It was now June and the first day of the new Campus year, bringing a new start to Shyam who attended the first day with anticipation of the knowledge to come, he returned home to study after gathering the requirements from the Campus. It was 2:00 PM as he sat in the study his phone began to share a song with him. He answered the call…
“Hello, who is there?”
“Are you Shyam?”
“Yes, Shyam here but you..?”
“I am Archana. Archana Sagar. You have sent me an interest on Marryme.com.”
“Archana?” he wondered at first as she was placed in a different corner of his mind, while he focused on his studies. He recalled suddenly her name and who she was, joy, and excitement had intoxicated him.
“Yes, speak...” his tone changed into one more amorous and playful one.
“How type of girl do you like?”
He had never faced such a question in his life, “one who never goes to beauty-parlour.”, he instinctively replied.
He had wanted to say he had no type and would accept a girl as she were had he loved her.
But she disconnected the call without any word. He sat wondering where his words had come from, who had said it. It was not him he thought.
He thought perhaps she found the reply as that of a movie character, why did he reply with the words he had? Perhaps he thought she would find him witty or charming, looking to elevate himself in that esteem. Sadly he thought I have only elevated my remorse. He tortured himself a little longer wishing he had said something else. He saved the number that Archana had called him from, and attempted to focus again on his studies. He poured himself into his studies until 4:00 PM, he received a text message, it was from a number he didn’t have as no name was displayed, he was certain it was Archana, “come online”. While he fumbled to connect his laptop, he received another text “Kindly provide me with your email”. He replied with his mail address, as he logged onto his Gmail, he saw a chat request from Archana, he eagerly accepted.
Shyam # Why did you disconnect the call?
Archana # Sori, I had nothing to say. I had been pondering on your answer for two hours and then called you online.
Archana misspelt the word sorry. He took her English as basic. His face glowed, uncertain why himself. Was it that the girl after her deep ponder felt she was satisfied by his answer, or his mistake remorseful as it was had been a benefit, perhaps the idea that the girl liked him was enough to brighten his face.
Shyam # Okay. it was good you texted me. I am also eager to talk to you.
Archana # Let me tell frankly. I am a simple girl. I have never visited beauty-parlour. I am handicapped. Will you accept me?
Shyam # Why not? I have selected you knowing you are handicapped. Your lines in ‘about me’ touched my heart hence I sent you an interest.
Archana # But I can’t walk. I am suffering from polio in a leg. I can walk using the stick but slowly.
Shyam # I have said I would accept you as you are.
Archana # Say else. (Say something else, he was sure she meant)
Shyam # Please send me your pic.
Archana # will send at evening as I have to click by my cell phone and take in my laptop.
Shyam # Okay.
The first chat between the would-be lovers ended with goodbyes, what was this sentiment Shyam felt the starting of love between them. Love or kindness or sympathy what could it be?
Shyam had already read HTC has launched the first Android mobile phone in 2009. He taught his pupils such information as general knowledge. But he hadn’t seen android phone till 2012. Neither he nor his students had heard the term ‘Whatsapp’ They were accustomed to using mail to send images, multi-tap phones, to capture photos, web portals like way2sms to send messages and Google talk to chat. The term ‘Selfie’ had not taken birth in India as yet.
And he spent only 200 rupees after monthly net pack of a GB. He was unaware that they were using the 2G net at that time and he or any of from his circle had never known 3G net connectivity is more speedy hence he never complained of the slow speed of net. He was happy if the chat wasn’t interrupted on Google talk because of network speed. It was accepted time expense by him, a half minute to send a mail and a couple of minutes to upload a photo on facebook.
Shyam poured himself into books. As he studied, he received a text at evening – “I have sent the pic.”
Shyam downloaded the photo from the mail almost as soon as he received the text… He saw the photo. No sooner did he see the photo than he remembered that haunting dream. He had not seen the face of that dream girl but it is said that lovers have their own different world and every experience of love is unique as they were always connected since before birth. He felt it was only Archana who frequently came in his dreams. He thought her beautiful, attractive and charming. He would now have to choose the most flattering pictures of himself and send through the selection to Archana.
*
In the rear passenger car of a crowded train, slithered and shunted its way to Chandigarh, sat a young man no older than 25 years of age. This is a more than abundantly common of course save one thing, his demeanour; his face wore an irate, impatient look blended with an unspoken anger. The shifting of his body on the torn seating upholstery, incited by movement of the train did nothing to change the expression on his face. He was preoccupied or perhaps too focused.
