decided to go to my seat and wait in peace for my death. It was of no use to run. Since it was a train from a rural area, the compartment was empty. Two minutes later Prakash sat down opposite me. He reached for my water bottle and started gulping down water.
“Aren’t you going to kill me?”
“What? Oh, yeah…Boss said this might come up. Good that you are not fighting. I am a little out of breath for that”
“O.K. Then get it over with”
“Oh, we are talking gangster style aren’t we? Who do you propose I kill Ahmed Quasi? He died two years ago. Or is it to be Mohammed Iqbal? I hardly know him. My dear Mr.Iqbal, I am with you to see that you come to no harm. Here is your phone and next time you chuck it in a bush you can get it yourself. Every angel has a halo. I am yours. Sorry that I don’t come in gold.”
Angel
Chinnappa was drunk…as usual…The silent hills took up the lyrics of his song like a tipsy chorus. I tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible on the pile of hay where I had been lying on my back trying to make sense of the muddled mess my life had turned out to be. I might have succeeded if it had not been for my white shirt…no, that would be wishful thinking.If he was up to his eyes in the stuff today, he was swimming in it the day he found me lying in the mud beaten within an inch of my life on one of the forest trails one evening 2 years ago. And that day my shirt was not white- I don’t remember if I even had one on me then... I steeled myself for a few hours of ‘You know, Sahib, when I was young…’ but the old guy was silent today. He was in one of his rare ruminant moods. Finally he turned to fix me in his beady gaze- “Sahib, you see those pigs? They have an easy life don’t they? Eat, sleep and shit. What else do they do? Lucky buggers aren’t they? No, Sahib, poor creatures, they are alive today just so they can die another day- who wants salted pork when you can get fresh. But look at the cow, she will live till God decides she has to die, she is more useful alive, see? Me and you, we are also like that. We live today because we are more useful that way. Always remember that Sahib. Always see that you are more useful alive than dead”. I was startled, aghast- he had spoken what I had been thinking for some weeks now. My work was nearing completion. Soon I might be of no use alive…
I was barely alive when Chinnappa found me. I was delirious for two weeks before some subconscious part of me which was not beaten yet decided to pull the rest of me back to life. After I became strong enough to walk and my head became clear of the hummings and buzzings that had been filling it, I met him. My first impression of him was of his imposing stature. But I noticed later that he was neither very tall nor broad. It was his carriage, his posture all exuding confidence and power that intimidated people. He did not introduce himself but started telling me my life history. He knew that I was the best student in my graduating class. That I had a first-placement with a package of 8.5 lakhs. That I had quit 6 months later to join an energy firm ‘Helios’. He knew that my wife eloped with a man who had lesser brains and more machismo. He knew why I had been beaten up by those thugs and left for dead. He knew that I was now a dead man in the eyes of the world. This was what he said last- ‘You are a dead man in the eyes of the world. You enemies like dead men to stay dead. But here we believe in ghosts. This is a sea where ghost ships sail, they have no anchors to drop, nowhere to make port. You are one among many. Outside, your life has no purpose any more -you have no family, no future and no dreams. Here I can give you a purpose; at least for some time. Think about it. We will meet again.’
A week later, he came again to see me. We walked together on the sunny slopes. He stopped in the middle of a large bare expanse and turned to me, his glasses glinting in the sun. “Mr. Quasi, I am an honest man, by and large but I find that to keep this land of ghosts functioning, I have to steal. I steal power from the hydroelectric project in the opposite valley. I pay for it in other ways but stealing is stealing. I have come up with an idea to amend the situation. I need your help to implement it. Have you thought about what I told you earlier?” I agreed and we went back to my quarters where he showed me the blueprints of the project. It was a solar power plant for want of another phrase, that he proposed to set up. A large area of collapsible solar panels equipped with sun seeking systems, using a new type of tandem sells giving 60% output and a new formation for maximum irradiation. This man was enormously rich and the man who designed that was surely a genius.
“Who designed this?” I asked hardly unable to restrain my curiosity.
“I did.”
“Then why don’t you build it?”
“Unlike you Mr Quasi, I am not dead and therefore, I don’t have an eternity of inactivity stretching before me. Can you or can you not do it?”
