The Legend from Runisia

by Vishal Kumar Kadiri

  ‘At least allow me to send two officers along with you for protection.’ he toned down

  ‘Sorry, Siraj. Please don’t mind,’ I turned to him ‘I’ll call you if anything is needed.’

  Siraj left us. Even though he acted like believing us. He still suspects us at some level.

  *****

  Ashok stayed back. He drives us back home. It was already six in the evening. Street lights flickering on, cars in a long row, honking at each other. He shifts the gear, as amber changed to green. Two hours of long journey. Aditi fell asleep on my lap. I am all drained too. Until yesterday everything was flat, but from the moment I met Rahim. Everything around is rushing to a void, as if we were trapped with an unending maze with no answers. Last twenty-four hours has been tiring. I met people from my past whom I thought I would never meet again. I met Aditi, a total stranger, who became a friend. It’s funny, how people from different origins meet each other to change each other’s fate. Ashok is a sweet person, after everything we both had been through, nobody would do this for their ex-girl - friend.

  ‘Thank you so much, Ashok.’ I said wholeheartedly

  He smiled ‘Are you feeling ok?’

  I shrugged. ‘It’s okay, if you want to stay for the night.’ That might have triggered something within him. But I could see him all tired. He has been driving for a long time.

  ‘Sorry, Ashok.’ A part of me feels lucky for spending time with him but my heart still skips a beat and wonder how long my luck will last.

  ‘Sorry for?’

  ‘Sorry for today.’ I heartfully apologised,

  We got down and waving good bye to him.

  ‘Don’t mention it. Meghana, Be safe. Call me if you need anything’ He started the engine. I wanted to ask again. Although, I respect his decision if he wants to leave.

  ‘Bye, Meghana,’ He turns his gaze ‘Bye, Aditi’ smiles ‘Both of you take care. Meet you tomorrow.’ He rushed. He left his busy day for me. Does he still feel for me?

  *****

  Meghana’s Residence

  We strolled through my garden and I took my keys out from my handbag to unlock the door. By then, I was surprised to see that door is already open; I forget to lock the door. When I hurried to meet Aditi. Me and my stupid mistakes.

  ‘I guess, I need to start keep reminders for basic things also.’ I slammed my forehead and smiled at Aditi.

  As we stepped inside. I asked Aditi to sit down. Switching on the lights ‘Room is a bit messy. Kindly adjust,’ I smiled again. ‘Make yourself at home.’

  Aditi mumbled. ‘That’s fine. Don’t worry. I’m good.’

  Coming back to home is so rewarding. I like spending my time within four walls. I’m not a person of travel. Damn hungry! There should be something in the fridge. I removed my jacket and changed into my nightwear immediately. Now, I feel much lighter on my toes. ‘Aditi, I know you are hungry too. Let me get something to eat.’ roaring as I entered the kitchen. I heard of sounds of gulping. My fingers busy, reaching the board, to switch on the lights. I sensed a dark figure moving, making weird sounds. My blood runs cold. I whip around, unable to hide my fear. I grabbed the frying pan lying around. Slowly ensuing the sound as calm as I could, I approached the thing and raised my pan high in the air with all my power.

  ‘Who are you?’ I screamed.

  Then he slowly turned around; while I wrapped my arms around my chest; breathing in momentum. Tube light is glitching, then to my surprise; face slowly exposed from shadow. I could see, sweaty and nervously quivering Rahim as bright light hits hard on his face.

  Rahim Razak

  Chapter V

  Grand Imperial Hotel, Mumbai.

  12th August, 2011.

  I can’t bring myself to move. All my thoughts, stagnated. Voices keep echoing the madness, I’ve gone through in the past twelve hours. I started suspecting myself, since the interrogation. Am I a terrorist? I don’t comprehend, what is going on? Why wasn’t I not able to point out my country? on the map. Why my passport was unacceptable. When it is third time, I have come to Mumbai and I never faced this issue before.

