SUSPENSE STORY

                                                     "THE DREAM"

My dear Anil

I entreat you to calmly sit down and listen to what I have to say through this letter of mine, I hope and believe that you will be fully resolved in those many queries you have put up to me. I have received all your letters, aerograms, e-mails and other correspondences from London, Frankfurt, Glasgow and other places wherein you have expressed deep anguish, despair and bewilderment on my pitiable state of affairs but I did not, rather could not respond not because I did not bother about your concerns but because of the fact that I did not have anything to offer in a logical manner which can satisfy a rational and sound mind and heart which you possess.

You will note that what I have to tell has no basis of realm—it simply hinges on the tantrums of a tenuous and inconsequential dream which modernity will brand as an utter non-sense, improbable and a product of a crippled imagination aimed at obfuscating and creating an impregnable haze to lead astray and conceal the reality. Nevertheless I will endeavour to narrate as vividly and succinctly as I can. I am sure that on the first reading you will scoff it off and thereafter develop a propensity to throw it in a dustbin of oblivion. But do read it, Anil, I pray of you.

The dream which I have mentioned above, opens up in a tense note, a thick hazy canopy of a desolate, barren, ancient dilapidated ruins of a huge mansion, now a habitat of owls, bats fowls and brutes and frequented by wild animals. The environs look so horrifying that it appears as all hell broke loose on this wretched building of yesteryear rs. Wherever my eyes roved, as far as they could, utter devastation greeted them as if time was at its cruelest best. With a thumping heart, I endeavour on my staggering legs to move on wards to a huge mound and sit under a thatch surrounded by wild undergrowths and shrubs with sullage strewn all over.

All of a sudden a strong blast of wind comes which turns into a storm and then into a gale and a tempest with spiraling gushes like in a cyclonic whirlpool of dusty winds. And then a heart rending scream follows quelling the monotony and stillness pervading in the environment. The scream slowly converts into a slow whistle before dying out. I wish to get up and flee from that grim and gruesome place as I can no longer bear the brunt of the sepulchral solitude and perils of uncertainities in store for me but I cannot move as my legs appear to have been tethered.

Then, slowly but steadily it gets murkier and murkier and then pitch darkness prevails over. Clouds gather and lightning strikes somewhere nearby stirring the very soul out of me. Wild beasts run helter skelter as if intimidated by an unseen force. It starts drizzling, icy winds bite cruelly as it rains in torrents. Branches of trees crack down making menacing screams. Intermittantly lightning flashes illuminating the ruins. Oh, how can the nature be so ruinous, so calamitous.

And then it comes! A screeching halt to the unceremonious prelude! There she is sobbing incoherently holding her little baby in her lap and over her shoulder. She is stunningly beautiful her serene visage half hidden behind her baby, her ashen-white sensuous frame draped in a simple sari gets drenched to the skin in the heavy downpour which refuses to subside. The little baby with his cherubic face and little red fingers points towards me beckoning me to take him in my arms and tries to slither away from her lap. She continues to sob and darts tearful glances towards me and whispers—You—you deserted me—it is alright—but you also forgot your little son—left us in the lurch—The little baby starts wailing softly with his little fingers outstretching towards me—pa- pa- papa trying to wriggle out her hold but she manages to restrain the baby from crawling away Once more the baby wails—pa—pa papa his little red fingers curling helplessly. How I wish to grab the baby in my arms and press his mother to my bosom. But I cannot, I cannot move, I cannot cry even, I have been nailed down like a statue.

And all of a sudden it all vanishes in a thin air I am left stranded

My heart stops beating momentarily.

I wish it were dead.

My internal remorse will drive me mad. She doesn’t tell me anything. I wish to scratch my heart open to her. It bleeds. It bleeds profusely. I fight my tears all day long without any respite. A heavy boulder lies on the valves of my heart but it doesn’t permit me to open it. Oh God! What to do where to go. I am doomed to decay.

