The Branded Criminal
In Search of Liberation
Yakub Totanawala
Yakub Totanawala
Copyright © 2021 Yakub Totanawala
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, organisations and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entire coincidental.
Due care and diligence has been taken while editing and printing the book. Neither the author, publisher nor the printer of the book hold any responsibility for any mistake that may have crept in inadvertently. The Author, the Publisher and the printers will be free from any liability for damages and losses of any nature arising from or related to the content. All disputes are subject to the jurisdiction of competent courts in Bengaluru.
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any from or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
Yakub Totanawala asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated, without the Author’s prior written consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. Violation of this copyright will be enforced to the fullest extent of the law.
To my spiritual mentors who taught me that service to humanity is the essence of life.
To my Dadaji and Dadima, Mummy and Pappa, My Mother In-Law & Father In-Law. My Brothers and Sisters, Brothers-in-Law and Sisters-in-Law, my wife Rashida and daughters Farida and Jamila. And all my friends and well-wishers.
To my School and College faculty and staff.
To all my business clients who helped me understand the realities of the corporate world.
To all the victims of oppression.
To all the human beings and the organisations that work for the welfare of the humankind. All those who believe in peace and prosperity of entire human race.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. There is no intent to degrade any individual or group and the author does not assume any responsibility for errors, omission or contrary interpretation of the subject matter herein. There is no guarantee of validity of accuracy.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Disclaimer
Chapter—1
Chapter—2
Chapter —3
Chapter —4
Chapter —5
Chapter—6
Chapter—7
Chapter —8
Chapter—9
Chapter—10
Chapter—11
Chapter—12
Chapter—13
Chapter—14
Chapter—15
Chapter—16
Chapter—17
Chapter—18
Chapter—19
Chapter—20
Chapter—21
Chapter—22
Chapter—23
Chapter—24
Chapter—25
Chapter—26
Chapter—27
Chapter—28
Chapter—29
Chapter—30
Chapter —31
Chapter—32
Chapter—33
Chapter—34
Chapter—35
Chapter—36
Chapter—37
Chapter—38
Chapter—39
Chapter—40
Acknowledgement
Reference/Attributes
About The Author
Chapter—1
In Search of Peace
Do not destroy what you cannot create. I remembered my father’s lesson as I gazed at the baby who sat on her bottom, licking a bar of chocolate. Yes, creation is marvellous, and so is a human being. The breeze hummed a love song, and the baby’s soft and curly light brown hair fluttered, signifying freedom. Her pinkish complexion, plump cheeks and chubby hands provoked universal love. The baby relished the sweet, which was now smeared on her tiny hands and sleeping suit.
I imagined her lips as the base, nose as the pillar, eyebrows as the beam, and eyes as the scales. I held up her ponytail and she mirrored the Scale of Justice and Equality.
She lifted her head and glanced at me. Her blue eyes sparkled like gemstones. One eyeball reflected the universe and the other eyeball, the earth. My heart pumped peace. I raised and slowly moved my finger and touched her spongy arm. The feel of her silky skin sent a tingle through my body. The sight of her put a smile on my face.
The chubby girl raised her fists and thumped them on her thighs and giggled. She lifted her hands waving at me to pick her up, embrace and cuddle her. My heart pounded.
Whoosh... A fireball came and smashed into her. I threw my hands in the air and jerked backwards. The demonic flame wrapped the baby and set her aflame. She trembled. Staring at me with haunted eyes, she screamed so loudly that her wails hit my eardrums and pierced my mind. I stared at her but felt powerless to do anything. My heart pumped pain, and my body stiffened and shivered. The fire leaned towards me and shrieked a horrifying laughter. I shut my ears. The fireball flew away with the burning baby.
NO! I screamed and sat up. I put up my hand to my forehead and felt it covered with sweat.
My assistant Shankar and a few staff members dashed in.
I sat trembling on my bed, gasping for air. Shankar rubbed my back and directed a staff member to fetch water. He checked my blood pressure. ‘What happened, sir?’
I felt as if bombs had blasted inside my body and paralysed my thoughts and reactions. I clutched my heart and covered my mouth. Sweat trickled down from my forehead to my neck. A hammer banged instead my head, and the room whirled.
‘You saw the nightmare again? Relax. You are resting in your private room in the office,’ said Shankar.
I gulped. Shankar held me, and I leaned on him, shivering. He fed me water and sprinkled it on my face. In a few minutes, I had stabilised. I sipped a lime juice which he handed me and signalled to them to carry on with their work.
‘It’s raining. Visit your heaven after it stops,’ said Shankar, and closed the door.
I wiped my sweat and curled up on my bed again. The nightmare that haunted me at night had begun to terrorise me in the daytime too.
Fifteen minutes later, I dressed up and stepped into my office. One entire wall was covered with a big board carrying the name of my business, VC Builders and Developers Ltd. It always filled me with pride and also gratitude to see this because when Bangalore had the software boom to become India’s Silicon Valley, I was there. I entered this field and through hard work, sailed the adversities of life to succeed.
