“Of course, I do,” he replied handing me over a large packet from his bag. “I’ve delivered to university labs and government facilities, and just between us, some criminal types as well at their shady hideouts, but this has to be the weirdest delivery location I’ve ever delivered to.”
“Here’s your money… and some extra for your trouble, now get lost.”
“So much courtesy in return for making a delivery-man miss the slog-overs of an India-Pakistan match,” he said pocketing the money. “Have a nice day, then.”
###
Even from miles away, a deafening roar of 45,000 people screaming “Indiaaa... Indiaaa” made it undoubtedly clear that I was in the vicinity of Firozshah Kotla stadium. The air itself reverberated with ear-splitting sounds accentuated by horns, trumpets and bongos. Outside the stadium thicket of people crowded about fast-food stands trying to grab their lunch before the Indian innings started. All those people were so happy, and so oblivious to their immediate fate, but it also reminded me of my limitations. If I got caught in the explosion at this distance, I’ll disintegrate before I could even think of resetting the day. I had to be ultra-cautious now. I would’ve to reset well before the explosion to be safe and try again in the next run.
I took out the Geiger counter and checked its reading. Stadium would be my starting point and then I’d move outwards guided by the radiation readings.
###
Time: 12:55 PM (5 Minutes to the blast)
Those bastards!
I walked along the stadium, guided by the rise and fall of Geiger counter readings, and something curious happened. The readings didn’t fluctuate much as I went around the stadium, but whenever I moved radially outward, the reading dipped. And that meant only one thing…
I never thought that anyone would be crazy enough to take the bomb close to the stadium itself; not only nuclear bomb is big and heavy, water-tight security arrangements during an India-Pakistan match made it quite unthinkable. But the terrorists were crazy enough to not only take the sophisticated nuclear warhead inside the stadium, somehow bypassing the security, but, basis my Geiger readings, did something even more audacious. They planted it in the middle of the stadium.
###
Tomorrow #118
Time: 12:30 PM (30 minutes to the blast)
Location: Firozshah Kotla Cricket Stadium, New Delhi
At gate no. 1, I produced my ticket that I had managed to nick from an unsuspecting and probably drunk spectator. When I entered the stadium, all my senses were overwhelmed with the sheer scale of humanity. ‘In India,’ it was said, ‘cricket is not a sport, it’s a religion.’ Today I was a witness to that fact. Every inch of the stadium exuded contagious energy. Forty-five thousand super-charged fans hollered at the top of their lungs and hundreds of tri-coloured Indian flags waved above the sea of painted faces and coloured wigs.
The stadium was a mini-city in itself. Huge stands, interrupted by glass-walled media boxes, surrounded the lush green ground in the middle, and four towering flood-lights stood like alert sentries holding the skies. On the opposite sides of the oval shaped ground, big letters depicted ‘Viru 319’ and ‘Viru 309’ ends, marking for the two record-breaking innings by the Indian legend, Virendra Sehwag executed at the very same stadium.
Two giant electronic screens came to life announcing that India needed to make 361 runs in 50 overs to win the match. The Indian innings would be commencing soon. I didn’t have much time. I desperately searched for any clues of the terrorist. Someone amongst those thousands of the faces was planning to detonate the deadliest bomb in the history of mankind. But who? And how could he be carrying such a large bomb inside the stadium? My Geiger counter’s reading was pointing to the ground.
The two umpires appeared on the ground and adjusted the stumps and bails. The game was about to begin. 20 minutes to the blast.
I climbed down the stairwell in the stands and the reading on the Geiger counter jumped up. I needed to get closer to the ground. I waded my way through the thick crowd and stood behind the corporate billboards surrounding the boundary of the stadium. 15 minutes to the blast.
Soon, Indian batsmen, Kohli and Varshney made their way to the pitch followed by the entire Pakistani team. The batsmen took their places at the wickets and the Pakistani players spread themselves around the field. I frantically looked around for anything out of element. Nothing. 10 minutes to go.