How to unravel this mystery? Who is she? Who am I? When and where did we meet? And that lovely tiny tot—pa—pa—papa—His little red fingers—his cherubic little round cute face with tears in his eyes trickling down—the, serene girl with her choked voice and the copious flow of tears make my blood suffuse I feel intense chill in my spine as if my arteries have gone dysfunctional. I look up myself in a mirror. I can’t recognize my own visage. It has gone ashen pale like a sucked mango. No it’s not me—I can’t be that horrendous. I can’t be that cruel and abhorrent. I can’t just desert that sweet angel. It’s simply incredible. I cry out scratching my head and dashing it against the wall. I need retribution for my misdemeanours, my horrific deeds of abandoning a young woman and her infant hurtling them in a vortex of inhuman sufferings in such a despotic manner.

In the initial stages, this dream came to me invariably on Friday mornings between 3 am to 4 am but with passage of time the frequency decreased. However, when it came it was always Friday morning, same time, same place.

I did whatever I could to get to the root of this nightmare acting on the instructions of all pundits, maulvis, hermits and experts of oneiromancy much against my own conscience and iconoclastic nature. As you know, I detest and lambaste these nagas and babas but as imposed upon me by my parents, I had to perform such rituals such as chanting mantras while pouring kilos of pure ghee and honey in specially designed pyres wearing taveez, malas and black chords. These wise men invented fables, incendiaries and what-nots in the process of purging me thoroughly and getting me rid of the influence of evil spirits. But all in vain Nothing worked , nothing cliqued much to the chagrin of my parents who were also relieved of their hard-earned money. They, however, still believed that I owed my existence due to those sacrileges otherwise that wretched woman could have devoured me Thus, the anchorites saved me, they opined.

Frankly speaking, I hate to call her a wretched woman or use any derogatory term for her because in my heart of hearts I love her. She has never acted as a vamp or evil spirit, though I must confess that I had most harrowing and traumatic times in the initial times but now I am used to it and if the dream doesn’t come on Friday night, I feel immensely depressed. A sense of vacuum prevails all through out the day. Solitude engulfs me in the midst of multitudes of the corporate office where now I work. A nauseating feeling of defeat knocks at the petals of my brains as I sit placid, moonstruck, gazing in distant nothingness.

My boss, Mrs.Shalini is a very generous-hearted lady in her early thirties but anybody can be bamboozled by her transient moods. One moment she is pugnacious, belligerent, ready to fight, come what may! Her truculent manners, her irascible tempers and her peevish attitudes cross limits of perseverence. Every thing. in such a mood, she does is with skirm and swagger and even the trifliest matter can earn her petulance. In such moments she behaves like a recalcitrant child. Contrasted to this, there are moments wherein she displays the acme of femininity—calm and cool, unruffled, placid and tranquil. Physically, she is very attractive, gorgeous with a pleasant disposition but, unlike a nymph, she oozes out unmisted charm in abundance without profusion or vulgarity.

I don’t know how and why she developed a fancy for me. Earlier I thought and everyone also conjectured that as her husband was away most of the  time. being in army, she wanted my company as I was still a bachelor. Modesty forbids me to harp on my own strings. You have often described me as a smiling predator, a handsome dude, always dandified in my shade under six-foot frame. So, tongues started wagging. She also invited me to her bungalow now and then on some pretext or the other. This incurred the wrath of my seniors and colleagues who felt that they were being marginalized for an upstart sophomore.

All such conjectures, however, proved futile one day when in presence of every cne in an official function, she showered accolades on me and calling me her younger brother she proclaimed that I was singled out because of my sincerity and devotion to work and not for my physical charm etc. This quelled their inquisitions and doused their fusillades which the often directed towards me at the slightest provocation. As for me, I felt exasperated at her benignness and felt ashamed to have harboured any such notion that cast aspersion on her morality. From that day on, I slowly but steadily started adoring her as my mentor, philosopher and guide.

