Moving On – Part I

 Authors Note -

This is the first half of the last in a four part series of short stories both independent & inter related to each other.

********************************

The faded yellow jeans were somehow managing to keep everything together.

They weren’t worn in four years since its purchase back when its owner bought clothes two sizes smaller and considered himself one size smaller than what he was. Over the years it served the function of the butt of some jokes than actual clothing. A latent acceptance to his five year old son’s call for change in his usual choice in fashion, the jeans only served its horizontally expanding master in the two by two trial room of the uptown lifestyle store he bought it from. That is until today.

At that moment, if you were to ask Amrish whether he was sitting or standing. The precise answer would be somewhere in the ballpark of leaning like plywood plank inching away slowly for its eventual horizontal fate, courtesy gravitation. His actual answer, in normal circumstances, would be somewhere between quiet boiling rage to a small groan. But a tight pair of faded yellow jeans is not worn by thirty five year olds under normal circumstances.

It was the kind of case most people surf over if and when such stories find their way in their weekly crime show. The kind of news that makes people go “Lagata Hai Aaj Kuch Mila Nahi”, when they see it on news channels. The kind of thing where everybody knows the steps involved and no ending is ever really a surprise. It was the case of simple extortion.

There was the first call which had started as if they were selling insurance. There was a point where Amrish almost asked for a brochure to be sent but the tone changed when someone was referred to as the “Bhai”. There was a squabble which assured Amrish that he had made a nice argument as to why he wasn’t interested in being extorted. He was expecting a second call from someone of the higher ranks but his wait was interrupted by call from his wife with a broken leg.

They had cornered her in the nearby mall’s parking lot, where she was getting into her car. Then came her call. Rasika sounded almost mellow but then again she was always a hard nut to crack, unlike her leg. What she was describing and her tone were in such contradictions that Amrish didn’t immediately correlate but confused thoughts were clouding his minds; which is why he avoided driving to the hospital. He went out, getting more light headed as the moments passed and tried to hail a cab. After a while, as sketchy links were being established he was screaming at every passing cab, car, rickshaw, truck. When he finally reached the hospital and after some loving inquiries were made, he blurted out about the extortion call. A night’s deliberation concluded with them being agreeable on being extorted.

The day after that came the second call. The date (three days after the call), place (the old temple at George’s Circle), amount (or atleast what would be the first instalment) and most uncomfortably the easily identifiable attire was communicated.

Amrish’s lean against the wall was now progressing towards an awkward angle so he elected to stand now but it wasn’t long before the feet started to sing. It was almost two hours since half past eleven which was the agreed time and there were no chairs here. One could sit on the ground but not in those jeans.

The stars in the sky had deemed today auspicious, which is why the crowd was in no mood of thinning. Amrish had picked a nice quiet corner (which in this place meant somebody won’t constantly walk over your foot) after His darshan was done and the Prasad was licked off. But his belly floating loosely over the rim of the jeans was demanding real food in no subtle terms, his shoulders were aching from bite of the heavy backpack and his head spinning from constantly going back and forth, looking for the man.

“Wait would it be a man” Amrish thought out loud. These gangs always had some girls in the background. Even that Abu Salman or whatever his name was had that heroine girl with him. They even made a film about that.

In parallel to remembering the film, his probing fingers checked the chains of his backpack as they did every minute. Then they took out his phone turned the screen on as they did every other minute, Rasika had called an hour ago. He would have liked to continue that call endlessly now, it was almost like they were on a secret mission. It was the most fun he had in the decade long marriage even when with her broken foot and related troubles. But as ten minutes turned to twenty, he realised he didn’t have anything new to say. A touch of sadness was starting to pollute the excitement so he cut her monologue short and said bye.

He sniffed his hands. They smelled of sandalwood and sweet milk. The Prasad’s smell had still not left. He rubbed his sticky palms on his jeans and smelled them again, no change.

His mind drifted away to what he remembered as the Abu Salman film and started feeling nostalgic about the time when he wasn’t being extorted which is when his gaze fell on a larger than life framed photo of Lord Krishna. There were many such photos hanging on the walls. But what caught his attention was that this photo had the lord draped in yellow cloth which brought him back to his crotch crushing reality.

