123 Tomorrows

by Vaibhav Thakur

  “Tell me, boy, whatever you want to say.”

  The clock behind him told me that it was only an hour to the blast. Beside it, hanging on the wall, was a dust-laden portrait of Mahatma Gandhi, with the words Satyamev Jayate —truth alone triumphs—written beneath it. I wondered if the truth would be of any help, but at any rate, I didn’t have much of a choice.

  I told them everything, making sure that it was heard by as many people as possible. By the time I was finished, everyone at the police station was listening bemusedly.

  “Soooo you mean to say that you know that this blast is going to happen for sure... at exactly 1 PM?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And this is because you had this dream—”

  “Precognition, sir.”

  “And... you can tell the future from this precognition.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see...” He shook his head. “We made a big mistake, mister Iqbal,” he said in a grave tone. For a moment, I was taken by a surprise that it worked. He continued, “Mr. RAO, immediately inform the ATS and the home ministry about this bomb. We have to get all the men in the field right now. And release mister Iqbal—oh I can’t keep it up—“

  He let out a loud laugh as his round belly wobbled in resonance. Suresh babu and the other constables chuckled.

  “Rao saahib, are you convinced now?” he said, still grinning wide.

  “Sir, I am telling the truth...” I tried to protest.

  “Shut the fuck up,” said Inspector Murthy, “I have listened to your tales enough.”

  “I am sorry sir, you were right,” said Sub-Inspector Rao. “I will teach him such a lesson that no one will dare do this again.”

  “Don’t worry Rao saahib. And don’t get too serious about these small things. Otherwise, you’ll soon get high blood-pressure in this job. Put him in the lock-up for a night.”

  Inspector Murthy’s feet found their place back on the table.

  “And where is that stupid tea I had asked for?”

  ###

  I wiped the blood off my mouth and tried to ignore the pain in my swollen eyes. It was the result of my last-ditch attempt to run away from the police after which, Sub-Inspector Rao didn’t reserve any mercy for me. I looked around my cell—a tiny 8 ft by 8 ft captivity that I shared with a drunkard who had collapsed in one corner in his own urine. Through the thick iron bars of the door, I could see the Inspector Murthy taking his afternoon nap with his police cap drawn over to his eyes.

  I cursed myself for having messed up so much in the last five hours. I knew everything and had it not been for my stupidity I could have been far away from the city, along with Shazia and Rahim chacha but instead, here I was, waiting helplessly in a locked cell watching the clock ticking away. I wished I was as delusional as everyone thought and nothing would happen. A night in lock-up would be an easy price to pay for my dreams to be a lie.

  But that last hope too soon faded. Minutes past 1 ‘o clock, the lone phone in the police station started ringing madly, waking up Inspector Murthy. He picked up the receiver and jumped to his feet and uttered several ‘YESSIR’s before hanging up.

  “Constable, quick, switch on that TV,” he yelled.

  A small television kept at the top of an old iron almirah boomed to life. I wished the words pouring out were different than what I remembered.

  “This is an emergency broadcast. I repeat, this is an emergency broadcast. Fifteen minutes ago, there was a bomb explosion in Delhi. Unofficial eyewitnesses from as far as Agra have reported seeing a mushroom cloud in the direction of the capital. A nationwide curfew has been imposed effective immediately. All citizens are requested to remain calm and return to their homes. Leaves of all military personnel stand cancelled and are required to report to their command immediately. Keep tuned in for further updates.”

  Inspector Murthy shot a glance in my direction. For the first time in the day, he left his chair, walked up to me and stared at me as if I was a ghost.

  I’d have said, ‘I told you so’ if I weren’t thinking about Shazia.

  “Sir, I can still save a lot of people. Let me go,” I pleaded.

  His face turned white and he opened his mouth to reply when the phone started ringing again. It was followed by a flurry of activity in the police station. Several policemen came in and left with pouches full of grenades, guns and riot gear. Walkie-talkies screamed non-stop and the phone rang incessantly. Murthy came in briefly and instructed two constables to keep an eye on me. I didn’t have to wonder about what was going on outside. I could hear shrill screams and gunshots; and when I tried to peek outside from a tiny cell-window, I got a glimpse of black smoke rising at the horizon. The city was burning.