On a Friday evening, I got a call from her. She sent her car to fetch me.I was made comfortable in her drawing room. In the adjoining room her little son was playing with her maidservant. His rotund little face was so charming that I could not resist the temptation of lifting him in my arms—oh so bewitching, his eyes rolling and looking at me with his fascinating grin. Instinctively I took his little palm in my hands and examined his little fingers—so soft, so dainty, so magnetic !Slowly his red lips parted and he mumbled—pa—pa—papa. Something possessed me and I took him in my arms. pressed him against my chest so as to squeeze him, kissing him all over till he started screaming.

My trance was broken when Mrs.Shalini appeared on the scene and snatched her son from my encircling arms and looking at me curiously almost shouted, ”Oh ! What a monstrous act? Don’t you think you are hurting the child? What possessed you, I say? You feel so haggard and woe-begone—perspiring and quivering. Sit down, be calm and control yourself. Don’t make a phantom of yourself “

What happened afterwards for a while, I don’t remember. Then with a jerk I opened my eyes and found her cajoling me, giving me an oral tranquilizer and soothing me

“See, Utsav, are you feeling okay now ? Take some rest and if you so desire, you can go back in the car.”

“Yes. ma’me—“I stammered, ”I am sorry, really sorry—“

“It’s okay,Utsav,it’s okay. Don’t you worry. Feel free to talk to me, to your elder sister. You can confide in me. I have seen a melancholiness in your eyes the first day itself—the melancholiness of solitude, aloofness and desperation. Tell me. I may be of some help to you in alleviating your miseries.”

The little baby was by now asleep in her lap. She called the maidservant and said, ”Phulki, take Billu in my bedroom and listen—whenever this sahib comes here, let him play with him. His name is Utsav, he works in my office”

It was an amazingly sweet music to my ears. I was expecting a command from her in one of her truculent moods to the effect of putting a bar to my entry in her bunglow but it was a complete turnabout—a phase reversal in toto. The maidservant eyed me surreptitiously, disbelieving her own ears, gave me a cold stare and vanished with the baby

“Now, then come on Utsav, tell me what ails you?”

I started sobbing again but her sisterly affection rained incessantly and washed away my blues, propelling me to tell my story to the minutest detail. She was a very patient and sympathetic listener.

The evening haze thickened. The environment became heavy. In a pensive mood she rose and paced the room several times and then in a feeble voice she said, ”Utsav, I don’t know about others but I do believe in your story. The dream has a pattern—yes, a definite pattern—Can you draw a sketch as accurately as you can of that girl. You need not draw the sketch of the baby as I am sure he bears a striking resemblance to Billu whom you embraced and kissed so passionately” She darted a quick furtive glance to me and smiled wryly..

I was taken aback. Totally mesmerized, I discovered to my utter bewilderment that she did not dismiss my narration as a rigmarole, a façade behind which I wanted a refuge for my failed existence. Her sang-froid was, I thought, baffling to say the least—so upright, so stoical—Is the same lady a hag, a harridan or a battle-axe as she was called who flew into a rage now and then and hurled` files indiscriminately ? She was looking at me intently as if she read my thoughts. Non-chalantly she said, ”The dream has some substance, Utsav. Did you notice any peculiarities in the locales of the ruins or the ravages of that razed mansion. any name or date or something e.g. inscription etc. which could lead us to narrow our area of investigation?

I could guess what she was driving at It was not a crime thriller, my heart revolted I said in a choked voice,” No, ma’me, it never occurred to me. As a matter of fact, I never thought that way”

“Call me your didi, not ma’me but not in the office, okay? Think now, concentrate”

“Her sobbing. her wailing, the little fascinating baby with his little fingers outstretching towards me beckoning me –pa—pa—papa, oh! I simply die a thousand deaths longing to take them in my arms and dissolve them in my bosom’

“Like you did to Billu ?”

