The Coming of Kalki

by Poulomi Sanyal

  She jogged outside, full of energy and enthusiasm, taking in the last gusts of the late-afternoon fall breeze before it started to get nippy. When she turned the corner to the street on which her dorm was located however, she saw something unusual. There were several police cars parked right in front of the entrance to their building, and the area around the entrance was closed off with traffic cones. As Zoya moved closer, she could see two distinct figures standing at the building door and talking to a gruff looking police officer. One of them was the Director of Student Housing, Isabella Bianchi, and Zoya knew her well. Even before school had started, Zoya had come to meet her with her parents to discuss housing options and have her name put on the waiting list of the most popular residence hall for women. Seeing Zoya approach, Isabella came running at once.

  “Oh, Zoya! It’s you. What awful news. I have no words,” she went on rambling, almost on the verge of tears.

  “Mrs. Bianchi, what’s the matter? You’re scaring me...” Zoya inquired, her heart fluttering with apprehension.

  “It’s too grave, and I don’t know how to break it to you. It’s your roommate, Nancy.” Here she paused, searching for words.

  “Nancy? Nancy Grossman? What happened to Nancy? Is she okay?”

  “I am afraid…I’m afraid not, sadly. It looks like something terrible might have happened to her—” She was suddenly cut-off by a female police officer on the scene who had quietly walked up to them in the meantime and was now speaking to Zoya.

  “You are not allowed inside the barricaded area, young lady. Do you live here?”

  “Y-e-s,” Zoya stuttered.

  “In that case, we may need to speak with you later. But for now, everybody off the scene,” and then looking at Isabella, “please have the students escorted out of the scene and in to safety.”

  “Oh, yes certainly,” Mrs. Bianchi responded. She then asked Zoya to go over to the student housing office and wait there with everyone else until she could come over and give further directions.

  “Okay, but before I go, you have to tell me what happened to Nancy. I’m freaking out…”

  “Oh Zoya. It was awful. The room was broken into, stuff was everywhere. We’re not exactly sure when. Everything was overturned, closet searched, beds turned on their sides, papers strewn, but the saddest part of all…was that Nancy might have been in the room when this happened and now there is no trace of her, apart from…” She paused again and pulling out a piece of Kleenex from the pocket of her fall jacket, wiped her eyes and nose.

  “Apart from what?” implored Zoya, now grabbing Isabella by both shoulders.

  “Well, apart from some of her bloodied clothes that seemed to have been ripped from the body.” With this, she started sobbing audibly, covering her nose with the bunched-up Kleenex in her hand.

  “Oh my God!” shrieked Zoya. “What does that mean?”

  “They fear the worst, I’m afraid; a kidnapping and perhaps a murder. There was too much blood. If she has survived, it may not be for long.” Mrs. Bianchi burst into a loud sob.

  “Who are ‘they’? The police?”

  “Yes.”

  “They said that it might be murder? They said so already?” At this point Zoya was in a state of visible panic.

  “No, not in so many words. They will investigate of course. I just got hints from the calls they were making internally on their two-way radios. But more of it later. Please head to the student housing office immediately and wait for me. I have sent a few others there as well. We are a going to make some arrangements as soon as we are able.” She stopped as if to take a deep breath and then placing her hand on Zoya’s right shoulder added in a comforting tone, “Try not to lose heart. We will pull through and perhaps we will find her. Have courage.” With that, she gave Zoya a small tap on her shoulder and egged her on to make a move towards the housing office.

  The rest of the evening passed by in a haze. To Zoya, it felt like one of her fainting fits when suddenly her head becomes light as a feather and the ground rapidly slips away from beneath her feet. She can feel it coming every time, but is powerless to stop it, no matter how hard she tries. This experience was quite like that and like the waking from the blackouts when world is perceived in blurry semi-darkness, the faces around seem strange and ghost-like, a kind of out of body experience.