  I imagined Shazia screaming for help crouching in the corner and… I didn’t have the courage to finish the thought. I let her down. If only I could get one more chance.

  An hour later, Inspector Murthy walked-in into the police station. I couldn’t see any trace of the guy I saw in the morning. He looked ruffled and black blotches from smoke on his khaki uniform hinted at what he had gone through. He stood stoutly but his round face couldn’t hide his bewilderment at the situation. He poured himself a glass of water and finished it in one go.

  While he was at his third glass, several commandos in intimidating black uniforms marched-in with semi-automatic weapons in their hands. Their muscular bodies dwarfed the two pot-bellied constables who stood outside my cell almost to the point where those constables looked like midgets. There was not a single wasted movement and though they were laden with dozens of heavy sophisticated gears that I had only seen in movies, they almost floated through the air. Murthy watched nervously as they spread themselves and scanned all the cells and rooms of the police station with their fingers firmly on the triggers.

  “CLEAR,” one of them shouted and marched diligently to stand a few feet away from me.

  On cue, a tall man in army uniform entered the police station. His thin face and pointed nose contrasted with the aura of authority he commanded. Everyone took off their caps and saluted. Though he looked old, he walked swiftly, and his emotionless face looked incapable of sporting few other expressions. He was unperturbed by gunshots and sirens, as if it had been another day for him at the office. He calmly walked up to my cell, his piercing eyes staring at me.

  “Is this him?” he asked, barely moving his lips.

  Inspector Murthy fumbled, “Yes, sir. He is the one. We promptly arrested him just after he made that phone call. He knew everything, sir. He definitely has a connection with them, I am sure. Just give me 2 hours with him, sir, I’ll make him sing—”

  The senior officer held up his hand, Inspector Murthy stopped awkwardly.

  “You’ll do no such thing, Inspector,” the officer said. “This matter is beyond your incompetent hands now. He is far more valuable than you’d understand, and I don’t have time to make you understand. We will eventually move him to a high-security zone, of course, but right now things are quite hot outside, so we’ll have to just keep him here.”

  “You don’t have to worry, sir. I will secure this location, sir,” Inspector Murthy said.

  “Shut up and listen. I am taking command of this station personally; a platoon of my black cat commandos will form the innermost circle of security. Move all the clerical staff and other prisoners somewhere else. Your men will block a 100-meter radius from this police station in all directions. And I mean everywhere. Put your men inside the sewers if you need to. Not a whiff of his breath shall come in or go out without my knowledge. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll put my men inside sewers,” said Murthy sheepishly.

  “I want to say something, sir.” I hastened. He stopped and within a blink of an eye, the two commandos had their weapons pointed at me. I looked at the guns that were trained to take life in a split second and took a step back from the bars.

  “At ease, men,” he said, and the commandos relaxed their weapons.

&
nbsp; “I am innocent. You must believe me. I saw this in a dream.”

  “Iqbal,” that was the first time he addressed me directly. “I listened to the call you made.” His hands behind his back, he took a few steps towards me till his face was inches away from mine. His penetrating eyes searched me and there was a flicker of disgust before they went expressionless again. “You knew everything, Iqbal. Everything. And that has only two possible explanations—either you are with the terrorists or… you are Nostradamus.” He was standing so close now that, I could feel his breath on my face. “And I can bet my forty years of dealing with likes of you, that you are one of them. I don’t know what made you make that call, but one thing is for sure… we will take everything out of you. Till then, do yourself a favour and don’t try to escape. Each of these commandos can take on a small army on their own and come out unscathed.” Something told me that he wasn’t lying. “Well, I’d have loved to spend more time with you, but I have my orders,” he turned before leaving, “just like you had yours.”