He tried bringing his legs closer and closer but no relief was in sight. The sewn claws were digging into his thighs. He engaged in a slight of hand to extend the crotch cut downward without anybody noticing; which my dear madams and monsieur could be a dramatic moment for some action to start. The universe at that moment demanded to experience an action comedy of a man in tight faded yellow pants and the universe usually gets what it wants. As I said it usually gets what it wants, and thus it was an action comedy till the time bullets were fired and a man in yellow pants died but that comes afterwards.

If Amrish had looked at his old gold platted Titan watch, he would have seen that the second hand had just waved over twelve and started its journey for a new minute. But Amrish couldn’t check his watch at the moment as he had stretched his arms up and then back to throw off the stiffness that the heavy backpack was biting into his shoulders.

It was at this exact moment that a strong tug from back made him lose his balance. He tried to bring his arms forward but the force pulling him by tugging on his backpack was too strong. Amrish tried going sideways and started to hit some passer-by’s in his struggle. The people around him were confused about the situation and stood to see the circus in motion.

Amrish was running in a small circle, engaged in reverse fugadi with the unknown thief. He could make out that he was a thin young fellow and saw a fog of green every time he craned his neck but nothing more. He had now lost most of the control over his backpack which had slid around his elbows. The assailants grip was unshakable and Amrish finally remembered something important, which is when he decided to let go.

As he forced ahead the tug from back got stronger and Amrish’s arms gave way and snapped backward at an unnatural angle. He felt the weight of backpack leave his shoulders but such sensation was mostly blocked by the pain of making rubber bands out of muscles and bones.

During the struggle that lasted ten seconds, his adrenaline level was high and the backpack’s straps had increasingly tightened which cut off the blood supply and asked the nerves to go offline for a while. After the backpack was lifted, the floodgates opened and blood vessels and nerve impulses started their job; and the pain started its course with a set of cramps around his biceps.

The second hand of the Titan didn’t stop to ask about his master’s well being as it marked off the first quarter of the minute. Amrish lifted up his head and wrapped his arms around himself. People had now started to realise what had transpired before them and rushed towards Amrish to confirm. He dodged all questions and tiptoed to look over the heads of a gathering crowd.

Inspite of his aching arms and newly throbbing back, Amrish had an amused look on his face as he saw a thin young boy, in the most green coloured T-Shirt he had ever seen, swim his way upstream through waves of people moving against him.

Amrish had used the old ‘Its-bunch-of-newspaper-and-magazine-instead-of-money’ trick and the knowledge of him tricking his enemies was like Zandu Balm for his pain. Not quite stopping the throbbing pain but helping him along the way. He held that smile till the Titan watch’s second hand marked the beginning of journey through the wilderness of second half of the minute.

The thin young thief’s head, which was bobbing up and down, wrestling through the forward march of public who were trying to make sense of ancient history of thirty seconds ago, was knocked down by an invisible force. A scream and shifting shape of the waves diverted his attention to left of the thief’s original path.

Amrish eyes were scanning the entire area where people had now started to gather around forming a make shift fight ring. He couldn’t get there himself as the crowd around him was still pressing for answers about his brawl. Some yells and screams were coming out and Amrish could make out that the thief was now engaged in a fight with someone. Probably a good Samaritan trying to return his bag, Amrish thought. But the actual action was buried deep near the ground which was made opaque by the people gathered around. Amrish could only see the people now looking down at the fight and a definite blood lust which was forming in their eyes.

‘Damn, it must be one hell of a fight.’ Amrish thought.

As the watch’s second hand was five stroke away from signing off the third quarter, a gun-shot blasted away. The bang was doubled by the enclosed marble structure and echoed back over, mixing with screams of terrified people.

The makeshift fight ring broke apart and the blood lust dissolved into fear. Most of the people bolted towards the exit over these remaining five seconds. Some remaining including Amrish who were too scared or confused to look for the exit, had scattered and began his pilgrimage towards the walls or the sanctum sanctorum of the temple.

When the last quarter of the minute started, Amrish had made it to the wall and was feeling himself (unmindful, one might add of any of his pain) for any unwanted bullet holes. The woman standing next to him was calling out for someone.