Pakistani bowler ran down from the edge of the boundary to bowl the first ball of the match as the crowd applauded towards a crescendo. Kohli hooked the ball and it disappeared into the crowd for a mammoth six. Entire stadium erupted in celebration. 5 minutes to the blast. My heart pounded against my rib-cage. Why don’t I see anything?
I prepared myself for the reset. Wait! Kohli is pointing his bat at something. Something is amiss.
A drinks cart, towing a closed trolley, drove onto the ground. The wheels of the trolley sank deep in the ground seemingly carrying something heavy. That’s it!
I jumped over the hoardings and ran towards the drinks cart. Couple of policemen began to chase me, but I was focused on getting to the terrorist. The cart stopped near the pitch and an old bearded driver hopped out, abandoning his cart in the middle of the ground. He paused for a moment and started running towards the crowd.
I had almost reached the pitch, but he was running in the opposite direction. “HEY!” I shouted across to him.
He turned around and our eyes met for a brief second. There was a startled look on his face and he almost lost his balance. Then, he steadied himself and started running again. Before I could catch him, a crackling noise coming from behind attracted my attention. I looked back at the drinks cart which was now surrounded by players and security personnel. The metal walls of the closed trolley were bulging outwards like a balloon about to pop. I had only a fraction of second to reset. The last thing that I saw before I put my hands together, was a bright light emanating from the centre of the pitch.
###
“If it looks too easy, look again.”
– A Time Traveller’s Diary
Tomorrow #119
It’ll be over soon. I have gone through hell to catch this bastard and he slipped through my fingers. Doesn’t matter. This time when I meet him, it’ll be his last.
I knew what he looked like and how he’d operate. I couldn’t forget his scared old face and his beard and his stupid ponytail. I would just have to find a way to reach closer to the drinks trolley lot earlier, and then I’d just put a bullet to his head.
Since I wouldn’t have to search for the exact location of the bomb or get hold of a Geiger counter, I could straightaway head to the stadium with 45 minutes to spare. I would then have to get access to the restricted areas, maybe getting my hands on a press pass or VIP id would help, and then search for the drinks trolley somewhere in the pavilion. He would be dead even before he knew what got him. It might take two, maybe three attempts but certainly this was the end-game for him. I finally felt at ease knowing that my ordeal was almost over.
12:15 PM
As I reached closer to the stadium, an unfamiliar strangeness greeted me. Something was very different. Thundering noises were absent, and no loud drums could be heard. The queues had vanished and so did the extensive security at the gates. Confused, I rushed inside the stadium, unchallenged. What I saw jolted my reality; I wondered if I was somehow in a dream, but no, something I thought impossible had happened—the stadium was as empty as a ghost town.
What is happening? It’s all wrong.
Not a single soul in sight, I passed through desolate stands that I only remembered brimming to capacity. Bewildered, I walked over to the ground and pulled a twig of the grass. It was right here that the trolley had exploded. I couldn’t fathom any reason why or how that could change. And then, as if on cue, the giant electronic scoreboards on the either ends of the stadium began displaying a message, undoubtedly intended for me. He knew me, he knew what I was capable of. And n
ow he wanted me to know what he was capable of. That bearded bastard was not an ordinary terrorist. The message said: “YOU THINK YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE?”
###
I had been drunk with power. The power that I used to play with people’s lives, day after day, also made me short-sighted. I was so much engrossed playing a master puppeteer, manipulating them to my whim, that I couldn’t see who my real nemesis was. He was meticulous, precise and perfect to the second – If I was a God, he was a God too. Playing for the other side.
I couldn’t think straight anymore. My body shook with fear as the ramifications of him also being a time-traveller began to sink-in. In my daze, I didn’t even realize that my feet carried me outside the stadium and into the narrow by-lanes of central Delhi. My stupor was broken when in distance, I heard a familiar voice. I bolted in the direction of paanwala who was listening to cricket commentary on his radio. With every word by the commentators, several realizations detonated in my head one after other.