  ###

  From my cell’s tiny window, I saw a dark evening fall outside as light-bulbs flickered in the police station, run by a lightly humming generator. The frequency of gunshots had reduced but every now and then far-away screams pierced through an eerie silence… It was a silence of death... like a graveyard. Initially, I tried to search Shazia’s voice in the screams but then I gave it up for it was too painful. My only solace was that perhaps Rahim chacha and chachi made it out in time.

  The black cat commandos hadn’t moved from their places since afternoon and had almost become part of the furniture. Except, when on slightest rustle, they’d signal to each other and one of them would step outside to check for threats. They would talk through wireless in a code that I couldn’t decipher, and they refused to acknowledge my existence. Their senior officer also walked in a couple of times and didn’t say much, barring a few quick words with the commandos.

  I pulled out my copper locket from the black thread hanging down from my neck. I ran my fingers over its crude design and rotated a tiny knob at one end. The top half hinged open where a piece of yellowed paper was tucked in. That scrap of paper was my first and only possession, the only gift from my real parents before I was left at the Shantiniketan orphanage. I wondered if those five fading letters, scrawled hurriedly in blue on a torn piece of paper, were written by my father or mother. Whoever it was, that was the only thing that my parents gave me – my name:

  Iqbal

  I always felt a mix of emotions whenever I held that locket - anger and affection, mostly anger. But today the locket represented something that belonged to me, something familiar before I was sentenced to die in an unknown world. It brought out many memories of Shantiniketan, Sunil and of course, our Abba.

  My train of thoughts was interrupted by the television set above the almirah, that had been running a silent static; it abruptly came to life and a picture of a dreary newsroom beamed in the police station. Though the volume was low, in the quiet it was just enough to carry up to my cell.

  “This is an emergency broadcast. I repeat this is an emergency broadcast,” the newsreader said in a flat voice as if reading an obituary from a newspaper. I squeezed my ears out between the bars to catch the faint voice. “The Prime Minister’s office has released a statement confirming the nuclear attack on Delhi. The centre of the explosion was near Firozshah Kotla stadium and it has wiped out the entire national capital. More than one million people have been feared dead and many are critically injured. In the light of this act, a nationwide emergency has been declared by the President and all the civic rights have been revoked. Citizens are requested to continue to remain indoors as the possibility of more attacks cannot be denied.

  “Initial investigations indicate that Pakistan’s ISI is responsible for this act of war. Pakistan, however, has denied the allegations and claimed that nuclear armament was stolen from its Rawalpindi base one month ago.

  “Prime minister Vikram Dayal, in his statement from an undisclosed location, has urged the people of India to remain united in this hour and cooperate with the government. In a strongly worded statement, he promised that enemy won’t be spared, and India will give a proportionate response. The Prime Minister also cited India’s “no-first-use policy” and iterated that in current circumstances a nuclear response will be justified.

  “The international community has condemned the attacks and urged India to show restraint towards its western neighbour. Russia has extended support for whatever response the Indian government may choose. Further reports as events warrant. Stay safe. News bulletin ends.”

  Gloom descended in my heart. Millions have died, and I was responsible for it. And still, it was not over yet. The tensions were rising, and it was quickly escalating to a full-scale war. When I woke up this morning, I had this precognition, this power of knowing everything, and yet, here I was – useless and beat, surrounded by black cat commandos who think I was one of the terrorists. One of those who were responsible for Shazia’s pointless death. The thought itself repulsed me to the core.

  I felt angry with the unjust world. Why did they do this to Shazia? What did I do to deserve this? I had never wronged anyone in my entire life and lived with my heart to the God, and yet, in return, what did that God give me? What did I do to deserve Yusuf bhai? Or Jaggu Dada at the orphanage? Or these commandos who’d put a bullet in my heart without hesitation?

  I felt angry at my parents. How could they leave their one-day-old infant—a part of their soul—in an orphanage? What kind of mother was she, who abandoned her infant baby who couldn’t even feed himself. Didn’t my cries make her pause even for a moment? Didn’t she pause for a moment when my tiny hand tried to grab one of her fingers? Was my life that unwanted? Why shouldn’t I just ask the commandos to end it with a click? Everyone would be better off that way.