As the first five seconds of the last quarter ticked off, he diverted his attention back to where the commotion started and it all looked like some bizzare Satanic ritual to Amrish. Everyone who was too scared or confused to head towards the door had taken to plaster themselves on the wall as if too dissolve and not be visible to whoever was wielding the gun. And slightly off centre in the middle of this gathering lay the half dead body of a man.

He was shot in the throat and blood sparyed out of the hole, nay crater, for last five seconds of his life. The slightly obese man had the look of a gutted pig, his face changed from rigidity of dealing with the pain to a slow acceptance of the finality of the moments and then it was plain. A face with no fear or concern that its owner was dead. The red sprayed on his clothes gaining more and more territory till it reached his midriff which is when Amrish saw it.

The man was wearing bright yellow pants. Something straight out of the 80s. The unrealness of all the action of the last fifty seconds compounded with the colour of pants that he shared with the dead man made him feel like he was in the twilight zone. A time warp. He felt as if he had breached the fourth dimension and the past, present and future were indistinguishable things. All his memories were infront of him and some images he had never consciously experienced till now were floating around him. It was a feeling truly awesome in force. It was the mother of all déjà vu.

But then his mind went back to the pants of all things. Yellow pants. And it made Amrish think,; and thought he did over the last five seconds of the minute ‘If they had my name, my phone number and even knew my wife well enough to break her leg; why would they need me wear something to identify me. It was the pick up man. The pick up man was going to wear yellow pants.’

At the last micro second when Amrish had realised his small misunderstanding which made him wear those good awful tight faded yellow jeans, the adrenaline rush from the past minute had started to fade away to give way to pain. The pain around his thighs from running in these pants and the aching torn arm muscles and back were spreading at a rapid rate.

Amrish didn’t notice him when he arrived, but a man with a small boy on his shoulder was now hugging the woman next to him. The man let the boy down, landing him on Amrish’s foot.

And so began another minute of pain.

Looking Back

Authors Note -

This is the third in four part series of short stories both independent & inter related to each other.

******************************** 

“A long time ago in a forest not that far away…

There bloomed a kingdom of joyous, rich & peaceful rabbits - white, innocent, pure; living their herbivorous life; discovering the world around them one leap of cute little furry paw at a time. They abided to an ancient set of rules never living an inch beyond what was set down by it. Their ideal life made that the forest a source of jealousy for the entire universe. But living upto the purity of the ancient rules, the rabbits were unaware of such feelings of jealousy and what evil can come out of it.

One day out of the clear blue sky, came a pack of rabid wolves to steal away what they themselves could never create. This hungry band of rabid wolves invaded the forest and started an unparalleled massacre. They enslaved the little furry creatures; none dared challenge them for fear of their sharp teeth & claws. But more dangerous was the way the wolves had each other’s back but the rabbits once white, pure & innocent restricted their interests to their own holes. For centuries, the wolves destroyed the purity of the forest by their perverse nature. The rabbits retreated to their holes while the wolves roamed & abused the forest.

Over the years many different beasts came to the forest. They looted & pillaged the wonderful wonderfulness of the forest. To protect themselves from these constant battles over their land, the rabbits grew smaller & smaller in their little caves. They grew so small that when time came to select a new leader, they choose the feeblest one of them all.

Because he was the feeblest rabbit he had an amazing gift of being able to live only on one millionth of leaf for an entire year. Everybody thought that by not eating he demonstrated imaginary powers which could scare all the ruling beasts into surrender.

One day this feeblest rabbit started negotiations with all the beasts. There were two main terms to this conniving deal – One, A part of forest would be only for the wolves but some wolves are free to remain with the rabbits. Two, In the remaining area of forest, everybody would be equal. Rabbits that were oppressed for years would have no greater claim on even the remaining forest.

There were many rabbits that smelled the rottenness in this deal and founded the Rabbit Suraksha Sena. The Rabbit Suraksha Sena helped to propagate pride that comes from being a rabbit and to protect themselves from the sharp teeth & claws of wolves that they were left with. Although it had nothing to do with the Rabbit Suraksha Sena, one pure innocent rabbit blasted away the feeblest rabbit who betrayed the proud rabbit kind.

While the forest area belonging only to the wolves failed to prosper, in the remaining forest the followers of the feeblest rabbit tried to be keep the wolves happy by any means, so that most of the food remain between them and the wolves.