Deep in the mountains of Kashmir, Jammu, where the air is saturated with mist nestled amongst the mountains streams and vegetation, lay a facility, it was not found on any map, neither the internet nor any documentation.
In the centre of the area surrounded by a 3 x 3 km fence, there stood a simple almost non-descript hut, save, the door, that hung half of the top hinge. Below this hut unbeknownst to any casual passerby was a maximum security prison. The dialogue amongst the prison guards of what had gone on here would seem, to many, tales of horror, torture and untamed brutality. This was a military prison, any civil regard for inmates was discarded upon entry. The underground facility held 200 cells; the prisoners were grouped in pairs, two per cell.
In one such cell…
The first gentleman rose to fetch water, as the soft plastic reached his lips, the other gentleman spoke,
“Iliyas, did you say Bismillah before drinking…?”
“Why” replied Iliyas
“Because there are three Jinns in your cup, one oxygen, and two hydrogens”
Iliyas looked at him smiled and shook his head as if to say “Come on brother...you can do better”
Zafar was an international terrorist. He was captured by R.A.W (Research and Analysis Wing), the counterpart of the American C.I.A, at the border of Nepal, as he attempted to smuggle in Uranium from Pakistan. For the past 7 years R.A.W had sought him as a member of the top 10 terrorist list, and a silly mistake by the driver of his vehicle that did not carry his drivers’ license, when asked to present it at the border offered instead a bribe of Rs 300, would offer them a reprieve.
The heavy iron wheels slowed gentling to a halt
Malik set upon him his jacket which was creased, his black sports shoes; his feet had landed on the Chandigarh platform. The weather here was cold, but seemed bearable compared to the cold he was accustomed too, having spent a year and a half in Jammu. At the marketplace in Zarina, he had seen to his hair and beard, he was Malik again, Iliyas his former identity, had faded into obscurity, perhaps to be retrieved in future.
The home minister in Haryana had summoned him, Malik was certain it was not a social invitation; he would be assigned a new mission along with a new cover Identity and objective. Although he was not pleased with being reassigned while on a current mission, he was keen to know the new mission brief.
Hardly did he reach the exit point using the escalators, when he heard alarm sirens followed by a riotous uproar. People were shouting and running, he remained calm as he passed beneath the exit sign.
When the exit door closed and locked completely the agent was resting on his back in the rear seat of a taxicab which wore yellow stripes over its exterior body. He practically grew up on trains, those young years hustling, he knew their systems well. The taxi hastened toward the confidential place of Haryana home minister.
**** BREAKING NEWS ****
As he heard on the radio station in the taxi… 30 minutes since departing the station…
“The Railway authority had discovered two corpses on a train that arrived at Chandigarh, departing Jammu, the two men have not yet been identified, and the cause of death was disclosed by either the Railway Authority or the Chandigarh police. Stating the families would first be informed….We will have more for you on this story at the 4:00 PM bulletin. This is...”Jayshree Gopi, for 24X7 News, Chandigarh”.
Malik had no need of the report that was promised to follow; both men had been executed by single gunshot wounds to the head from a Lilliputian pistol that rested in the outer right jacket pocket of Malik. He had spotted them following him from Jammu, he had not been able to discern what they were after their brief intense encounter had accorded no time for conversation.
*
In a large hall, around a large oval, mahogany table attended by chairs, backed with vanilla coloured silk upholstery, dappled by embroidered roses of silk in royal blue. Five people sat round that table, adding to those chairs a sense of government approval. Silently they sat no voice willing to offend the tense silence, only glances exchanged.
Some doubting the guest would even arrive, “would he even be able to escape..!” thought each member at some point. The reason for this doubt was…they had left agent Malik to his own devices to escape the maximum security prison, as they could not directly support or assist in any way. The reason was that Malik’s real identity would not expose to Zafar. Zafar, although in prison was still a very well connected man, and the government wanted more information about the organization he worked with. This was the mission of agent Malik.