Now, I threw myself into the posh leather chair, and held my head. No medication would ease me, except Lalbagh Botanical Garden. I puffed on two cigarettes, but the fire within burnt. My past reflection consumed me and spoiled the taste of my coffee. I pushed the cup away, loosened my tie. The chair felt like a bind and I turned it around in circles. The remote slid open the blinds, and through the foggy window I observed the misty weather and swaying trees that ignited my intellect.
I slumped as questions brimmed in my mind: What is the purpose of creation? Who are we? Where do we belong? What is our power as an individual and as a human race? Can a man create a universe, a star, a planet, an animal, a plant, or even
a hair? No. Then who created them all? And why? The cosmos holds infinite mysteries beyond our understanding. And when we cannot understand creation, how would we understand the Creator?
The blazing sun, the serene moon, sheltering skies, revolving planets, and billions of twinkling stars. Gigantic mountains, deep valleys, endless oceans, twining rivers, and silent lakes. Enchanting rainfalls, mesmerising snowfalls, lovely streams, and magnificent waterfalls. Delightful dew drops, thick forests, chirping birds, and ferocious wildlife. Mystical dawns, magical dusk, the burning volcanoes, and the chilling icebergs. A variety of mysterious animals and marine lives, and much more. Our planet is so rich in flora and fauna and supports life and growth. Among them, the best of creation is a masterpiece called human being, crafted with precision and blessed with the greatest gift of intellect. As superiors, humans are duty-bound to live in peace and harmony with everyone. The cosmos exists to create, sustain, develop and nurture living beings. Doesn’t it signify the importance of living beings?
I stood up and neared the window. A pair of sparrows perched on the windowsill attracted me. The female shook itself and fluffed up its feathers. The male climbed on her to mate. I crossed my arms and stared at the tiny birds. They finished their contribution to the survival of their race and separated. I slid the glass shut. The sparrows squinted at me and flew away.
‘Would you like go to Lalbagh?’ asked Shankar, holding the door. I nodded. I collected my jacket and exited.
My Audi failed to outshine on the Indian roads. The endless jam caused by a downpour blocked it amidst the government buses and autos. And the passengers scanned it with envious eyes.
‘Newspaper, sir.’ My driver handed me an evening daily.
I glanced at the heading: A thief murders a man who retaliates to save Rs. 5000. Fuck. I folded the paper. The bottom headline: A techie woman gang-raped and murdered. Fuck. I chewed my lower lip with my teeth and threw away the newspaper. I swallowed the thick lump in my throat and rubbed my face. My shoulders sagged.
How can one human being kill another? Does anyone understand the importance of life?
Humans have failed to value life. We boast about our power of destruction and ignore our inability to create. Due to our disgraceful mindset, we brag about producing offspring but disrespect the phenomenal reproduction procedure.
Reproduction for the ignorant means sex, but for the wise there is abundant wisdom. The process of a man mating with and impregnating a woman with a filthy white fluid, who for nine months prepares a baby in her womb and delivers a live human being possessing the characteristics of its parents, cannot be meaningless. Reproduction is divine, and a living being is a miracle. And we must respect this supernatural phenomenon.
The vast earth is partly fertile. When nature showers rain, the crops do not grow everywhere, but only on productive land and on selected patches. Of them, many get spoiled before maturing, and many while harvesting and filtering. And more during transportation and storage. Again, much is lost in cleaning and preparation, and a part goes wasted as uncooked. Finally, humans consume the finest of the refined cultivation. Post consumption, the body keeps the superior intake and makes blood out of the best. It disposes of the rest through the natural cycle, usually every morning. The best blood turns into semen, which contains millions of sperms. Though each can create a human, thank heaven, they do not, and go wasted. Sperm rarely enters the uterus. Hah. One in 14 million. Mind it, a few lucky ones fertilise and in the end, the best and the finest of sperm develop into an embryo. Supported in the womb by the universe, it grows into a foetus, ready for delivery after nine months. Nature’s unique and divine gift is thus created, preserved, developed and reproduced. For the wise, reproduction signifies life’s importance; and for the ignorant it still means sex.
The Creator’s gigantic machinery works round the clock in harmony and precision, to support this precious life. Man is gifted with exceptional qualities: a flawless form, an ideal body, enormous strength, quest for innovation, a daring spirit, a unique intellect, unbounded mind, infinite capabilities, and much more. All perfect to rule this planet. But alas! This extraordinary creature has embraced evil to satisfy his greed for power and wealth. Famed for his corrupt behaviour, he is a threat to humanity and all living organisms and creation.
Thank God! We survived the gridlock and reached my paradise. I exhaled a sigh of relief.
Lalbagh Botanical Garden is the city’s famous historical park. Spread across 240 acres and accessible with four entrance gates in different directions, the park is a haven of peace. It disconnects me from the careless world and connects me to myself. People who are exhausted with handling monsters disguised as humans, replenish their spirits here. A visit to Lalbagh provides energy to survive the corruption and immorality. It erases the pain caused by the social, religious and political system. Its gliding pathways drive out the traumas of traffic jams and potholed roads. The pure air flushes out body toxins and attunes you with nature. It is situated in the centre of the chaotic city, yet the park uplifts you away from the illusionary world.