Rabbit Suraksha Sena identified specific rabbits so that one day a great one may emerge from them and break this evil chain of keeping away the food. Three scores after the conniving deal, a pupil of the Rabbit Suraksha Sena bellowed his presence in a part of forest. His name was RaDi. Repeat after me, his name was RaDi... He was well versed in the ancient rules of rabbits. He had the drive and capacity to take on all the beasts in the universe.

When RaDi was a small little rabbit, coming up in the rabbit world, such was his amazing ability that he taught the wolves a lesson from their own book. He created many good things for everybody in his part of forest and when this good news spread, the entire forest wanted him to be their leader. The wolves and some wolf loving rabbits tried to bring down RaDi. But a pupil of the Rabbit Suraksha Sena is trained to lead unflinchingly in face any adversity.

He was made the King of Forest and he brought such exquisite prosperity to everyone and kept very little for himself that he became the tallest leader in the entire universe.”

“Hmm.. I don’t know about this Rabbit Suraksha Sena. Its like we’re making fun of ourselves.”

“Sir, it will capture imagination of the children. You know Chhota Bheem. When have you ever seen Bheem as a chhota, I mean as a child.”

“Well there was part of Mahabharat in which…”

“But not much. Yes?” Not waiting for an answer, Mangesh continued “but kids don’t know that. They relate to it. As they get older the other teachings of community can, you know, they’ll learn to respect everything. But to catch their imagination now, they need to connect with it. And Rabbit Suraksha Sena is very nice. We did research on my son & his friends.”

Mangesh placed some papers with illegible writings in crayons. One had a drawing of red & orange coloured carrot, which the old man in pink kurta & horn rimmed glasses singled out and picked up.

“Aur dialogue..”

“Sir, you just approve the storyline. We’ve manage some awesome dialogue. One dialogue we really like was the wolf say, ‘I blew you house of straws away and built house of rocks’ and RaDi says, ‘Aree we have strength to blow those rocks onto your head.’”

“Action…Good. But Rabbit? Thoda sa … Kuch. Couldn’t it be manlier?”

“Sir, we tried deer with antlers but many kids associated it with a drink their father take after which they cannot meet him for rest of the day. They really dislike deer with antlers & deer without antlers look too feminine. Rabbits are more gender neutral, approachable, relatable..”

“Yes but… I mean people, eat rabbits. They are too weak. Find some other animal. Maybe ummmmm a cow. Cow would be perfect.”

“Sir, we tried cows the first time. The children said cows can defeat the wolves easily. They weren’t convinced of the story.”

“What if we make the wolves into dinosaurs? Cows can’t defeat dinosaurs.”

“Dinosaur is interesting. But sir what will defeat dinosaur. The ruling ‘beasts’ need to change. What do you replace dinosaur with.”

“The children won’t think that much. We’ll …”

A suddenly risen voice from inside him spoke, “No no, I know which children story work and why. Headmasterji, this won’t work.”

‘This guy is going to explain to me how to write a story. Go suck on some diseased balls, you stupid bald fuck. I wrote Mini Mathura, you retarded ball of mouldy wool. I & well there was Hansal but I wrote it too. Fucking I sold the thing. I’m neck deep in kissing your ass, motherfucker. Come already. You think you own me because you pay me more. Your diapers will piss themselves if they see my talent in full. Betichod sala.’

“Sir, sir.. sir calm down you are seeing this from the wrong perspective. The children, when they hear the story will not want to be rabbits. They will want to be whatever is the opposite of rabbits something which can defeat the wolves.”

The Headmaster started in a confused tone, “Will they listen to our traditions if they don’t want to be rabbits. Isn’t that the part of the story that rabbits were cowards because they had…, they were following ancient rules.”

“No they will want our traditions too. I’ll tell you why, headmasterji.”

Mangesh started scratching his itchy palms. He searched the table for something to squeeze, he found nothing. He got up and strolled around the little cabin with white washed walls covered by pictures of little children, toddlers and gods. He picked up a dusty little pillow on the sofa behind the chair.

“Kids today are after money from an early age. Its like they are programmed with it before they pop out. Now, the rabbits were rich. They were rich because they had the ancient rules. They will want those goddamn...I mean, those amazing ancient rules.”