“Yes, didi, I earnestly wish to ask her about her identity, my identity, about that angel in her arms, but, you know, didi, can one speak in one’s dream. One gets  statued, tethered—“

“Yes, yes you are right, Utsav—okay, You were examining the fingers of the baby, I remember, why?’

“Yes, didi. I have some itching to believe that one little finger was smaller in size than the other little finger. It may be just my fancy but I do feel that this peculiarity existed”

I was feeling a lump rising in my throat and was on the verge of relapsing when didi sensing my delirium, cajoled me and dragged me out of the dirge I was getting mired into

“That is very significant what you say there. Can you describe the girl, the baby’s mother”

“Didi, she holds the baby on her shoulder so that her face is half hidden, her wide limpid eyes are all in tears—tears trickling down her whey-face-her slender tall frame draped in a simple sari—her emotion-choked feeble voice—you deserted me—you also deserted your little son, he always wails for his papa—where to find his papa? My heart bleeds—my internal remorse shall kill me one day. I don’t know what to do”

“Now, now, come on, Utsav—do you think that by her looks she appears to be married—er—some marks of vermillion on forehead or tika or some red thing on the parting of her hair?’

“Oh, that way but, didi, decidedly she must be married otherwise how she can have the baby?”

“Not necessarily, think, Utsav, think, did you notice it or you are following a natural deduction?”

“No, how stupid of me when I come to think of it but at that time I am so much engrossed—and as I told you earlier that her face remains half hidden and I am totally lost during that sojourn of mine—“

“Okay,okay,, don’t bother, does any other girl you have met or come across in recent past or recent years since the occurrence of this dream have a resemblance with the girl of your dream?”

“Not in my knowledge, didi”

“Well—any one of these actresses or TV girls having some resemblance, just to have an idea, you know, a mind-set of some sort–?”

“That way—have you seen the recently released Delhi-6 film—the girl in the lead-Sonam-from her side pose—especially when she along with others tries to resuscitate Abhishek—that intense longing in her teary eyes and locks of her hair let loose as she embarks on the journey of a dream with soft whispers emanating from her parched lips—she has those looks—“

“Very aptly put—you can be an excellent film critic—that’s very significant, you know. That will do for the present”

It was getting past eleven. Outside it started drizzling and threatened to turn into a heavy downpour. I hurriedly said bye to her and started to my residence politely declining her offer of a  supper.. I felt confused. All these queries have been repeatedly put to me by my parents, kiths and kins, , acquaintances and well-wishers and nothing happened except lip-sympathy and commiseration. All the same I felt a strange sense of succour, a solace hitherto not acquired..My legs appeared to be cotton-laden in my bed. At least, I felt that something of substance, not merely windbags, airy-fairy or tenuous objects has turned. up which appears to be meaningful. I wondered, though, what was that which was titillating my fancy. –perhaps that evanescent sensuous whispers wafting in her drawing room from the adjoining one.

For days together, I could not see Mrs.Shalini in her office as she was away to see her husband. My colleague told me that while I was away for a bank transaction she came to my cabin and took away a piece of paper from my table and asked him to tell me about it. That was the sketch of that girl which I made from my memory.

I am now closing. I have consumed a lot of your time and tested your perseverence. Now tell me about yourself. When are you coming to India?. I am dying to see you. Hoping to see you soon. Rest when we meet.—

Yours  ever–Utsav

Letter from Anil dated, London, March,15,2009

Dear Utsav

Received your letter dated Feb.28. I am fumbling with words to describe my feeling on going through your letter. How strange, how baffling! In this modern age, you are obsessed with fetid fabrications, supernaturals, astrology, dreams and blind faiths etc. which you condemned them as utter non-sense and a product of perverted and aberrated version of one’s cerebral musings and now you, yourself are a victim of such frivolities and displaying vulnerability to such misgivings. Even if it is true, do you hope to get back your girl and the baby of your dream. Preposterous, absolutely preposterous, I call it. Don’t be an idiot or a dweep. Your story app ears to be a furphy and full of fetid fabrication I will suggest not to drag yourself into a ditch of mental degradation and be your convivial self for which you were so popular. You are too young and handsome hunk to think yourself a dreg to the society.