  In her memory later on, the events of the evening were summed up like this:

  A visit to the police station for an interview, some words spoken about Jake and mushrooms, magic mushrooms perhaps. Zoya was the narrator here. The police were kind, but their questions were many. There was crying in the background; Nancy’s mother had arrived. Zoya’s parents were called. She was going home. Her bags could not be collected from the crime-scene until the investigation was over. There was blood on much of her belongings anyway, and then there were strange noises here and there, pitter-patter of rain on eaves and roof shingles. By mid-night Zoya was in her own bed in Los Angeles, crying into her pillow before passing into a trance-like, restless sleep. Her mother slept with her that night, and she could feel her pillowy arm over her back, comforting her intermittently as she tossed and turned.

  * * *

  Zoya did not return to school before Thanksgiving but the cherished holiday with her family was no longer what she had hoped it would be. The question of where Zoya would stay upon her return to Stanford also kept looming over everyone’s minds since her room was still locked off by the police. In fact, a few other neighbouring rooms also had to be temporarily evacuated for the sake of the investigation. No trace of either Nancy or Jake was yet to be found. A friend of Jake’s had been arrested. Amid this atmosphere of doom and gloom, there was a phone call in the morning, the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Mrs. Carter spoke enthusiastically from the living room and then hurried upstairs to Zoya’s bedroom.

  “Darlin’, how are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay, Mom,” Zoya lied, her eyes still red from a recent bout of fresh tears.

  “Sweetheart, I just spoke to your Department Chair, Dr. Faraday. She seems like a lovely woman.”

  “Yes, she is very nice. What did she say?”

  “Well, she said that she has been very worried for you ever since the incident and they are ready to do whatever they can to help you feel better, talk to a counsellor, join support groups. They have made all the arrangements.”

  “Splendid,” said Zoya rather unenthusiastically, flicking her mom a fake half-smile.

  “Oh, but that is not all. The lady says that she lives alone in the area, not far from campus, in a rather large house and she would be more than happy to put you up for a while until they get your dorm room situation sorted out. How ‘bout that, eh? Ain’t she lovely!”

  “She said that, did she?” said Zoya, not knowing whether to feel happy or concerned with the development. But in the end, even if she didn’t like to admit it, she found herself feeling a deep sense of relief. “And what did you tell her?”

  “Well, I said, ‘That would be wonderful. So kind of you. Are you sure it won’t be a bother? We can pay rent. I think we should pay rent.’ But she was having none of that. She wanted to put you up rent-free. So, I said to her, ‘Well that is very generous indeed. How can we turn it down? Let me ask my husband and daughter if they are okay with it and get back to you’,” and with that I let the sweet lady go and came here to tell ya all about it.”

  “I see.”

  “So, honey, what do ya think?”

  “Sounds okay with me, but we should ask dad.”

  “Oh look, it’s gonna rain again. I better go and check the mail before it starts pouring,” said Mrs. Carter before rushing away.

  Zoya sat in her room contemplating the recent development. In the distance, she could see a bolt of lightning cut through the horizon. Downstairs, there was the click of a door opening and the sound of her mother’s hurried feet. A few minutes later, her mom was back and just in time as the rain came tumbling down. She could hear her mother’s
voice below, grumbling audibly.

  “Oi, somebody’s been stealing our mail again. The box was open, mail falling out. I think I saw the creep yesterday. I’ve seen someone lurking around a few times before, but it had stopped since September. Now they’re back again, the punks!”

  Zoya giggled to herself.

  Later that day, Zoya’s father came home and was delighted to hear the proposal from her Department Chair. So, with no obstacles remaining, Zoya’s bags were packed and she was driven back to Stanford on Sunday and dropped off at Wanda Faraday’s ample residence, under the shade of a large willow tree, just in time for the start of classes on Monday.

