It was early in the morning and Hussain stood on the platform along with a bunch of other commuters eagerly waiting for the first train for Jahangirpuri to arrive. Once again, He had left all the duties of the tea stall to his eldest son, Arshad. Hussain had clear intentions: he would go to the Lottery office, fill up all the formalities and get the money as soon as possible. He had already wasted a day. Hussain had forgotten about his encounter with the crazy boy who talked to himself. Last day he had to return home in disappointment because he couldn’t make it to the Lottery office in time. He was allowed one chance. His wife and son Arshad were supportive, they did not complain.
He kept gazing at the railway track ahead. There was no sign of the arriving train. Tired, he decided to sit down on the bench lying three steps behind him. He placed himself on the bench: there was space for one more person to sit. Hussain kept his carry bag there, right next to him on the seat.
The air went cold all of a sudden and Hussain started shivering from the sudden chill. He wondered if anyone else around him felt the chill.
‘Excuse me? Can I sit here’ asked someone. A chilled breeze shot through him.
Hussain did not look at the person. He felt that it was his duty to let the person sit regardless of who or what he was. Hussain picked up his carry bag and placed it on the floor below, between his two legs. The person sat down; there was a mild thud as he sat on the metallic seat. The man was bulky.
‘My Name is Iyer, Krishnaprasad Iyer.’ The fat man introduced himself as he held out his thick brown hand for a shake.
The name rang a deafening bell in Hussain’s head, sounded very recent.
Yes, of course, he had heard that name just a day ago. The cold air sent a chill of terror down Hussain’s spine. His eyes opened wide in shock. He doubted if he had also started hearing and seeing things like the boy whom he had called crazy a day ago. Had his mind also start playing tricks with him? Gathering few ounces of courage and resilience, Hussain turned towards the fat man. He was dark, bulky and funny looking with a stroke of vibhuti on his forehead: just as the boy had mentioned.
‘H…how may I help you?’ Hussain trembled as he asked, more because of fear.
‘Will you do me a favor?’ Iyer asked.
‘What favor?’
Iyer produced a Nokia cellular phone and an earphone cord wound around it like a serpent around the trunk of a sandal tree.
‘Could you please deliver this to its owner? He must be worried.’ Iyer requested.
‘But… but… Whose phone is it?’
‘A little friend of mine whom I met yesterday. Young and full of energy.’
‘Was he tall and fair with long hair?’
‘Aaah! You seem to know him too!’ Iyer exclaimed, ‘so, it will be easier for you to find him. You were there at the resting hall as well.’ He smiled at the shivering Pathan.
The sound of the approaching train was heard from a distance. There was movement on the platform. People were getting ready.
‘But where do I go? Besides, I am in a hurry right now. I have to…’
‘You finish your own work first. You can deliver this on your way back. The address is written on this paper. Please, I would be very grateful to you.’ He said as he handed a crumpled piece of paper to Hussain.
‘Are you sure this is the correct address?’ Hussain confirmed.
‘I found it written on the battery of the phone with a white correction pen. I wrote it down in this piece of paper. Maybe his father is a wise man: he must have forecasted an event where his son loses the cellular phone and taken a pre-cautionary. He trusted that the person who found it would return it too.’
‘But why don’t you give it?’ Hussain asked amidst the noise of the approaching train.
‘I am running out of time, my dear brother! I am running out of time. I have to go back to where I came from. Where we all come from.’
The train entered the platform now, and it blew a deafening horn as it pulled brakes. The horn caught Hussain’s attention: he turned to look at the train. However, when he turned back, the fat man was gone and so was the chilly feeling.
The train had pulled over coming to a complete stop. Hussain rose from the seat, picked up his carry bag from the floor, and walked slowly into the train.
As the train started moving, Hussain realized that the boy he met yesterday was not lying nor was he lunatic. There was indeed a man called Iyer and today he had shown himself to Hussain. He knew that nobody else saw the fat man. Nevertheless, he was in a hurry today. ‘I am running out of time,’ he had told Hussain. Was he going back to heaven? Hussain closed his eyes and prayed to the almighty, to Allah. After all, he had seen a dead man today, a ghost!
Epilogue
Three years later
May 22 2014
Delhi
People would laugh at me when I told them that I had once been with a ghost. Nobody believed me and before they could label me as a mad man, I would break out into sadistic laughter: putting an end to their suspicions and proverbial deductions. They would infer that I had a terrific sense of humor. Indeed, I did.
However, I shall always savor the truth, which was itself partly revealed. A highly effervescent truth: proof of which did not exist.
Sometimes, I would ponder upon the events that took place on that day, May 22 of 2011. The big fight with my father, running away from home and especially my encounter with Iyer and his story. The story that was scripted as a cautionary tale for me so I could reconsider the course of life I was gonna take. The junky guy from Chennai could gleefully get into a conversation with just anyone. Life had curved him that way. While his story curved my life into a fruitful validation, I never saw Iyer again. He had disappeared.
