by Krishna Saki
Stringing the Beads
Three People. Three Stories. One string to link.
By Krishna Saki
Copyright notice
Copyright © Krishna Saki, 2019
All rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored or transmitted via email, or file-sharing sites, or any other sites or modes or by any means, electronic, pen drives, disks, or otherwise, mechanical, photocopying or printing, recording, or otherwise, without the author’s permission. You are also in violation to this copyright if you did not purchase this book or did not receive it via a free promotion authorized by the author.
The author thanks you for understanding that violation of the said copyright is unethical because the book involves tenacious efforts by the author in terms of ideating, story-telling, writing, reviewing, editing, formatting and others.
Cover: Krishna Saki
Glories to Sri Hari.
Dedicated to my grandpa
Choice. Or Chance?
I was breathless. The train was packed with people, like air would, every crevice, when trapped in a bottle. I had managed to secure enough space to stand pinned against the wall. One arm of mine, embraced my bag pack, the other massaged my throbbing head that intensified every second by the commotion around. It felt like I was enclosed in a beehive.
Men, sweared over their work and cussed their ill fate. Boys, rehearsed ploys they had developed to bug their neighbours. Babies wailed, mothers vacillated rattlers in an attempt to hush them. Amidst this, a man selling peanuts, keen on alighting the train after a hefty sale, squeezed his way to the door, invoking the commuters’ wrath. He was pushed hard, off the train, immediately, making the basket of peanuts, he bore on his head, collapse. Peanuts scattered on the floor of the terminal and sealed their fate to get crushed under the feet of commuters. This was not the end of his woe, coins, that his vocal cords had earned, after bidding for hours, had scattered on the floor as well. Some of them, must have found their way down, on the tracks. He cussed the commuters fiercely, but, he was muted by the shrill whistles of the train. The wheels rolled to work at once, leaving the hawker behind with his pile of woes.
Sweat trickled down my brows. I wouldn’t attribute it to the humidity. It was pain, rage and fear. Pain of my daughter’s loss, rage over my failure in decoding the cause of her death and fear of being misled, manifested as sweat. Disguised as a souvenir of the day’s labour, it emulated the stench emanating from those who had truly worked for it. A whiff of cigarette slowly mixed with it. Soon, the coach reeked of cigarette.
“This is not a place to smoke!”, I bawled at a queer man who stood facing me, in clothes that hung loose on his body that was besmeared with ash. In response, he puffed smoke on my face, choking me slightly. He, then, jeered at me, displaying a set of corroded teeth, as if mocking my sense of distinguishing right from wrong. My brows knitted at his audacity.
“This travel will not bring you solace. You will meet three people at a sojourn and you will hear them out of curiosity. Your end is near.’, he heralded. I gaped at him, under knitted brows. ‘Ah! The look of bewilderment! They were astonished too, when I heralded for them”, he said, challenging my disbelief. His grey lips turned into a crescent smile. His form, gradually, faded away and so did the smell of cigarette, that usually, looms long in the air, flaunting it’s obdurate and audacious nature.
Who was this man? An Oracle? ……….Could he have heralded the truth?....... Why did he foretell when I never consulted him? Must’ve been for money or kind….. But, he didn’t demand any…….. How did he vanish into thin air?...... Was I making it up?.... I don’t makeup anything…… I have a healthy mind, although I’m suffering from insomnia of late…… Ash! There must be ash dusted on the floor had he been there…… Had there been some light and fewer people I could have traced it…… He said the journey wouldn’t give me solace….. Why? Would I not know the truth in the end?…… Did he know where I was heading to?…… Had it got anything to do with the truth I was yearning for?..... Could she be telling the truth? Have I been denying it?...... Could there be any proof?....... I don’t want one either…. I know, I’m right….. It was not an accident…… It was a murder and she’s hiding it….. I’ll force the truth out of her, if she still keeps her stand, I’ll kill her….. He said I’ll meet people……Who? Why?.... Are they witnesses?...... If I was right,Will they help me avenge? Questions and assumptions precipitated in my mind, boggling it, making me lose sense of time and space.