You may be interested in the recent reports published in the papers about the claims of Japanese researchers at the ATR Computational Neuroscience Laboratories that they can reproduce a human dream on a computer screen and that their new technology can now visually represent dreams, the causes and meanings of which have been analysed for centuries. The oneriomancy—interpretation of dreams—has always been a part of the simmering cauldron of debates about the divine and the diabolic, illusion and reality Freud took dreams as a royal road into psychology’s seething cauldron of repressed sexuality, while to Jung dreams comprised oceanic symbols of the collective unconsciousness. Dreams can be seditious, adulterous and bacchanalian and what not. Now the discovery of aforementioned technology to bring alive the visual aspect of a dream can unsheathe a real can of worms. It can come handy in your case as well but the time of its availability and the economics of the project have to be worked out. We will discuss it at a later stage, if deemed necessary.

It is heartening to note that your boss is very considerate and lends you a moral support I don’t know what she is driving at but one thing seems pretty clear. She is very concerned about you and determined to take you out of your predicament.Follow her advice sincerely. She is also very resourceful.

I am looking forward to visiting India soon, the exact date and time I shall intimate you. Au revoir.

Yours affectionately–Anil

The letter did no good to me. I found myself further in the dumps. I looked up to a dictionary to know the meaning of the word ‘bacchanalian’ as used by Anil. It means a wild and drunken revelry, riotous, roistering followed by devotees of Bacchus—the Greek or Roman god of wine. To me it appeared it a bit misty. I wished to walk down the memory lane but it was blocked Could it lead to a loss of memory—a temporary one? It’s all so confusing. and dysphoric

Next week came but Mrs.Shalini did not come.

The HR wing of our organization has been conducting some inquiry into the past records of some employees, collecting blood samples taking DNA tests and other information especially of aspirants for foreign assignments. A list was being prepared which included me as well. A nauseating feeling crept in my mind relentlessly

Next week also passed without Mrs. Shalini Curiosity, rancour, skepticism and melancholiness juxtaposed their positions and invaded my solitude in all their manifestations and never allowed me to settle down into placidity. On Friday evening, an unknown, unrelenting urge propelled me to visit her bungalow. It wore a deserted look as her mistress was still not home. The door was opened upon me by Phulki who spoke in her native language, ”Mem sahib toh nahin hai—pata nahin kab aayega,–unka beta –u chhutka baby—u unka nahi hai {mem sahib is not here—don’t know,–her son, that little baby—he is not her son –}

I was deeply shocked and surprised I felt that I was being dragged to abysmal depths of an ocean by a behemoth. How strange and incredible ! To my repeated queries, she repeated the same replies. Billu is not her son. She has a six year old daughter living with her grandmother. She did not think it proper to answer my volley of questions. She kept mum, though not indolent and politely slammed the door. I staggered out with my heart pounding furiously. I could not sleep throughout the night which drifted away stealthily leaving oceanic symbols of collective unconsciousness

Why should didi not tell me that Billu was not her son? Did she conceal this fact on purpose? Who is Billu’s mother? Where is she? I was getting more and more befuddled. The entire spectrum was getting misty and hazy wrapping me into a bizarre quietude

To-day I received a letter from Anil. It is brief and written in his hand.—

Dear Utsav –

Hope this finds you hale and hearty. I arrived at Delhi on Wednesday and since then I have been moving frantically like an electron of the outermost orbit of an atom never having the fortitude of establishing a co-valent bond so far On Thursday night some of our common friends will be arranging a Bacchanalian party in the cantt. area in the neighborhood of Officer’s Mess. Due to paucity of time and other constraints, not much time is at our disposal. Please make it convenient to meet me at the railway station of Bareilly by Lucknow Express on Thursday night.. I will be waiting for you at the platform. And a new dawn will be waiting for you.