There were moments that made me reconsider my decision and the most important among them was the one where I had a tryst with Iyer’s dad in the hospital room. It was not Iyer’s dad whom I seen there, lying on that bed; I saw my own dad, in that position. I realized that I was doing the same thing, taking Iyer’s position in a story that had me in the lead.
Back home, my father made me believe that I had seen a bad dream. I believed him, though later truth resurfaced. The man, who called me crazy before, ended up at my door, in an effort to return my phone. He had also seen the ghost. The ghost who had sent my cellular phone through him. I did see that man again after six months in a new mall in Gurgaon. He runs a popular cafe with his young son. I occasionally visited the place. He serves the best tea in the world, very reasonably priced and tastes that of heaven. Validates the name of his shop, ‘Jannat’. We talk a lot whenever I go there. A wonderful human being and his young son inspires me with his determination.
The first time I visited the place, the Pathan immediately recognized me. He told me what Iyer had told him that day.
I am running out of time, my dear brother! I am running out of time. I have to go back to where I came from. Where we all come from.
Those were his departing words. I wondered what language they spoke in that place. Tamil would have been comfortable for him.
My father still tells me that I never ran away. I just nod in agreement.
I had told him that I would never be a successful engineer; nevertheless, I would still do whatever he wanted me to do. But, he no longer wanted me to be an engineer. He had left it up to me. Therefore, I did what I had planned for, Animation.
This morning (on this very day of May 22) I got a call from a huge multimedia company based in Chennai. Every man in the industry wants to work there.
Soon, I will be leaving for Chennai, the city where Iyer had lived half of his life. The city that Iyer had praised and cursed so much in his story.
Coincidence?
Maybe I will start learning Tamil and audition for a few Tamil action flicks, couldn’t I? (If Hindi speaking girls can be heroines in Tamil movies, why can’t there be a hero from the North?)
My parents are very happy for me. My father really appreciates the effort
s that have I put in to reach thus far.
I learnt to ignore over reacting, something I should have done a long time back. Ignore things that aggravate you, instead of reacting to them. Laugh your way through everything, every day. It is funny but at the end of the day, we are all dirt in the sand. What is the point in wiping off the dirt, when you know you will be covered again soon?
And of course, we made up after I came back home, Tania and I. We have been together since then. She completes me and I hope to get married to her in a year or two.
The Resting Area in that Metro Station was closed down two years ago. Since no other Metro Station had such a facility, the metro authority felt that an extra room accessible to the public was not required anymore. But little does anyone know the significance of that extra room, except for me.
Now, after all this I feel like writing down my entire experience. Like in a novel or an autobiography. Maybe a novel? What name shall I use as the title for such a novel?
My Name is Iyer can be a good title, but sounds like a spoof on the Bollywood film, My Name is Khan. No Sir, I don’t wanna get into any kinda legal mess.
The man who came sounds quite okay too.
I could also use Running Away as the title of my novel.
Naah! All these titles seem vaguely out of context. I know what the most appropriate title for my novel would be. The perfect name, the perfect noun, a title that justifies the entire story.
The title that is directly linked to the soul of the story.
The moment when the runaway came face to face with the man who came. The moment …
“WHEN STRANGERS MEET..”
Jai Prakash Sharma
May 22 2014, Gurgaon
THE GURGAON EXPRESS
May 22, 2011
Man crushed to death. Leaves Gurgaon Metro Line stranded for 11 hours
By: Devendra Kumar, Gurgaon express
May 22, 2011
A man in his 30s was killed after falling off a Gurgaon metro train by another metro which was approaching from the opposite side ran over him near Ghittorni, Delhi on Saturday night.
The Police say just before 5 am on Sunday, they received a call that a male had been run over by a Metro train on the Yellow line of Gurgaon Metro.
Inspector Ramnik Kaul said that neither foul play was suspected nor was the victim under the effect of alcohol. The victim was standing near the door with his back completely rested on the door of the moving train. The door accidentally opened while moving and he fell off the train. Another train was coming from the opposite direction on the parallel track, which ran over the middle-aged man.
Mallika Yadav, spokesperson for Gurgaon Metro, told Gurgaon Express that the incident is a tragic reminder that people should listen and follow the cautionary rules that are constantly announced inside the metro trains, ‘Do not stand at the door.’
Yadav said that one of the track surveyors noticed the man lying on the track early in the morning. He was already dead.
‘It's an unfortunate accident which could have been avoided. It is an opportunity for a safety reminder that people should use extreme caution. This type of carelessness can lead to tragic consequences. It's very sad." She addressed the media.
Meanwhile Inspector Kaul revealed that the primary investigation by the police had been completed. They had found a wallet in his shirt’s pocket. The man was identified as Krishnaprasad Iyer, a resident of Chennai working for the Chennai Municipal Corporation. Details about his family are being tracked by the police. Until now nobody has come to claim the body of the victim.