My eyes itched, suddenly, must have been dust. I rubbed them for sometime, until the itching had alleviated. When I blinked them open, I felt the urge to alight the coach… Commuters in the train had considerably thinned down. Men, had collapsed on seats, basking in dreams of hurdle-free lives. Babies and children too had slipped into blithe sleep. Mothers had strewn away rattlers and engaged their hands in caressing the little ones. Seats stretched unoccupied, but, I stood still, pinned against the wall. My eyes rolled down to scan the floor. There was not a scintilla of ash.
The train gently came to a halt. I peered through the window as I flexed my muscles. A battered, isolated terminal, hosting a hiatus in rain for aeons, welcomed me. I didn’t know where I was, I didn’t know how far I was from my destination.
“What place is this?”, I asked a woman, opposite me. She spun away, curtly, like saying ‘Don’t you dare flirt with me’. A man, next to her, probably her brother, glared at me. I looked around to escape the awkwardness, but, to my dismay, my question to the lady had attracted the ire of the my co-travellers. I wanted to clarify that I had a clean character and I needed help because I was lost. But, I dropped the idea when I saw the mothers wake their husbands while continuing to glare at me through eyes of fury. I was convinced, I had lost the licence to travel by that train. I alighted the impatient coach, even as my instincts suggested otherwise. I had, but a choice.
Strange, why is there a terminal in a desert?, I thought while I stood glaring at a dilapidated direction board that stooped low. I could not tell if it was paying obeisances to the land or to the visitors. I stooped as well, to check if it sported the name of the place. It had etchings on it that were either illegible or in a language I was not acquainted with. I plumbed back to a straight posture and drew my phone out of my pocket. My hand, lubricated by sweat, couldn’t exercise enough care to hold it tight. The phone slipped off my hand and shattered, as it connected with the desiccated soil. I mourned it’s loss, for a minute. The blazing sun cast a shadow of mine, long and dark, on the area that held pieces of my phone. The pointed side of the direction board was inches away from the head of my shadow. It looked like it was nailing me down, crushing me into pieces, deeming me worthless. I looked away, cutting the harrowing thought.
Where must I head?..... A compass could have helped better….. But, does the compass help a directionless man?... Maybe, destiny will….
I chose a random direction and treaded along. I did not know where it would end, or how it would end, or would it end at all! I walked, only because, I didn’t know where I had to go. I was never without direction in life. I would aim, plan and execute. That’s what made me successful. And, I was hoping for success this time, in my ploy to avenge my daughter’s murder. Yet, I held back, awaiting patiently for time’s mercy, like a tiger meditating, until it’s time for the leap. Perhaps, the wait had got too long that the opportunity slipped off my hand, as the tiger’s prey would, out of sheer luck. But, I wouldn’t douse my rage like the tiger, who would sleep, hungry in the end after dousing the rage of its failure. I was confident I would find my way out of the unexpected detour.
Parched
I looked up at the scorching sun. My hand tried to shade my eye
s from it, lest it would blind them. It had enervated me enough. My eyes squinted at it, imploring for respite. I had trudged miles of dry land, ornate with cracks. The bag pack I carried felt heavier by the second. I felt weak of exhaustion. My feet itched to rest. My throat continued to burn of thirst. The water I had been sipping from my sipper was incapable of satiating it. I brushed my tongue against my lips, to perceive satiation.
I thought I’d find help if I walked further from the terminal. I was wrong. I was hunting for help where life couldn’t have sustained. I was deserted. I had yearned for an isolated life, except, I wanted my daughter in it, even if she would have been a frequent guest. But, I was beginning to detest the idea.
Someone sighed, diverting my attention from the punishing sun. I saw a frail, old man, squatting with a pitcher, looking expectedly at the dry patch of land. I was elated. A companion, at last!
“I was looking for a source of water, can you help me?”, my voice bubbled with zest. He did not respond, but, that did not discourage me. Acquaintance demands time.