–Truly yours—Anil

I was pondering—a New Dawn—at Bareilly cantt. Now, is it used as a simile or in a literal sense. Why am I feeling so edgy?. Somehow it has kindled a ray of hope and a feeling of jubilance in the coming meeting with my friend after a long period..

Lucknow Mail arrived at about 2:30 a m at Bareilly. There was still a nip in the air but the weather was stormy due to a cyclonic burst nearby. My friend gave me a passionate hug and introduced me to his friend,Major Parakram,a fine specimen of masculinity with a robust moustache befitting his army bearing. His face was vaguely familiar to me. He shook hands with me with an iron clasp and eyed me intently After exchange of pleasantries, we were whisked away in a military van which accommodated half a dozen of other civilians and military personnels who were gulping baccardi rum incessantly and smoking like chimneys. They offered me drinks as well. I could not match strides with them but consumed a few pegs. Soon my conviviality prevailed over my reticence caused by the company of not so many familiar faces. The baccardi rum was also working slowly but steadily.

We were passing beyond the cantt area, the terrain was getting inhospitable because of sub-hilly track surrounded by thick jungles of Terai region. Tall safeda and tujha trees in an orchard of dessiduous forests were zooming in and bending their branches in the stormy weather. The van was moving ventre a terre on terra firma of rustic locales lapped up in lush greenery. The driver appeared to be sozzled up and driving with a vengeance. Anil cautioned him, the retinue was also alarmed but he continued in the same vein, galloping ferociously as if possessed by an unknown and relentless force. Parakram, though, himself inebriated got the better of the driver and pushing him aside, took control at the steering wheel but in so doing, got side tracked into a terra incognito—an unexplored region—and crashed into a huge mound surrounded by scabrous elements and detritus of ancient origin. The impact was so sudden and zapping that the entire flora and fauna was intimidated, fowls and brutes fled helter skelter screaming and fluttering and intimating their fraternity who responded with sympathetic vibrations. The banyan tree which was the victim of the sudden jolt was nearly uprooted, rendering the birds and their young ones homeless at least temporarily. The pertinent thing was, however, that the van itself escaped overturning though it did skid. The engine was full throttling and despite best efforts of revving it up, it jerked violently and vroomed thunderously and came to a sepulchral silence.

The retinue grappled gingerly at their personal effects and disembarked the van. They assisted Parakram and Anil with all their might to tow away the van to a comparatively safer clearing in the thick forest beyond the marshy dumps. The fear-struck driver received a mouthful from Prakram who passed the choicest expletives and diatribes available in the army lexicon assisted by civilian epithets as a wally, waif, a reckless and an inept driver. Anil came to his rescue and mollified  Parakram by explaining the futility of his fury. The attendants brushing aside bruises earned in the catastrophe were furtively eyeing the driver and whispering about the lascivious and lusty nature of the drivers in general and this driver in particular. One close associate was divulging that the driver saw some village belles coming to attend the call of nature as is usual with the rustic locales and was fascinated by their underbellies. So libidinous was his desire that he was lured to reach them and in his attempt he lost control. Hence this fiasco.. Amidst all these speculations, Parakram lost no time and passed on instructions on the wireless to the Headquarters to send another van at the earliest along with technicians and accessories for repairing the damaged van at that particular spot estimated to be about 18 kms. on Pantnagar-Aonla road.

Outside the van there was a thick canopy of haze and fog and visibility was very poor. A slight drizzle followed by a cyclonic burst called willy-willy acted as a double whammy. Anil who was so far quite quiet broke his taciturnity and said, “Sorry for this nightmarish episode but somethings are beyond control. It won’t take long to redeem the situation “

“It’s okay,yaar. what can one do under the circumstances “ I said, bleary eyed.

