123 Tomorrows
Page 21
I walked across the road towards the infant. At distance, I could see a younger Omkar Abba rushing towards the gate drawn by the cries of the infant. I looked inside the basket towards my younger self, and for a moment his eyes focused on me. The scrap of paper identical to the one I had in my locket, rested on his chest. He looked innocent and yet one day he would grow up to become me. And him. I pulled out a knife and... changed my past.
My bloody hand began to vanish in thin air and so did my body. I could feel the other Iqbal vanishing too as the infant took his last breaths. I had finally found a way and... changed everything... permanently. The world would be a better place now.
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(15 Years Later)
Tomorrow #123
In one corner of the dome that was referred to as Temporal Opus, a line thicker than its neighbors pulsed with light. Like a heartbeat. As compared to another web of thin lines in another part of the dome, that corresponded to the same instance of time in the Universe, but in another possible history, it was brighter and more alive. It has been so for the last 15 years. This reality would become another Prime.
On that day, Ajit Karmakar woke up alone in his government quarters with a nightmare that had haunted him for long. He was burying his infant son when he morphed into a ghostly form of his wife that screamed at him for failing them. His son would’ve been fifteen now. His eyes darted to his wife’s picture and quickly looked away, unable to look into her loving eyes. The guilt never left him even as he tried to move away from everything that reminded him of his son - including Project Möbius and Establishment 22, despite pleas from Dhule. He sighed and dragged himself out of his bed. It was time for his work at a sleepy government office and he had so many files at his desk.
On that day, Prime Minister Vikram Dayal couldn’t be happier. Economy was doing better than expected. If the trend continued he could expect his country to become world super-power soon. Eventually, he would go on to become one of the most successful Prime Ministers of India and win the next term with an overwhelming majority.
Home minister Pillai would be caught for selling the state secrets to the enemy and promptly prosecuted. He would subsequently get convicted for high treason and die in prison.
On that day, Rahim Chacha read his newspaper at his shop munching on Laddoos. His shop was, as usual, a station for cricket lovers for the India-Pakistan match. His audience with every cricket match continued to swell as he expanded his shop. He and Chachi went on to adopt Chotu a few years later and became lovely parents to him.
Though Chotu led a hard life at Ramesh tea stall, his fate would take a dramatic turn when Rahim Chacha decided to adopt him. He would grow up to become a successful and famous businessman and ‘rule the street’. His fascination with helicopters continued in his adulthood.
On that day, India won the match handsomely at Firozshah Kotla stadium, powered by a century from Indian captain Kohli and superb batting performance from all the other batsmen.
On that day, Shazia went to her school and came back as usual. Her love for reading and writing took her places and she would ultimately become a successful and respected lawyer. Her advocate’s jacket was said to be the last garment her father ever stitched that she wore proudly at the high court.
New Bangalore Bicycle Repair Shop never existed and a small patch of land in JC street always remained empty. Some neighbors did wonder occasionally out of casual curiosity without knowing that that patch was owned privately by RAW but never put to use.
EPILOGUE
At a place that was everywhere but still nowhere, at a time that was forever but still never, a particular someone who never existed, opened his eyes.
He was in a large room which was completely empty barring a single bed on which he was lying and a nightstand. Everything that he could lay his eyes on was entirely white – white walls, white bed and white clothes.
“Is this death?” he said aloud. “Or afterlife?”
A voice boomed. “Neither. How can something die that has never existed?”
“Where am I?” he asked the man, who had entered his room. “And who are you?”
“You can call me Superior and you are at the Temporal Opus. You are safe. Don’t worry about anything else. We will begin your training soon, but for now, you just need to take rest.”
As the voice said those words, his eyes felt heavy and he went back to sleep. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was the infinity sign with a black and a white clock; and a mask that lay on the bedside table. He flashed a wide-smile, that played on his face long after he was asleep. Iqbal finally knew who he really was.
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It is one of the greatest myths that writers and writers alone write their books. Nope. There is an entire ecosystem motivating them and supporting to bring their stories to fruition and yours truly is no exception. There are several people to whom I am grateful; without them I couldn’t have dreamt of holding this copy in my hand. First and foremost, I would like to thank my family – Mom, Dad, Ranu and everyone else who supported me through this unfathomable leap. The idea of writing an entire novel would’ve petrified me to the core, had it not been for encouragement and support of my paramount critique and, incidentally my wife, Ranu. Thanks for taking care of home and office while I was busy reading obscure Wikipedia articles.
I would like to thank people at Scribophile community. You are simply awesome. For the past eight years, this was my academy. Specifically, I want to call out Abhishek Sengupta, Isidra, M.T. and Caroline for their painstaking critiques on each and every element of the story from commas and full-stops, to the finer aspects of story-telling like voice and flow.
A big shout-out to my beta readers who suffered through initial drafts of this novel multiple times. If there is something in this story you particularly liked, (or something that isn’t in the story that you wouldn’t have), it is to them who recognized it first. I’d like to specially mention (in alphabetical order) Aayush Shrivastava, Abhishek Mukherjee, Arun Purushothaman, Jagrit Minocha, Latika Parekh, Mukul Tandon, Riyaz Iqbal, Santosh Vedula, Sasi Evani, Soumyo Mitra, Vaibhav Anand, Vikas Narnoly… and many others who are not listed here but read the story in parts. You all are awesome!
Cover design for such a loopey story was a tricky task and Rebeca from RebecaCovers proved to be the artist for the job. She understood the essence of the story and brought the theme alive under tight deadlines.
My friends, colleagues and family who believed in this project even when I didn’t. (And often paid for my coffees during my sabbatical.) A big thank you friends for your unwavering belief in me and encouraging me all the way.
And last but perhaps the most important person: You, the reader, who picked up an unknown book from the shelf and gave it a voice. Thank You.
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