I stepped out, fixed my tie, and draped the suit coat on my shoulder. I entered the garden through the Northern Gate located opposite Kengal Hanumanthaiah Road. A gush of breeze rustled the leaves and barged towards me for welcome me. The cool air circled around and chilled me, raising goosebumps on my skin. I shivered and stiffened and soaked in the beauty of nature. The overwhelming floral fragrance filled my lungs and made me human. Lalbagh assures me that the Creator cares and loves us.
The grass lawn extended to the centre with unequal plants on each side. I ambled on the left on a stoned pathway where weeds projected out from the gap between slabs. The sounds of birds chirping, bees humming and wings flapping replaced the urban blaring of traffic. Squirrels skittered around the lawns shadowed by tall trees. The fading light of the setting sun peeped through the fluttering leaves and formed glistening trails. Washed by the rain, the plants and the park shined lushly. The fresh and rich earth expressed joy through its aroma. Crows feasted on the worms that surfaced on the damp soil to breathe. The puddles reflected the sunbeams. Along the gentle breeze swung the endless varieties of flowers. The water droplets sheltered in the leaves like pearls in the shells. I stretched my hand and touched the silky moist petals. A drop fell on my nose. I jerked my head away. Ah. I became alive. Paved pathways, stone benches, dedication plates, towering trees, green grass, water fountain with sparrows bathing, sun sinking beyond the horizon, the red and orange sky, and birds pecking and tweeting. It was magical.
The pathway leads to a hillock. Further on the right side near the Glass House is a fenced area, my regular place. I preferred a concrete bench there with legs rooted in the soil and edges curved outward. A seat where I met myself and pondered the creation and me.
I strolled ahead, gazing at the hill. A man bumped into me. His face hit mine, hurting me. My eyes squeezed shut for a moment with the pain. I massaged my nose. Then I glared at him through my fringed lashes and said, ‘Don’t you have eyes? Your mother hasn’t taught you how to walk, huh? Idiot.’
He pressed his cheeks and nose with his palms. Aged in his twenties, the man sported a torn and faded blue shirt smeared with grime, and his loose black trousers were ragged from below the knees. Contrary to his dress, his face shone like the rising sun. He stared at me and said, ‘Same question to you, sir. Don’t you have eyes? Your mother hasn’t taught you how to walk, huh? Idiot.’
I froze. The insult jabbed me. Being a millionaire, I expected him to apologise to me using the British-gifted word “Sorry”. Instead, he was being insolent and mannerless. We stared at each other, and his frowning face started to turn pale. He moved aside.
‘Get lost, you rascal,’ I said, and kicked a pebble and proceeded.
I reached my bench I called my throne. I hung the coat on its back, spread out a napkin on the sitting area and reclined on it. I sprinkled some seeds on the ground and soon a flock of pigeons gathered near m
y feet.
I habitually visit Lalbagh every day for relaxation and when depressed, I drop in twice or thrice a day. Being in my forties, I was warned by my doctor to work out if I didn’t want the medical professionals to enjoy my wealth. However, I visited the park to get peace instead of exercise.
The sunlight waned and the sky turned into a dark blanket. I crossed my legs, relaxed my body and started reading one of my favourites: Animal Farm by George Orwell.
A little while later, on my right side, I glimpsed the man who’d bumped into me, staring. I squinted at him. He slipped behind a tree. A few seconds later, he peeped again. Our eyes met. He blinked and turned away. Millionaires attract attention, and I am habituated to people gazing at me.
People gaze at millionaires. But why? They think rich people have no worries? There is mayhem in everyone’s life. I tread the path of thorns in search of roses. People do not understand this reality. I tolerate the indifferent society that follows the “Survival of the fittest” rule. Either you feast upon or get feasted. Staring at tycoons will not make you wealthy. But the truth is, to earn riches, you crush your morals, dump your life purpose, and flush out compassion. Remain as alert as a hungry predator and pounce on every prey. Follow greediness, and you will gain wealth and power. It will, though, never give you satisfaction, but leave you in ruins.
Oh. The man peeped again. My eyes narrowed, and I checked for my purse and mobile. I edged towards the fence. He scuttled and meandered to the other side. Must be a pickpocket, targeting unaware people in crowded places. Bloody wallet-thief.
I returned to the bench and continued reading. I received no formal education and studied at a school for not more than 15 minutes. Yet, I introspect, thanks to books and my life.
To satisfy my craving for knowledge, I learnt the English language myself. I became a habitual reader of newspapers, magazines and books. I often grabbed a few whenever I found a vendor, sitting with priceless wisdom converted in words and compiled as books, spread out on a city’s footpath. I had a cupboard-full, and after earning riches, I created a spacious library in my bungalow. I have read more than a thousand books on various subjects. This habit helped me interpret deep, intense and hidden meanings of life, uncommon to all.
The Branded Criminal: In Search of Liberation Page 1