“You are still having a hang-over” he said.

“The only way to get over the hang-over, is to continue drinking. Anil  and others burst into a laughter and suited action to words As if to ward off the catastrophe and join the bacchanalian revelry without any more waiting all of us started gulping the drinks and eating whatever was available in the van. I was not used to such drinking but nevertheless not to be branded as a novice and odd man out I lasted for quite a while but then when they were all thoroughly sozzled down, I managed to slip away from the group. I strolled away further in the pitch darkness mulling over the predicament we were in and the travails of the travel we had undertaken The heavy drinks made my head heavier as my legs staggered

I must have gone wading at least a kilometer through the   rustling leaves and undergrowth of the marshy region and was squelching in the slush when lightning struck menacingly nearby forcing the vultures fleece away from the trees and wolves shrieking into their habitats. By now the baccardi got entrenched fully into my head and was on the verge of collapsing but collecting myself I staggered on and reached a desolate, barren and ancient ruins of a dilapidated mansion. The dizziness descended heavily on my head. It was getting murkier and hazier by the moment. Now—where am I—This place is not a terra incognito to me—no,. no longer. I have no—we have visited this place earlier.—is it time-warped? –Now what is time- warp.? I say—it  is an image of distortion—yes—distortion of space in relation to time whereby persons or objects of an age can be moved to another state in which the styles attitudes etc. of a past period are retained—I was feeling—nostalgic—or nauseated—now which one –I am reeling under the pangs of –or –sabre-stroke of guilt—caught in a time-warp of my college days—not very distant—I mean—when I was studying in the post-graduate college of Bareilly—no –Pant nagar University with Kakuli—that sweet svelte serene sweet-heart of mine hey what’s happening—feeling timorous  –a throe—a violent pang of anguish—it’s coming back to me after all, -I am enervated, though—all the same—time-warp only in congruence, objects are there, place is there but why the person is not there, perhaps I can’t see clearly, let me see, visibility is dwindling, –some animal is squelching in the nearby slush,–a huge beast with bulging electrifying eyes penetrating the haze and the thick canopy of fog—is it a behemoth, oh no it is a military van with its dazzling light zapped to the ground by an intensely glowing beam—

And then—a low soft whistling obfuscating an incoherent sobbing—a sweet svelte serene young girl draped in a simple sari with her little baby on her shoulder her wavy tresses cascading on her ivory white bare shoulders and her wide, limpid eyes looking with intense longing approaches the thatch with sluggard steps. The little baby outstretches his little fingers pointing towards me and wails—pa—pa—papa He slithers slowly from his mother’s lap and like a magnet sticks to my chest and me like a mad man go on hugging caressing and kissing him from top to toe. Oh! My God. How can I ever thank you, my Lord He is unmistakably my Billu and you my precious gem Kakuli. She impulsively dissolves in my arms and chest drenching me wish her tears. Her luscious -hot lips part to pass sensuous whispers but I, out of sheer greedy lust sealed them by locking with mine. The aroma of her body was entering my nostrils making me slither away in cyclonic sub-consciousness oblivious of my surroundings. All I knew was that my hands were full—my little cherubic moppet in one hand and my sweet heart. in the other What more can one wish ?

I can’t remember now –Stevenson’s lines were coming to me—Wealth I seek not, hope not love–nor a friend to know me/ All I ask the heavens above, and the road below me—now talking of the road,—The road is lonely barren and steep,/ And I have miles to go before I sleep—-But the road is not lonely not barren any more –my friend is there, many more are there—a lot of commotion going on, hustle and bustle military vans a search party combing down the forest hullabaloo in the rustic locales I can’t bear any more—my eye-lids are drooping—I –.in the midst of mist and shadow, I sleep a blissful sleep—unconscious, unawares–

I don’t know how long I slept—

When I regained my consciousness I was puzzled to find myself cozily ensconced on bed in the ante-room of the Officer’s Mess of Bareilly cantonment. Sun was shining resplendently and a rectangle of light was falling on me. I hurriedly got up to grip the reality of the situation when my friend Anil coming from the front door hugged me passionately and with a tinkle in his eyes said,

“ Good morning, Utsav,–er—a new dawn –I promised you-“

“ A very good morning, dear Anil, only you could have done that—this elaborate ruse—I am thrilled but still baffled,–how, how come, I am here safe and sound ?”