In a room, walled with LCD monitors, all eyes were focused on one, the one whose camera viewed the main entrance gate. The taxi eased its way down the paved driveway, towards a water feature from what could currently be seen, as they came closer they discovered the water feature was 6 meters in height, fashioned to reflect Hindu gods, whose heads were ornately accentuated by gold crowns, as a contrast to the flawless white marble, the water basined in an artificial pond. To the left, was a staircase, the large portico, elevated 2.5m above this, astride the doors and 3 meters before sat two large Roman-style columns, he made his way up the staircase of white marble … thinking ‘Safety hazard’…still impressed with the structure. The columns supported a triangle capital which served as a cover for the entrance to the home. He used the door knocker to be granted passage, beyond the dark oak door, with the faces of lotus flowers carved out.
All eyes in the CCTV room continued to trace him, judging by the naïve schoolboy demeanour, he displayed while exiting the taxi, his youthful looks of 25 and his ‘Joe Public’ physique, stirred great doubt amongst the viewers of the CCTV, was this even really an Agent? There was no doubt in the minds of those who knew him.
Agent Malik entered the large hall; he took a seat aside a young lady and an exceptionally well-groomed young lady who wore her hair in a taut bun.
“Good morning Miss Lalita”
“Good morning Agent” she uttered impersonally.
Malik glanced at the faces around the room, to the left of Miss Lalita, an older gentleman wearing a Khaki police uniform with white hair, to his left was a bald gentleman, wearing a suit, and to his left was another…
“Agent are you ready to accept the mission?” bluntly asked the bald man, stroking his beard.
“How can I accept I have no idea what objective or requirements are…”, He spoke with confidence
That confidence and personality are impressive, perhaps the accent of youth thought the bald man.
“The mission details are a delicate matter and cannot be disclosed to any persons that are not authorized, and only we and the Agent that accepts this mission are authorized…” voiced the perfectly tailored, pinstripe suit, atop a blue silk shirt with a burgundy tie.
Malik thought to himself, “well it will be better than cell dwelling, besides I need the exercise.”
“I accept the mission” he stated.
‘But this is not an official mission” said Miss Lalita, while checking the time on her wristwatch.
Malik noticed her watch, it looked to cost at minimum one lakh.
“Why is it unofficial?” requested Malik
“Many girls have been reported missing recently, from Punjab, Haryana as well as Chandigarh, we suspect human trafficking, also organ trafficking. We know the target has already bought off some government officials yet we cannot be sure we know them all, so this is strictly of the books the Haryana government won’t accept any responsibility and will deny all knowledge of this operation should it be brought to the foreground.”
“So I shouldn’t expect help from the Police.”
“Officially not…” sighed a gentleman wearing an army uniform and a turban that suggested he was Sikh.
“I understand…” said Malik smiling at the army officer, “Perfect!” he thought, “no bothers from the police”
Everyone who knew agent Malik knew he liked to work alone. It was his preference since joining the elite ‘commando unit’.
“May I have any information on the mission…Or…?” Malik asked playfully mocking the secrecy.
All eyes in the room found the focus on the home minister…
“The target of this operation is an individual named Victor, he has managed to get the Goa, Gujarat, and Mumbai to work in unison as his accomplices. Since the beginning of his operations, he has inspired great fear in the criminal circles, local goons tell tales, ‘Whoever sees Victors face in the morning won’t see the evening.’ And other such myth, no one knows who Victor is. We don’t know how he looks, who the members of his gang are? Who are his political and police contacts? No one even wants to hear the name Victor yet that is all we have…his name. I am certain that Victor will be informed even of this clandestine meeting”
Malik couldn’t tell if it was praise or admonishment for Victor the home minister had delivered.
“A file containing all the information on Victor will be on your desk within 3 months…” said agent Malik as he rose from his seat.
“All the best, Agent Shyam” wished the home minister.
Agent Malik looked at him and nodded, signalling he understood his new code name.
While Malik waited outside for his taxi, he was joined by the home minister who exited the building shortly after him. The home minister offered Malik a lift.
“Malik,” began the home minister, “this mission is unofficial, for the very same reasons as that, we must bear fates burden, there is no telling how many people Victor has bought we must make sure he pays for what he has done…you do understand, don’t you?” he completed glancing at Malik briskly before facing forward again as they walked to his Lamborghini. “I will pay you 3 crore you should you accept this task, it will be awaiting you at Khandala”.
Malik preferred not to kill, he also understood the danger that Victor posed, and he accepted the offer.
***
To be continue.....