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A Game Of Gods – Sample Chapters
A
GAME
OF
GODS
Book 1
Prologue
Memphis, 2018 B.C.E
On the darkest night of the year, even the stars would hide behind thick clouds that hovered over the dusty sands that embraced the red face of the North African desert. The Egyptian tribe gathered around the sacrificial fire to pay tributes to Atem, the God of destruction. They gathered around a huge pyre adorning their genitals with the skin peeled off human corpses and chanted the name of the owner. They believed that the recital of the Holy name of Atem will save their world from the his wrath. For generations the Pharaohs had made sure that their people had defended the planet by pleasing the God of destruction, for Atem is the son of Anu, the One who created, and the One who can destroy, or so they believed. The Pharaoh Khasekhemwy was aware that the sacrifice of that year was the most important of the millennium for never again in a thousand years would the moon align itself perfectly with the Red Horus, Jupiter and Saturn. It was the night when the gods would descend on earth through the portal of time that will be opened by the sacrificial fire at the end of the ritual. A little shortcoming in the ritual shall close the portal and the Gods’ way shall be blocked forever, which meant that mankind will be exposed to the universe in the absence of its creator and protector- the gods.
‘Sekhmet is pleased, look at the fire, Oh my Mighty Pharaoh!’ The minister hailed Khasekhemwy as he rejoiced at the sight of the splintering fire.
‘The fire must not grow, my honourable minister. It must seize.’ The Pharaoh spoke like a stone.
‘But… but… the Gods? Stopping the fire, or throwing in any wrong element into the fire will close the portal and the Gods will never be able to enter our realm… ever again.’
‘Ah! Yes, the gods. They must never step on these sands again. They mean no good to our kind. They have arrived before, only to destroy everything and then create everything again, only for reasons known to them. I call it sadism and I, Khasekhemwy, am the Pharaoh of the people, and not of the gods. I shall not allow them to come and end everything.’
‘What are you saying, your Highness?’ the minister questioned the intentions of the Pharaoh.
‘How dare you question me?’
‘I’m… I was just… Pardon me, my Pharaoh, but I am not qualified enough to understand your thinking at this juncture. You say you are the Pharaoh of the people, but these people are expecting the Gods, for nobody has ever seen them, even me.’
‘And no one shall ever see of them again. These people are innocent, unaware of the sadists that the Gods are. They are extremely powerful and cannot be stopped once they enter our realm, so the only way to stop them is by trapping them in the portal.’
‘And sekhmet? What about her wrath?’ The Minister stated his doubt innocently.
The Pharaoh answered the minister’s question with a wicked laughter that echoed through the sands of the river valley. And then it happened, the fire erupted, sending a burst of shining white light which ultimately settled into thick black ash on the surface of the sand where the fire had been burning a moment ago.
Clouds battered against each other and released swords of lightning on to the cursed lands of Memphis as the Pharaoh had committed the greatest of sins. He had trapped the Gods, in the portal of time. However, little was he aware about the wrath of Atem, the son of Anu. He brought upon the human race, a curse that it shall be deprived of a visible God until the end of time. The curse of the Anunnakis.
1
Ooty, 2017 AD
She held a surgical knife in her right hand, hiding it behind her back, hiding it from the man towering in front of her. The man, drowning in her beguiling brown eyes, had tears in his own eyes.
She had silky brown hair that wavered unto his chest whilst touching his white cotton shirt from the distance. But the breeze couldn't move his long wavy locks. Drops of rain washed the dull Sun as it groomed for an ultimate burial. The rain poured down furiously; pinching the two lovers standing on the
highway, looking into each other, eye to eye. But they were unmoved.
The woman, pale as a ghost, spoke ‘We shall live together, forever. Just like we had wished. We can, can’t we?’ She raised her face to look into his eyes, seeking an answer.
He spoke nothing nor did his eyes break the vow of his mouth. She looked downward in what was more of a spiral penalty for being a woman in freezing rain and a tear dropped down on the wet road. It merged with the water and could not be distinguished from the vast sea of rain water beneath.
‘Your silence explains it all’ She said, ‘you leave me no other option now,’ She wiped the tears off her face ‘This is the last time you are going to see me… You wouldn't see me again.’
He didn't respond.
He couldn't.
She lifted her face again, looked into his eyes.
They were diluted by tears.
‘But before I leave, I would like to,’ She paused; her right hand paved a slight movement. Hidden behind her back was a surgical knife, packed tightly within the pack of her fist. She tightened the grip over the knife, preparing it for the final blow, ‘gift you,’ she paused again, drew the knife towards his chest screaming, ‘DEATH!’
She was wild and furious on the spur of moment. The man responded with quick reflexes, caught hold of both her hands at one go and snatched the knife.
She screamed again ‘I want Your HEART, Its Mine!’
She was insane; He could control her physically but couldn’t fight her mind. She was physically very weak, and that he knew very well. But she had the sharpest of minds and intelligence was her strength. So, he had to rule over her weakness to bring down her strength.
When Strangers Meet (50000 ebooks sold): 3 in 1 Box Set Page 17