  No. I wasn’t entirely unwanted. I had Rahim chacha and Shazia. There was Chotu who looked up to me like a big brother. All of them did have a little place for me in a corner of their hearts. They were the ones who thought I was worthy of their affection, their trust, and their love.

  I’ll not let them down till the end. My life may end tomorrow but till the last breath, I’d not lose what I was – I’ll not break their trust – I’ll not insult their love. I’ll die fighting for them.

  I just wished I could turn the whole thing back. Only if I could get one more chance.

  Suddenly, a loud explosion outside the police station shook the building. About half of the commandos rushed outside while remaining crowded around my cell pointing their weapons at the entrance. A mini battle raged outside as several rounds were fired and air began to saturate with black smoke. It was over quickly, and an uncomfortable silence descended. The commandos nearest me shifted closer, tightening their grip on their weapons. But before anyone could lift even a finger, a large section of the wall collapsed into a smoke.

  “Incooooming!” Shouted one of the commandos and dived to take cover as another rocket flew-in obliterating half of the police station. A moment later, through dust and smoke, a man entered through the hole in the wall with a rocket launcher on his shoulder. Dressed in black from hair to toe and a black mask covering his face, he walked calmly inside. As commandos fumbled to gain balance and counter-fire, the masked man pulled out two guns from the holster in a blink of the eye and fired in a quick succession. With a surgical precision, all the bullets penetrated the flesh of their targets.

  I cowered in fear as he laid his eyes on me and walked towards my cell stepping through the debris and dead bodies of the black cat commandos, who haven’t been able to put a single scratch on him.

  He broke the door of my cell as I shrank even further in one corner.

  “P... please don’t kill me.” I raised my handcuffed hands in surrender as he raised his pistol.

  A bullet was fired and... my hands were free.

  “You idiot,” he said. “RAW bet a lot on you. You were supposed
to stop the bomb and not get arrested.”

  RAW? The Research and Analysis Wing? The super-secretive intelligence arm of the government? And then the realization came upon me. It wasn’t a dream or a precognition. It was all real. I suddenly remembered a hazy memory of people – the man in a hat talking to a professor about me. It was all RAW. I had indeed lived through the same day twice.

  “Y… you killed... all those commandos and policemen,” I said looking around at the lifeless bodies of black cat commandos.

  “It doesn’t matter. When you go back to today morning, they’ll all be alive and none of this would’ve happened. Do you understand?” he said putting his guns back in the holster. His eyes were intense, and his bulging muscles were visible over his pitch-black uniform. There was a distinct logo on the chest that looked like an infinity sign with a black and a white clock within it.

  “I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” he shouted, shaking me from the shoulders.

  I nodded, rubbing the handcuff marks on my wrist vigorously.

  “Idiot,” he whispered under his breath. “Now, what are you waiting for? Go ahead and reset the day.”

  I looked at him in bewilderment.

  “Ah, right,” he said. “You don’t know it yet. Tighten your fists like this… yes… and now wham them together really hard—yes like that—”

  And then I woke up. Eight hours back.

  TOMORROW # UNKNOWN

  Time: Unknown

  Place: Unknown

  The Masked Man paced agitatedly in his sparsely furnished room. In fact, the only pieces of furniture were a single bed at the centre and a side stand. Rest of the room was a huge waste of space, but his benefactors had no concern for space. Or for ‘time’.

  The only entrance to the room was the sliding door at the far end. Presently, the two halves of the door noiselessly slid on either side splitting the infinity sign neatly in the middle; the two clock pictures moved away from each other giving way to four people – three men and one woman. The Masked Men knew all of them; or rather, they were the only ones he knew at the Temporal Opus. The man who led the company clearly outranked others in both age and seniority. The fifty-something man with a hawk-like appearance and wrinkles on his face, held a simple but powerful title of “Superior”. The other two men were twins in their early twenties and both sported identical pitch-black reflective goggles. The girl, Andrea, who was also the same age, chewed on a gum. All of them were dressed in black suits like the Masked Man, right down to the infinity signs on their chests. As they approach him, the Masked Man greeted the Superior.