  I don’t know if Miss Meghana had a word with my wife as yet. Aditi is the only person, who can pull me out from this mess. I’m sure, she would come running for my rescue. Police officers are forcefully labelling me as a terrorist and linking me to the recent blasts. My brain is dead. I cannot think of anything. They didn’t let me have my phone either. I have two police officers waiting in the connecting room. For every ten minutes, they check on me. I’m trapped. I feel like these four walls are gradually inching towards me. So close, that now I face difficulty in breathing. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to know, what is happening. I want to run back home and crawl into my bed, silently like a cat and just wake up to a fine morning, ending this nightmare.

  *****

  I grabbed on the food instantly as they passed the parcel, like a prisoner who has not eaten for ages. What will I do? If I’m unable to convince them about my country’s existence? What will they do to me? Will they accuse me of the recent bombings? How will I invalidate them? I’m here to meet my wife, who was one of the victims of that bomb blast. Why will I kill my own wife? I love her so much.

  I rolled the shower knob anticlockwise, drizzles of warm water, freezing my cranium in elevating temperature. Lost in the thoughts of Aditi. I walked out, glancing at the large black hat with smooth edges over a suitcase which looks similar to mine.

  Wait, but it’s not my hat. Mine is much bold and darker than this one. This is my luggage and the hat looks similar. But, isn’t mine. I scratch my head vigorously.

  I rushed to the luggage, unlocked it. Started flinging all clothes in the air. I have no idea, what I’m searching for. Maybe something that could serve as a clue. The hat isn’t something valid to prove my presence or existence of my country.

  ‘Nothing! Nothing!’ I crouched my head into my hands. Pressing the forehead and pulling my hair like a mad person, slapping my forehead as hard as I could.

  My gaze locked and ceased searching around; I saw a secret zipper beneath the suitcase. It is a hidden zipper to store expensive items or something valuable. I remember the shopkeeper showing that to me when I purchased the briefcase. My fingers reached the zipper in no time, unzipping it slowly. I can see that there is a book inside. It is a matte brown diary, almost fits on my palms with a year 2011 engraved on it. I opened the diary and there were journals entries till yesterday.

  My fingers busy flipping the pages continuously to the month of January. It sheds light on my memories. But a lot things are mentioned differently than my actual experience. The same feeling one would get, if their biography is written by some other writer in his own fictional thoughts. Like someone else has lived my life differently with different judgements. I stopped tossing pages, when I saw the date January 18.

  Journal Entry

  January 18, 2011

  I reminisce this day every year, my father was in the crew of five men led by Ashraf Ghani during the Cold War period on Saturday, January 18, 1950, relations between the Republic of India and the Imperial State of Iran suffered due to their different political interests. Iran's continued support for Pakistan and India's close relations with Iraq during the Iran–Iraq War impeded further development of Indo–Iranian ties. My father was arrested in the attack and was hidden for years by the Indian government authorities mistaken for a Pakistani terrorist and being tortured him for eight years in a room, trying to extract the plans of the next attack, which he never knew. He died one day, unable to bear the torture; they didn’t know what to do? Left his body as prey to wild animals.

  Both my elder brothers have joined terror groups to avenge my father’s death. I chose to live a calmer life instead, away from my family and this history. But fate has planned something else. I lost my job within few months because they found out that my family has terrorist background. My mother died of heart attack when she
learnt that my brothers died during a terror trail. I lost everyone in my life. The only hope, I had was my wife, Aditi. She left, saying I only love her body now and not her anymore and she feels suffocated around me. She disappeared from my life, leaving me alone. I feared, being lonely, which turned into hatred and gradually transformed into violence and now I don’t desire to wipe it away.

  I had no other choice. I joined a group of people who work in clusters; clusters of people with different personalities driving with hunger for revenge. If the victim ever efforts to make the egotistic abuser accountable for being a decent human being, they will lash out in rage, control and power from a narcissistic means going to war with the language they used against us. I was finally assigned on a mission to avenge my father’s death and found a reason to be alive.

  Rahim Razak

  The room dims in the echo of the diary. I rest my back on the floor, turning the pages.