  CHAPTER thirteen

  Meanwhile, that Thanksgiving played out very differently for someone else in Wanda Faraday’s circle of influence. Dr. Nirmala Kaur, who was now a fugitive from her home country while the policemen that had intercepted her a couple of months ago were being ‘taken care of’ by the Hekameses, was holed up in California in the very same Faraday house. She was asked to be as discreet as possible with her whereabouts and encouraged not to leave the house unaccompanied, or at all for that matter, and to be careful with what she said and to whom. Although the chances were slim that news of her encounter with the local police in small-town Dwarka would venture anywhere out of the immediate vicinity of that dusty city, but it was better to be safe than sorry, especially in these troubled times.

  On Thanksgiving Day, after a sumptuous supper of turkey, pudding, homemade cranberry sauce and garlic mashed potatoes with gravy she was in the smaller guest bedroom of Dr. Faraday’s house writing in her diary as she did every night before bed. She wrote:

  “Today on my umpteenth day of exile, I am finally starting to feel like I have sprouted roots that are anchoring me more and more firmly to this place and these people. The Hekameses! What a strange lot, and what a surprise it was when Alejandro first told me about them on our flight here from Delhi, when we were finally far enough away from India to be able to discuss everything freely. I could not believe my ears, they can bend thoughts and produce images in other people’s minds and interfere with everyday electronics! What a feat. By now, you may think I have said this before and here I am again, expressing my awe and wonder at their magic. But you must admit it is quite a story to forget so easily. It is like one of those really enthralling books that you read over and over again without ever getting tired and once you put it down, the memory lingers like a delicious aftertaste as was the case tonight after the fabulous turkey meal. Who would think these talented almost superhuman people would also be so good at such mundane day to day affairs such as cooking.

  Wanda is a homely elderly lady (albeit a brilliant warrior in her own way) so frankly, her culinary skills did not come as a huge surprise to me. But Alejandro! Who would think that he who wields a gun could also wield a ladle. Look at me. Now I am becoming poetic. I suppose men like Alejandro inspire such poetry. I am yet to wrap my head around how he tampered with those level crossings that day when we escaped. He said that it was simple. Once he sees the electronics, he can, to put it simply, ‘talk’ to them with his mind. He says it can be explained with science. Our brains which are full of all kinds of electrical activity can interact with other electronic devices just like one electronic gadget can often interact with another. He told me to think about jammers. The military use these to block signals from phones, key-fobs etc. In fact, you can jam almost anything, one electric signal jams another (as in blocks it). The brain can do the same if powerful enough and they the Hekameses have brains that are just that powerful. Brilliant! Really brilliant. If it weren’t for that tactic we would be rotting in jail today or perhaps even been tortured and killed. The sensor was activated by Alejandro’s brain, the gate at the crossing fell but the train wasn’t actually coming. The perfect escape. The poor policemen couldn’t even follow because they were afraid that a train was actually coming! No matter how many times I tell this story, it seems that it will never get old. Tonight, I am happy and tipsy and rambling on but come another day I may reminisce once again.

  Now, the sad part. Once everything is taken care of in India, I must return. Maybe I should have been ecstatic but strangely enough that is not the case. My heart doesn’t want to leave. It wants to stay and fight and share in this adventure that is the life of a Hekameses; searching for an ancient truth while fighting a formidable enemy. There is also the question of Alejandro. My heart has grown too fond, but does he feel the same way? I will never know if I leave. But how can I stay? How can I fight? With what tools? I don’t have their powers. I will be constantly vulnerable. The weak-link that they wouldn’t want. I was speaking to Wanda yesterday and she said something about being able to train me. She said that there were ways to actually ‘train’ the brain for such advanced functionality. It has something to do with external energy fields. She didn’t go in to any more detail, but I must ask her again. Till then, good night.”

  CHAPTER fourteen

  Zoya’s first night at the Faraday house was not particularly eventful. They had already stopped for supper on the way here from Los Angeles, so, Dr. Faraday had escorted her straight to her little bedroom next to a beautiful and well-stocked library. The room was small but neatly maintained. It had a twin bed with pretty pink sheets and a cream coloured comforter, a small writing desk next to a window that overlooked a lovely kitchen garden, a night stand fitted with a drawer that had a bedside lamp on top and finally, a little closet for her clothes.