“…and what a spectacular morning it was. Misbah’s ton helped Pakistan reach a mammoth total of three hundred and sixty runs. Indian seamers and spinners tried their best, but they were equally punished by Misbah. Whatta’ fine display of batsmanship. Now, India has to pull all the stops to chase this total. As you can see now on your screen, Indian openers are making their way to the field, but it’s going to be an uphill battle for them. What do you think should be India’s strategy, Harsha?”
“Indeed, a fantastic day for cricket fans, Ravi! The Pakistani side kept everyone on the edge. It’s a difficult chase for India but as long as this man is at the crease, nothing is impossible. This man, Virat Kohli, the Indian captain has decided to take things in his hands and open the innings. His intentions are pretty clear, Ravi, and all forty thousand fans here in fully-packed stadium expect no less. But one thing is certain Ravi, there will be fireworks today at Bangalore’s Chinnaswamy Stadium.”
The broadcast stopped abruptly. He was not a time-traveller like me. He was much more. Inevitable conclusion faced me: If he could play with time to an extent of changing the entire venue of the match, and then bomb it, then he could go back in time much farther than me. He could not only just tweak the past, but entirely modify it to serve his purpose. I was up against a much, much more powerful God than myself.
I was a puppet now, and he was the puppeteer.
###
Tomorrow #120
“Wake up, you bastard.”
For the hundred and twentieth time, I woke up with Yusuf Bhai’s stinging slap. For the first time in as many runs, I had no plan and no idea what to do next. My head was spinning, my mind was numb, and my body felt paralyzed. Above all though, there was one thought that clouded everything else – he is a time traveler.
When he found out that I could stop him, he simply stacked his dominos differently. No wonder he was able to beat all the intelligence organizations and penetrate one of the most guarded sports arenas. And now he was here, at Bangalore, threatening everything that I wished to protect.
Chotu came running to the shop and stopped, panting. He wordlessly handed me a sealed envelope, cautiously checking for Yusuf Bhai.
My heart jumped. “What is this, Chotu?” I asked, examining it for any signs of the sender. Although, I had a good notion on who it could be.
“A guy came on a motorcycle and gave this for you,” he said, gathering his breath.
“Did you see his face?” I asked, hopefully.
He shook his head. “He had a helmet on. But he said it was important.”
I opened the flap of the envelope with shaking hands. It contained a single scrap of paper with a short hand-written message.
“Dear Iqbal,
I think we should get to know each other. I will wait for you - beneath the wall.
The Other One”
“Is everything ok, Iqbal?” asked Shazia in a concerned voice.
I hurriedly closed the envelope. “Oh, hi Shazia...” I quickly turned to her. She looked beautiful as always.
“Gosh... you are bleeding,” she said.
“Th... This is nothing. I just fell down from my stool,” I said.
“Don’t lie to me. I know that’s Yusuf Bhai's doing,” she said as folds formed on her forehead. “Why do you put up with him? If you want, I can talk to my father, he can set him straight.”
I welled up from inside knowing that this was perhaps the last time I was meeting her. Over the last hundred days—all those pasts that didn’t happen—as I got to know her more, my love for her had only increased. She was kind, honest and as pure as an oasis. She didn’t deserve any of this. I pondered if I should tell her everything. I could try convincing her to come with me somewhere safe where no harm would come to her. But I knew she wouldn’t agree; and worse, she might think of me as a madman. I just wanted to protect her more than ever, even if I have to pay for it with my life.
There was only one way to save her. I’d have to face him and stop him. Or die trying.
###
Time: 9:00 AM
Location: Chinnaswamy Stadium, Cubbon Road, Bangalore
An hour later, as I closed in on Chinnaswamy stadium, towering floodlights filled my vision and crowd’s roar filled my ears. The sixty-year-old stadium was one of the largest in the country and located in the central Bangalore. The M.G. road looked even livelier than usual as the medley of people dressed in team jerseys, painted faces and fancy hats marched towards the stadium. Spirits were high, and everyone wanted to be inside the stadium in time for the game’s start.