  I scrunched my eyebrows ‘Is this really happening?’ I said to myself

  There is an impostor who is using my name? How did this diary get into my briefcase? The hat I thought wasn’t mine like this diary. So, the entire luggage isn’t mine. It belongs to Rahim, who wrote this diary. I went back in time, jogging my thoughts. Replaying the bits again and again to find out, when and where could my things have got exchanged. Then I recall the instance that took place mid-air the other day.

  The plane was few miles away from Mumbai Airport, metallic seagull diving into thick cover of clouds, lost the turbulence gushing in the middle of nowhere, everyone around started praying their god’s and some passengers quickly caught hold of their oxygen masks and sticked on to their faces to escape death. Meanwhile, my thoughts were to meet Aditi. One last time, before I die. My head bounced back and forth in pressure. The entire plane was quaking in middle of the empty sky. My body has lost its weight all of a sudden. My presence felt like a feather in the emptiness like I saw on the TV, the other day where people float in Anti-Gravity. Everything was normal in two minutes. Gently unwrapping my eyes, I realize that I’m replaced with the seat behind me. I don’t know how I changed my seat unknowingly.

  I checked ‘How did I get here? When did we switch our seats?’ with the person next to me.

  ‘You are in your place this whole time since we boarded the flight,’ he informed. ‘And you were drinking the whole time.’ he gave a hateful sight

  But I don’t drink. I thought.

  Without poking him more. I offered my prayers to Allah that I’m alive and ignored the incident as it didn’t matter then. Now, it all make sense.

  This sounds strange and unbelievable ‘I got exchanged with Rahim Razak who belong to this universe and my country Runisia don’t have an existence here.’

  But how will I prove this? I cannot show them this diary and expect them to believe me. Even I wouldn’t believe such nonsense. Picking up the thoughts slowly, I belong to a similar earth paralleling this universe. In the world where I belong is some other country here. While the flight entered some strange medium either magical or galactical, when the turbulence hit us both hard, we somehow swapped our places in mid-air. This is the only explanation I can give of my existence here in the place of another Rahim Razak. I have none other than this supernatural theory.

  *****

  Nineteen hours later…

  Minutes gradually stretched to hours as one of these rambles led down my way where I am lost within Hindi inscribed shops boards, road signs etc. glowing the small streets of Mumbai and I’m drained out of energy, without a clue of destination; disguised in fear of getting caught by police, wearing that black round hat which isn’t the same as mine. I never understood, why there is a big debate on inclining population in India. But as I experience now. Cities like Mumbai, are crowded places. I finally make it to the Gateway of India, people around rushing. It feels too tight, the bodies near me slick with sweat and heat and my stench of a long tiring day. Even my own skin doesn’t feel right and as I try to stretch my arms and neck but can’t move in the crush of people.

  I check the lamp posts and big walls before I enter any street. I feel like everyone in the city is watching me as I make my way alone into empty streets with many of my unanswered questions. I saw my wanted posters with a photo of mine, from my passport, glued on red painted walls. News is swift and I started hearing people murmuring or my own mind playing with me. I have been roaming on roads asking people in the language I suffer to converse for Meghana’s address. I would ask anyone who don’t stare at me with suspicion. I finally bought the newspaper of Times of Mumbai and hunted for her article. It’s past eleven thirty ticking my clock, when I finally found the address of Miss Saxena. No way have I rang the bell at this time. But I couldn’t help as my stomach is grumbling with hunger. To my surprise no one responds. I hit the bell three times in a row. While I’m about to knock the door. I realised that the door was already open. But is it okay, to enter without permission? I understand moral ethics, but my stomach doesn’t. I will apologise as soon she is back. I promise myself. I didn’t give a second thought.

  Meghana’s Residence

  13th August, 2011.

  I put my hands on whatever I can eat; chewing food in loud gulps and breathing out mewls with weird sounds. Then I heard someone approaching me from behind. As I turned around it was Meghana with frying pan in her hand, staring at me in disbelief, covered herself in black nocturnal night wear transparent enough to showcase her skin that only covered her body, till her thighs.