“Hey they are very profound. Its not a game. This all is just awareness drive. Don’t disrespect our traditions. They are the backbone of…”

“Yes sir, they’ll want it. That was your point, wasn’t it?”

“Hmm…”

“So can we talk to Raje sir.”

Mangesh, with the pillow deep in his lap, was furiously scratching its covers. The headmaster, sprawled back on his chair, his fingers interlocked behind his semi bald head and eyes staring into the tubelight above, was lost in the story. Mangesh judged that he was weighing its impact on children versus the one they, i.e. Raje & him, had expected when they thought of hiring him.

“I guess the manliness element does not matter yet.”

Mangesh felt a tear and stopped scratching. His finger tips felt a little burnt from the polyester fabric. He looked down on the pillow and the found the cover to be torn.

“Umm yes, yes sir.. The children..”

He bent and pulled his carry bag near his legs.

“The children will want the ancient rules. They will want to fight or atleast stay away from wolves and they will want a strong new leader.”

“Haan that strong new leader part was done very very nice.”

“Thank you sir. Then can we…”

“I’ll call Rajendra tomorrow. Its ten thirty as it is. When will we start the narration and when will we end. There is no need to hurry. Young blood… always in a hurry. You leave this, what do you call it, narration with me. I’ll talk with him.”

Mangesh had seen this trick far too often to fall for it. He felt a little insulted that this guy considered him to be this much of a rookie.

“No…. No. How can I trouble you to pitch my story, sir. I’ll do it myself. Just give me a call, I’ll be there.”

Mangesh picked up his overstuffed bag and put it around his shoulder. He shaked the old man’s hand but didn’t turn his back on him. As if like he was following etiquettes when leaving a royal, he walked backwards. He felt the door hit his bag, he felt around for the handles, pulled the door, which did not work, then tried pushing it, which didn’t work either.

“Push it sideways.” The headmaster said passively, without looking up.

After he came out of the cabin, Mangesh’s eyes were scanning everything, as if somebody was waiting around the corner to jump out and catch him store lifting. He flew out of the school premises.

He fished out the car keys from his pants. He pushed the button on the key, which made a familiar tone somewhere near. He got into the car and found himself overwhelmed to buy some rabbits.

***********

“That new car wash is worth three fifty rupya.” remarked Mangesh admiring the green hood of his car gleaming in afternoon sun.

“Haan Bhai, we all know you’re rich. Just drive, less we talk the better. The end is not working. I’ve to…”

“It’s good. Its Ok. It’s good.”

Turning on the music player, the remaining journey was spent with Himesh Reshammiya’s song whose complaints about one thing or another were the only conversations that transpired after that. The car came to a halt near a crumbling bungalow. It seemed more compact than the car. It seemed more compact than Hansal’s bulging waist.

On one side he had Hansal who insisted that we can’t have any animals other than rabbits on the other hand he had these old foggies who thought the children’s story didn’t have big enough dick.

‘Rent makes the world go round and round.’

The latch snapped back & forth several times before the right combination was reached. The Headmaster was standing in front of them, this time with heavier set of glasses correcting his eyesight. Mangesh walked in.

The headmaster today had a sense of complete control like that of a magician and Mangesh felt like he missed the trick by a second’s delay. The silence in the room too had a strange quality of suddenness. It wasn’t that there was blaring noise outside but the silence felt like it snuck up on him. He looked back for Hansal who was still loitering outside. In his cargo half pants & overgrown facial hair, he looked like he was on an ‘African Safari’ brochure. The headmaster gestured to have Hansal enter quickly.

“I don’t have anybody to help me. Even Raje is such a… Anyway..”

“Sir, we both thought it was good if we co-narrated the story again, you would get a stronger feel. Raje sir coming?” Mangesh asked as if that hope wasn’t already extinguished.

“I don’t know. He said he was coming. He said I have final word so. You know, that day I was impressed that you had tested the story among little children. So I have some…” He pointed to the back yard. “… first and second standard boys and girls from our school as audience. I like to see how they take it.”

“Sir we’re not performers. We don’t…”

“You want three times the money than the market or not.”

“Money is not the matter. Sir, we respect you. We’ll… Hansal?”

“Yes maybe we can find the right voice for the story after the performance.”

“Yeh baat!” exclaimed the Headmaster.