  “Here you go, young lady. Make yourself comfortable. The bathroom is at the end of this corridor. There are a couple of other house guests, but they are upstairs, and you may not hear from them much. Breakfast is at seven in the morning in the dining room. Now you can head straight to bed. You have classes tomorrow. The dark circles under your eyes tell me that you may not have been sleeping much lately,” said Wanda, smiling affectionately.

  Breakfast at seven. Wow, that’s early! thought Zoya, who was used to staying up late in the nights and never knew what seven o’ clock in the morning looked like.

  “Sure, ma’am,” she said, pretending to sound cheerful. “Uhmm, about that heading straight to bed part…I was wondering if, I mean I had some reading that I had to do for classes tomorrow and…”

  It was the truth, but only a part of the truth. She had some reading to do for classes sure, but more importantly, there was no way she would feel sleepy before midnight at the earliest and she didn’t want to just lie in bed feeling sad and worried.

  “I see. Well, if that is what you would prefer, then there is a lovely library in the next room which you are welcome to use. However, I do not recommend that you use it past ungodly hours. I strongly believe that one has much to benefit from disciplined sleeping practices.”

  “Yes, of course, I agree. I won’t be up long,” said Zoya.

  “Good night then. I must take your leave. We will speak tomorrow.” And with that Wanda Faraday disappeared into the corridor, leaving Zoya to herself.

  Once alone, Zoya changed into her pyjamas, took out her laptop and then with the laptop under her arm, went over to the adjacent library and tentatively turned on the lights. It was a large, beautiful room decorated with antique furniture in a style similar to the rest of the house that Zoya had seen so far. The room smelled heavily of age and rosewood and most importantly of books. This was Zoya’s favourite smell of all. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that decorated all four walls save the section that hosted a window, contained more books than Zoya could count in a single sitting.

  “Wow, how magnificent!” she thought out loud. “Perhaps this house will become a museum some day.”

  Zoya settled herself comfortably at one of the polished oak writing desks in the room and set-up her laptop, ready to do some course-related reading. In the room there were three such desks in all, each of a different size. There was a large pile of newspapers on one corner of the desk she chose. The top one was today’s. No matter how sincerely Zoya tried to focus
on her studies and that alone, her curiosity eventually got the better of her and she grabbed today’s paper for the headlines.

  The pages were full of dark and dire news. Several mentions of Aifra. A bridge accident set-up by them in Belgium with hundreds of causalities. An aircraft downed in another part of the world, again a suspected terrorist act by Aifra. Soon the news got too depressing and Zoya was about to cast the paper away, regretting her decision to view it in the first place, when her eyes caught on to an insignificant headline at the bottom of page six.

  “Missing Stanford University Student a likely victim of Aifra,” she read softly.

  The article was about Nancy. They thought that she was getting mixed up with the wrong sort. People with links to Aifra who did away with her when she became too much trouble. They were even suspecting Jake who had been missing since the day of Nancy’s disappearance. The article said that they hadn’t found him yet.

  Zoya’s eyes started to well up again and along with that a different emotion, hitherto unknown, came swimming over her quite unexpectedly; a sense of resolve brought on by her eagerness for revenge perhaps, or by some other divine force that she could not yet comprehend. She was going to talk to Dr. Faraday tomorrow.

  * * *

  The following morning, Zoya could not make it to breakfast at the appointed hour. By the time she was in the dining room it was almost eight. The table was empty apart from a plate topped with a stainless-steel cover and next to it a tall glass of orange juice. Beside the orange juice was a key on top of a little note that said:

  ‘Spare house keys and breakfast for Zoya.’

  Zoya lifted the plate cover to find a warm breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast and bacon waiting for her, and she quickly devoured it as she was quite hungry. She then pocketed the keys and the note it came with and got ready to leave for school. In an hour she had locked the front door behind her and was off to school.