  ‘Rahim?’ Her mouth wide open in surprise

  ‘How did you find my house? What are you doing here?’

  Covering her skin in shame and awkwardness, hesitantly tapping her fingernails on the pan held in her hand. Rolling her eyes, she came closer petrified and coiling her hair, grabbed the bowl form my palms.

  ‘Meghana, Sorry. Hear me out. Let me explain.’

  I can’t stand her embarrassment.

  ‘You need not. Please stop. Now I know everything about you.’

  ‘Sorry?’ in a soft tone, my voice cracking. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Yes, Aditi told me everything.’

  My eyes widened when I heard the name, ‘Did you meet her? How is she?’

  ‘Don’t you act like you love her.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I know everything about your past and the thing about your fake country.’

  ‘What do you know?’ my mind is already ramped up with unanswered questions. Even now, I’m receiving more and more questions. It is obvious behaviour as nobody would expect a stranger in their kitchen at this hour that too, as a thief without informing.

  ‘Meghana, I need to tell you something.’

  ‘What else left to say,’ she looks away ‘Liar.’ placing the frying pan on the table.

  ‘What did I do? totally confused. Then I saw someone standing to the left gazing our conversation. Aditi. My heart rose as I saw her. I couldn’t stop myself without hugging her.

  ‘Aditi, I’m so happy. Finally, I see you.’

  But Aditi isn’t responding. She didn’t move an inch, almost frozen; my hug didn’t shake her up. Her body felt dead to me. No feeling towards my touch. Slowly I realised the fact that she isn’t my wife. She is not from my world.

  She slaps me hard as she gets into her consciousness. She definitely isn’t the one, whom I fell in love with, in the beautiful city of Qubit. She isn’t the one, whom I kissed and made love all night. Slowly, I came back to my place, apologizing to her.

  ‘Sorry, Aditi. I couldn’t control myself.’ I apologized.

  Her face literally is blank. I cannot blame her. This is all weird and confusing.

  Meghana is still ingesting the fact, how did I end up here?

  ‘Rahim! Stay away from her. I will call the police right away.’

  ‘Sorry both, I mean no harm,’ I raised my hands ‘And I have no weapon with me.’

  ‘Why
are you here? What is your plan?’

  ‘I’m gonna tell you both something, you won’t believe.’

  ‘What is that?’ Meghana on top of her voice.

  ‘Rahim came to Mumbai to execute the next bombing; this would be the big one in the series of blasts.’ They were horrified for two things; one is for the next bombing detail and other is for me referring to my own self as a third person.

  Chapter VI

  I told them everything that I figured out. Even though my theory sounded bullshit. It is my truth and I hope them to believe it too. They would at least realise that I’m not guilty or mean any danger to anyone. I handed Rahim’s diary to Meghana, I found in my briefcase, she began reading. Aditi, on other side is still gazing at me, like I’m an alien from another universe. Her eyes scanning my whole body, to find out if she can find any difference against Rahim of her universe. If they don’t support me now. I have no other option left than going behind bars. Meghana promised me in yield of the real truth that will help, if my theory is proved to be right.

  Journal Entry

  March, 2011

  The narcissistic abuser rejoices when you recall your wounds and your struggles, and it triggers when someone breaks your heart. The nights I spent with Aditi relieved daily stress, tasting her tight lips, circling the spot which pondered her thighs to resonate with desire, while her tender skin being vulnerable and intimate as her naked body over mine has sewed the pain stitching my heart. Her loud moans and long deep kisses have shown their power that I almost dropped the thought of revenge each night in the exchange of pleasure I gained from her.

  Early stages of our relationship felt so trusting. But now I knew underneath her skin and inside her mind, she never understood my pain and past heartbreaks which perceived to be my flaws. Every night we were into each other but never felt it. To a narcissist, any open wound is an invitation to cut deeper and always will cut a wound even deeper than the first. So, I decided to follow the directions of narcissist group and united with them for the mission against humanity.