A grudging Mangesh, excited Hansal & straight faced headmaster stepped into the backyard where twenty children sat on the dusty ground with folded arms and the index finger on their respective lips. Seeing them in neat rows & columns, Mangesh felt like he finally caught a part of the magic trick and he was the next act. The headmaster gave a quick introduction and set the stage but the kids seemed neither more excited or less because of it. They decided the roles among themselves and split.

“A long time ago in a forest not that far away…” Mangesh began.

So began the play under the bright, cruel sun. Enacting rabbit’s gesture of eating, walking, running, sitting; Mangesh gained a few chuckles.  The sweat was making the clothes stick. He threw around a few dialogues; none worked. He turned with his back to the children, in dramatic gesture and Hansal made his entry, who was already soaked. He was screaming, hissing, howling alternately. His belly playing a dominating part of his body made him seem more like a louder version of himself. It was only when he stated, did children seemed to understand he was trying to play a wolf.

The hot & humid weather made even sitting idle a chore but performing the whole act was testing limits they didn’t know existed. The stream of sweat was starting to flood Mangesh’s eyes. But the folded hands and most of the index still remained fixed on place.

The story flowed along. The wolf ruled … rabbits massacared … half of the index fingers down…..others beasts arrived … some gasps…….the fucking heat……… the feeblest … the deal … some booing………the followers ………..Fuck you sun…… the food … RaDi…some chuckles.

Only a few of the index fingers now remained on place but half the folded hands remained. A wind blew through the backyard suddenly making them feel cold in their wet shirts.

“I blew your house of straws away and built house of rocks” Hansal screamed with an increasingly sore throat.

Mangesh with an artificial sounding deep note in his voice, retorted with equal drama but lesser sore throat, “Aree, we have strength to blow those rocks onto your head.”

This was, as they had agreed, the end. So Mangesh started to bow out but stood up straight again as he heard Hansal go on.

“Haha, You little rabbits. Little white worms infront of me. What can you do? Nothing. I will eat you for dinner. Ahahahaaaaa.”

“Psst…. Psst.” Mopping up his face, Mangesh tried clearing his throat as Hansal’s act, which mostly included laughing & suddenly raising arms, had taken on a life of its own. The headmaster, witnessing the lack of any dialogue or story for past few minutes, interrupted Hansal’s performance. Mangesh gave a confused look to Hansal, which he ignored.

The index fingers, which were all but gone except a few cases where they were accompanied with other fingers for a tour of the insides of their respective mouth, returned back to attention as Mangesh managed to witness the magic act at last.

“So, Dear children. Sit up straight first. What are you 60 years old? Hmm.. So, How was the story?”

Mangesh & Hansal beaming at the entire audience didn’t see even a single finger budge. Mangesh’s roaming eyes settled on two girls wearing the same blue white outfit and same dull face; they were eyeing someone else in the crowd. From behind the headmaster, he couldn’t guess who so let he his eyes wander away.

“Hmm… Tushar stand up. Did you like the rabbits?”

“Sir, Rabbits are fast. I like to run faster than rabbits. Zoooom, sir.”

“Good. Good. Sit down. Anybody else. Who liked the Wolf?”

“Sir, Ankit likes wolf.” The twins exclaimed.

“Why didn’t you stand up? Ruchi, Prachi, Stand up when you answer. Hmm. Who is Ankit?”

“I didn’t like the fat wolf. They only liked it. They are crazy, They’re lying.” The little obese boy who stood up & answered had the faintest hint of whining in his tone which threatened to escalate into crying, if any more questions were asked. The headmaster seemed to read that before the boy even spoke and asked everybody to sit down.

“Nobody likes the wolves. They have claws & sharp teeth. They’re bad. Not Ankit, Not Prachi & Not Ruchi. Nobody wants them. Ok everybody say Thank You to Mangesh sir & …”

“Hansal.”

“…Hansal sir and then Visarjan”

A chorus began “Thank You Mangesh sir, Thank You Hansal sir” and ended with a peculiar synchronised group clap. Mangesh & Hansal participated in the end, catching the rhythm.