Standing on the other side of the street, near Cubbon park, I glumly watched the crowds making a beeline for the gates all the way to the Mahatma Gandhi park.
Some fans, clicked their photographs in front of a mesmerizing metallic silhouette of the legendary Indian batsman making his signature cover drive. Below, it said: ‘Commitment. Consistency. Class.’ that succinctly defined the timeless batsman, on a huge 27 feet high wall made up of 10,000 bricks. It wasn’t an ordinary wall, but it was the wall - built to celebrate 10,000 runs of that extraordinary cricketer – Rahul ‘The Wall’ Dravid.
However, what the posing fans didn’t know was that just under their feet, the deadliest terrorist the world had ever seen, was planning to incinerate them into atoms. And right now, that time traveling terrorist, as his message suggested, was waiting for me ‘Beneath the wall’.
I turned in the opposite direction and walked towards Cubbon park. Most of the police and security focused their attention on Chinnaswamy stadium but the park was relatively deserted. Marble statue of Queen Victoria welcomed me as I entered through the main gate of Cubbon park. Not too far from the statue, near a banyan tree, there was a small red hatch peeking out from the grass. Not known to many people, it led to a large underground network of maintenance tunnels that ran below the major establishments in the area.
With an effort, I lifted the hatch and it fell to one side with a thud giving way to metal steps going down. Carefully stepping in, I closed the hatch after me. The stairwell walls were narrow and rubbed against my body as I descended into the well. A green greasy grime stained over my shoulders and arms. With my every step, the metal clanged and the sharp sound echoed through the well. Trying to avoid the walls, I missed a rung and slipped past several stairs before getting my footing again. Sonofabitch. After about twenty feet of cautious descent, I reached the bottom of the stairwell that opened into a big maintenance tunnel. It was quite dark, and I squinted my eyes to see around. No one would ever know even if I died down there… that time traveling terrorist had chosen a perfect place to meet me.
Gradually, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed a faint light from flickering bulbs in their glass cages, their small spheres of glow trying to betray the darkness around them. From the corner of my eyes, I saw an enormous rat nibbling on rotten meat. Sensing me, it vanished in the darkness with its meal, but I could hear a faint gnawing sound that I tried my best to ignore.
/> My heartbeat became audible in the silence as I dragged myself deeper into the tunnels. Labyrinths of decades-old pipes went in and out of tunnel walls as if trying to find their way out. And then, at some distance, I became aware of a barely audible humming sound. A Generator? As quietly as I could, I started walking towards its source, trying to avoid making any noise from my shoes as the tunnel seemed to magnify the slightest of sounds. My palms sweated, and my breath became thicker and faster.
I had seen the guy earlier but this time it was different. This time he knows that I am coming. And I know about his powers. A chill went through my spine at the thought.
The moment I turned the next corner in the tunnel, an elongated humanoid shadow converged with a man. His back was turned towards me as he was hunched over to a large cylindrical object with some wires protruding out. His long ponytail swung below his shoulders as he worked on a panel.
I pulled out a small revolver and trained it on his head.
“Freeze,” I shouted cocking the gun with my hand on the trigger.
“You are late,” he said calmly without stopping. He didn’t seem perturbed at all. “Ah, that revolver. You must have spent all that time trying to get it. Good thinking.”
“Turn around or I’ll not hesitate to use it, you bastard.”
“’Bastard?’ That’s funny,” he said with a slight giggle.
He turned around and the light flickered on his face. He thin face looked old with his long white beard.
“You cannot kill me, Iqbal.” He took a couple of steps towards me. “The moment I see that trigger tightening, I will reset the day. You can’t even begin to imagine how powerful I am. I admit, you did startle me when you first showed up at that stadium in Delhi, but now it makes perfect sense. Why should I be the only one with this power?”
“I will kill you,” I screamed as he continued to walk towards me.
123 Tomorrows Page 12