“Do you need help?”, I asked, walking towards him. Help in exchange for help, I thought I spoke the language of business. I waited for his response. But, he showed no amicable gesture, enervating me, again. I was desperate for help.
Perhaps, I must bribe him, I thought. I inched further, towards him. Blithe of my presence beside him, he continued casting his eyes on the cracked land, incapable of holding moisture anymore. My eyes rolled curiously towards his object of study. A seed stuck out of a crack.
“Are you planning to grow vegetation here?”, I reattempted to engage him in a conversation. Yet again, there was no response. Still, I stood there, waiting for one. I didn’t want to consider that I was being humiliated. I lied to myself that I was anchored there so I could rest my feet. I made no further attempt to talk. He could have had challenges in sight and hearing, given his age. He must be having a home, a family…… Maybe I could get help there…… I’ll follow him, when he starts for home, I thought, as I waited. The sun was burning my back. My shadow, a little shorter than before, sheltered the seed.
“What must I do?”, he whimpered, after what seemed like an hour. “Should I gulp it down?.... Or should I water the seed?”, he quizzed, in a meek cracked voice, peering at the scanty water, the pitcher held.
I yearned to advice, that the sky didn’t herald that the rains were due, that he must consume it and not waste it over the seed, that the sun would quaff that water before it would even spill over the ground, that it would not help the seed to sprout, but, I stood mum. My throat was parched, parched of words.
He rolled his eyes between the pitcher and the seed, blinking at times, puzzled over the test, the drought had put him through. Time, unlike us had set on a marathon. He realised this as well.
“I don’t have much time”, he said.” But, it must sprout. It must grow to proffer shade…. Some grass can grow beneath it, someone can rest underneath it…… It must grow.” He sprinkled the water over the seed.
His optimism baffled me. The land must not have seen grey clouds manifest, for years. Did they ever appear, they must’ve been disinterested in pouring. The sun must have denied to mellow down for aeons, quaffing all the water the place bore, taxing inhabitants. Had he been disinterested in consuming the water, he could’ve lent it to me. I was in need of it. My throat was still parched like the parched earth I stood on.
Thud!, a loud noise echoed. The frail man had collapsed, as I stood there disappointed at his actions. My mouth was agape, from astonishment. I was breathing hard. I didn’t know how to help him. I didn’t know if there was a dispensary nearby. The least I could do was apprise his family of his condition. But, I didn’t know how or even who was his family, did they even dwell in the land.
Soft breeze caressed his hair. The sky rumbled, as I glared at him, stupefied. Lightening streaked, thunder roared, clouds, fecund with dew, masked the sun. It drizzled. The aroma of wet soil strewed itself in the air. Soon, it tippled with rain. Everything around was wet, but me. I unscrewed my flask, letting the rain fill it.
It could come of use later, I thought. I looked around, if I could find the pitcher, the man possessed, strewn around. I could store more, who knows, when I’d need it?, Neither did I find the pitcher, nor the man.
I stood there for hours, in the anticipation that soon water would overflow from the sipper. I peered through it, the water level had not ameliorated.
Is this really happening? Why isn’t it pouring inside my bottle? Why am I not drenching?
I anchored myself, my hand extended, holding the unscrewed sipper, hoping my flask would refill. But, it wouldn’t. It took a long for realisation to dawn upon me, it wasn’t raining for me, it was, for the seed. Little shoots, sprouted from the seed, gradually, it grew into a sapling and then, a tree stood, plumb, in front of me. Time, had set on a marathon, yet, only a second had passed.
Confounded
“What if this won’t kill?”, she asked. I was resting under the tree that had grown, miraculously, over a second, when I heard her. I peered from behind the tree. She rendezvoused a short, bald man kneeling at her feet, on the other side of the tree. I couldn’t make out her face, she had masked it with a thick, black shawl. She wore a loose, heavy gown. Had I not heard the feminine voice, I wouldn’t have known it was a lady.