“Of course I will. This is a dream of every energy engineer. I would die for such an opportunity”
“Since you are already dead, that will not be necessary.”
Days passed. The work started. One day I got a package from him. It was a
mobile phone of the latest model. A small handheld wonder - a camera, music player and a computer all rolled into one. But there was a snag. He could call me. I could call no one. Not that I wanted to. I still did not know what he was called. Everyone spoke of him as Saab or Sirjee or some other salutation indicating respect. I learnt that the other ghosts were escaped convicts who were supposed to have been executed for crimes not their own. A Doctor who was ‘silenced’ by those whose organ transplant racket he refused to entertain. People to whom the world had not shown justice. I was given an assistant- Prakash. He was a murderer who killed rich bad men for other rich bad men. I learnt that the Boss owned a pharmaceuticals manufacturing firm in the outside world and the ghost land was a sort of vocation. He was also feared by all the bad guys for reasons that no one was very sure about.
The work progressed finely. I had lengthy discussions with him almost every day and each left me more impressed with his intelligence. Now for a few weeks we have been going over the last stages of trouble shooting. In a few more days, we will have a field of green solar panels that open to face the sun in the morning, turning to face him throughout the day and folding up like umbrellas in the evening safe from winds that blow down these slopes. The power output will suffice to sustain the settlement. In a few more days I will outlive my utility.
The day after the plant started operating, I stood again on the same slope with him.
“Mr. Quasi, you have done well. I am no longer a thief. Have you thought about what you want to do next?”
“No.”
“You were in trouble because you refused to be a part of murder. Because you
loved your country. Because you believed that you could be an Indian and a Muslim. Isn’t that correct .”
“Yes”
“You did not like the fact that young men of your community were taught to believe that Allah sanctioned these holy wars”
“No, I didn’t”
“Would you like to be an angel Mr.Quasi?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just like you have to contend with these elements in your community, I have to deal with their saffron coloured counterparts. I have a group of people from different communities who work to draw the poison before it spreads too far into the brains of our youth. I call them my angels. Would you like to be one?”
I did not respond for some days. I did not trust him. Like Chinnappa said I had to
be of more use alive than dead… Wasn’t this whole missionary thing a pretty picture painted to get me into some communal riot and out of the way? I noticed that Prakash was hanging around in the area all the time and was that bulge at his side a gun?
I was taken blindfolded to the outskirts of the nearest town. I had a new voter’s ID, passport and driving license in the name Mohammed Iqbal. I had seen him before leaving. He had said- “You are the only man who has ever gone back from this land of the dead. You will not betray us in any way. It is true that you know nothing of danger to us, but if you even try to, I will know. In sending you back I give you life, I will take what I have given if the situation arises that I have no choice. Please see that such a thing does not happen. And keep the phone as a token from me for the wonderful job that you have done. Goodbye my friend, if I need your help I’ll know where to find you.”
I took up my bag and set off down the road to the railway station.
What did he mean by he would know where to find me? Must be the phone. Must be bugged or something. Such a thing will be child’s play for his ingenuity. It was with regret that I threw it into a bush by the roadside. It was a beautiful piece of technology.
Throughout the short distance, I had the feeling that I was being followed. But whenever I turned, there was no one behind me. I got a ticket to my destination and got into the train. As it started pulling out, I saw someone running down the platform and jump into the carriage two bogies behind mine. It was Prakash and he had something black in his hand. I was going to die. I decided to go to my seat and wait in peace for my death. It was of no use to run. Since it was a train from a rural area, the compartment was empty. Two minutes later Prakash sat down opposite me. He reached for my water bottle and started gulping down water.
“Aren’t you going to kill me?”
“What? Oh, yeah…Boss said this might come up. Good that you are not fighting. I am a little out of breath for that”
“O.K. Then get it over with”
“Oh, we are talking gangster style aren’t we? Who do you propose I kill Ahmed Quasi? He died two years ago. Or is it to be Mohammed Iqbal? I hardly know him. My dear Mr.Iqbal, I am with you to see that you come to no harm. Here is your phone and next time you chuck it in a bush you can get it yourself. Every angel has a halo. I am yours. Sorry that I don’t come in gold.”
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