“Elementary, my dear Watson. Your Delhi-6 girl spilled the beans. No more she remained scared. She threw caution to winds and came clean Parakram, the major with those luxuriant moustaches—you remember, who conducted inquiries with the HR wing of your organization, collected blood samples—DNA tests and all that finally unraveled the mystery. He is a great pal of mine. You owe a deep gratitude to your boss “

Mrs.Shalini entered the room with a tray of steaming tea, beaming all over and a mischievous smile on her visage and said,” Hello young man, your cup of tea—“

I greeted her with folded hands and stooped to touch her feet, muttering,” Didi, No words of thanks and gratitude in my lexicon—You are the potentate and I am the humble petitioner—a criminal—“

“Criminal ?—yes, yes a potential criminal—lunatic—Listen, you lanky, lampoon—you are an egregious liar, your game is up— scoundrel, a rogue of first waters,” thundered Parakram with his hot-red eyes as he plonked himself in a chair and continued his castigation in the same vituperative tone

“ You bamboozled us with your incredulous dream. I have all the information and enough of evidence to charge you with the heinous crime of eloping with my sister-in-law, outraging her modesty, establishing, illicit sexual relationship with her and then deserting her and her little baby. Had you been in the army, I would have court-marshaled you here itself. But as a civilian you will have to face the music in a proper court of law and put behind the bars. And you—you whey-faced mewling, feline—enough of this skulduggery—“the Major thundered pointing towards me and Kakuli

“In that case, put me also behind the bars,” said Kakuli and slowly stood behind me

“Shhh—don’t say another word “ Didi put her finger on her lips to stop us

The Major stamped his feet and with a swaggering gait vamoosed, still fuming in his vitriolic tone. I felt that we were approaching the crescendo of our misfortunes.

Then, ,as an anti-climax, didi said, ” Pack up, we contemplate leaving for Lucknow to-day itself. To-morrow, your parents are coming there to play with their grandson and bless their daughter-in-law. The marriage has to be solemnized next week. Anil will stand witness and oversee all the arrangements which stand finalized by—“

“By whom, didi ?” I ventured to ask.

“By—who else —by your bete noir—Parakram,said Anil, giggling

They say misfortunes never come alone, they come in bundles. But now we were getting windfalls, bounties in abundance incessantly, choicest blessings from the benign Heavens and the bitter and better halves and indeed the friend in need. My mouth was left agape as Billu butted in and put the smaller of his two little fingers inside it. Kakuli was blushing as all rainbow colours flashed on her lovely dimples when we stooped to touch the feet of our radiantly glowing didi

Anil hugged us passionately and said,” To-day is Friday, what about your dream?”

“A dream come true, my friend, how can we thank you, your relentless zeal and conviction in me—“I said.

“Friends don’t thank, yaar.”interrupted Anil and winked at Kakuli,”Your Matak-kali or Massak-kali did the trick and your fidelity to each other saved the day. Now, c’mmon hurry up Keechak will be coming shortly—“

“Keechak—who “? I inquired with curiosity.

“The driver—He was the first to reach the thatch—he was telling me—Saheb ke ek hath mein lalla hai aur doosare mein laila—“”

.. “It seems every thing was programmed my friend”

“Meticulously planned and equally well executed You know didi had to proceed on leave for about three weeks”

__END__

                                                                                                                  SOURCE BY-DINESH

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