“Trust me, it will.”, said the man. “I have prepared the concoction with care. The task was extremely challenging. None, who’s worked that hard, can lie. I’ve lost count of the many students who’ve met their end while collecting venoms. Then, the task to ensure a venom in the concoction doesn’t turn into an antidote; for the antidote of a venom, is venom itself. I can only utter truth. Trust me, Your highness! The concoction has been tested, none who’ve consumed, survived.”, he paused for a moment. “The concoction has been carefully coated on the spoons. Once they eat with it….”
“You will receive your emolument.”, she assured and passed briskly beside me, one hand, holding a box she snatched from the man, the other, securing the black shawl against her face.
I think she glanced at me…. Is my life in peril? I had heard the conversation… Does she know I heard?.... I have to strike a truce with her before she schemes against me… those instruments she carried, I could use them…. My target will be dead before she knew, and I won’t be a suspect…… My daughter’s murder would be avenged….. There’s the truce, I could ask for a share in those instruments in return for concealing her actions. I followed her in stealth, lest she baffled me with a quick shot from a gun. I had to live, at least until, the fruition of my vengeance.
Is that a palace?, I thought, when she stopped at a distance from a colossal building, topped with turrets. She unmasked herself, covered the box with the shawl and resumed her tenacious walk.
How do I get through the guards?, I wondered when we closed in on the palace. She detoured. I stopped, expecting an attack from her henchmen. My eyes and ears were alarmed, my feet positioned themselves to dodge an attack. My hand held my bag, mounted on my shoulder, it could shield me when in need of defence from a bullet or knife. I stood for a minute in that posture. Nothing happened. I relaxed and resumed my pursuit, immediately. She was walking briskly. I had to pace up.
Does she know I’m following? I thought, as I continued tailing her, although dubious. I would have dropped dead by now, had she caught me, I reassured myself. After a few mile’s walk around the palace, she halted. I swiftly hid behind a large tree trunk, ensuring she was still in the radar of my visibility. She scanned the premise, probably, for stalkers. When she was certain, she was alone, she set aside the package and pushed a boulder, resting against the wall, hard, revealing a cavern. She glanced at shoulder once, then, disappeared into the cavern. Perhaps, she knew she was being tailed. I raced towards the cavern, giving up my cover. I had to be quick.
I stopped at the mouth of the cavern. I could say it had a long, perilous, serpentine interior. The old times had dea
dly caverns such as these, to trap invaders and plunderers. I could say it was a trap by the torches lined it’s walls, lighting the path by a golden hue. If they didn’t want trouble makers trudge the cavern, they would’ve left it dark. Tailing her, could’ve been a deterrent to the perils I could face there, but, she was not around. I had to find her. The truce didn’t matter anymore, I had to procure those instruments. They could be powerful. It seemed like a long walk inside, but, I was up for it. I pulled out one of the torches and strode inside.
****
I was wrong. The pathway had been unchallenging, nothing as I had expected. It was a long, but, a straight walk. There were neither trap routes, nor snares that surprised me. I didn’t encounter skeletons of the dead that could test my mettle. Yet, I strode with care, scanning around for anything undesirable, until, I found the end. It opened into a gigantic room. From the amenities it hosted, I could say it was a bower. It had an oval mirror stuck on the wall with something black strewn on it. If I was not wrong, it must’ve been dried blood. The dark patches adorned the floor, the walls and the grills of a crib. Something terrible must’ve happened there.
“Whoever designed it must have been dumb! Anyone can enter this place, maraud, murder, whatnot! No wonder, the place looks gory!”, I declared aloud, which I regretted when I saw her, standing right next to me, leaning on the wall of the chamber beside the opening. It made me jump. Her ruddy eyes, lucid, yet, evincing rage, made me shudder.
“Look! I’m here to draw a truce.”, I gabbled, before she could inflict me any harm. “I’ll shut up in exchange for those instruments you’re using for the murder. I don’t need all of them.”, I clarified, “Only a share, or at least an agreement to introduce me to the architect. I have some agenda. I’m in need of those. I only know you’re killing someone. I don’t have to know anything more. I can expose your plan. It’s better for both of us. Neither of us need know each other’s agenda.”, I couldn’t believe I had threatened her. Her countenance did not reflect her agreement for the truce.