Not waiting for the next batch of shiny sweat to cover them, the duo stepped inside the house. The headmaster checked his watch & followed them in. He opened the door and stepped outside. Mangesh & Hansal stood under the fan, staring at the sofa and decided to wait, just like the kids in the backyard. Mangesh felt more sure of the whole deal – the story, the dialogue, the payment, than ever before.

A few minutes later the headmaster returned and asked the kids to stand in the front yard where some of their parents awaited. The neat parade of children exited the house with the last of them closing the door on their way out. The headmaster gestured them to sit and grabbed a stool for himself.

“Good bunch of kids. Very cultured & disciplined.” Mangesh said.

“Hmm… The story is good. This is the advance.” Handing them a cheque. “Write one of your names on it now itself, so I’ll know. Now listen, don’t wait for the entire thing to be completed, as and when you have a few scenes ready send them. The animation staff has to look over them and do their… I don’t know what…something.”

“Ok. Ok Hansal.” To which Hansal nodded, got up and walked over to the door.

“Thank You sir. We’ll send it. Thank you.”

After writing his name on cheque, Mangesh caught up with Hansal, who was slowly strolling towards the car. He gave an exasperated questioning look to Hansal, which he promptly returned. He massaged his temple for a few minutes as he looked around.

‘I should just ditch him. Fat fuck.’

A few kids were still standing waiting for their parents to pick up. Certainly more vocal than earlier, they had formed a circle on the road, two houses down. Noises came from their circle, which altered between faint howling and crying. The kids stood too tightly next to each other for Mangesh to look through them.

He grudgingly looked at the shiny green hood of his compact which was paid a hasty visit by some birds. He closed the door & started the car. Turning the AC on to max, he coolly slammed the horn. Hansal got in and crashed in the back.

“Yaar, What’s the problem? Are you going to shrink if you say thank you.”

“Just drive. You know I don’t like these people.”

As Mangesh was manoeuvring a three point turn, he was hit with something resembling an epiphany. The quiet storm in him proclaimed that it was done with the quiet part. He was satisfied with his reverse turn but continued staring at Hansal.

‘Its time for action. Its time to take a stand. Aar ya Paar, Bhenchod.’

Now that the car was kind of in the right direction, he thought ‘Put the pedal to the metal’ and drove straight ahead while looking back.

“Just look ahead & drive on.” Clapping his hands together and begging. “Look forward and just drive.” which is when Hansal’s expressions changed “Oh fuck, what is he holding? Look ahead. Stop. Stop.”

The car before coming to a screeching halt drove over a soft small bump on the front right side. Mangesh had frozen. He also felt like melting. His entire body was either extremely hot or cold, he couldn’t guess. There was no sweat, so he guessed it was cold. The ants in his heads were playing Dandiya. The static noise was interrupted by the sound of door rapidly opening & closing from behind. He pinched his arms and then caressed the pain for a long time. His legs were gone, no energy left in any part. He tried to move his head. A difficult task, if there was any. He heard some banging noise from behind.

‘Move you head and look. Move your head. Move your head, child killer. MOVE YOUR HEAD.’

The head didn’t move. First drop of sweat appeared on his temple. He tried to tighten his grip on the driving wheel and thought of fleeing but cancelled that as he discovered once again that none of his other limbs worked. He heard knocking on the window to his side. The door behind him opened.

Hansal’s voice came from a far away place, “Abe… I was knocking so much. Calm down bro, calm down. It’s just a puppy.”

‘Why would he call a dead kid a puppy. Asshole.’

“What?”

“The kids, they were playing with it. They were doing the merry go round or fugdi or something and the boy says. Well the puppy’s tail slipped out of his hand and it went under the car. It’s dead. Are you hearing this? Are you OK?” Hansal ended putting a hand on Mangesh’s shoulder.

“Puppy? Like a dog?”

“Yeah Mangesh, only Maneka Gandhi will sue you for this crime bro. Just drive. Don’t worry.”

The static noise went away, so did the cold or heat, whichever it was. The dead weight on his body was liquefying & leaking away. His puffed up, sweaty face returned to normalcy. Getting the car in gear, he manoeuvred the car back & forth so as not to hit the carcass. But the ants had not abandoned their Dandiya practise. Mangesh opened his mouth and closed it back.

After putting a few miles between them and the dead puppy, Mangesh’s speech ability came back in his control.

“What were they doing with it?”