Abhik Dasgupta's Blog

A river's conceit

I sometimes wonder

If all words are like small standalone islands

Yet a sea of poetry held them together

Why has their depth to be measured evertime one wrote ?

Like the many petals which drape a flower's heart

Knowing well that fragrance can't be kept captive

Like those unsaid words

Which resonate in my dreams

Flapping their wings in the blue infinity of life

Why this urge to walk on your shore alone ?

When you have never lamented your loneliness

Why did you tell me to keep my dreams alive then ?

Does the rhythm of your flow never care to stop even once ?

To measure the ripples my heartbeats make

Every morning I drown myself into you with the sunrays

And wait for your broad, smiling waves to kiss my lips

I wait till the night suddenly swoops down on the earth

And you part your curly, black hairs to whisper into my ears

'Come .. for once let me flow with you

I'm tired of flowing in the direction of tide

Of changing my mind everytime with the seasons

Come if you rejoice in becoming lonely with me'

Ignoring the sudden twists and falls of your mind

The storm in my heart .. the fear of erosion of emotions

I pull the oars of my boat determindedly towards your outlet

To write a poem of union with the sea again.

© 2021. All rights reserved.

The Mechanic Strikes Again: Chapter 7 - Don't Fall Asleep

As she opened her eyes, she found the scene to have changed again . There she was all alone - watching her parents inside a car - fear of death written on their faces; as they tried to open the door locks without result. The train was very near now and it's whistle almost deafened her ears.

As the yellow beam of light illuminated the tracks, she found to her horror a girl standing on it. She knew she had to save her if she wanted to save herself. It was only a matter of chance now - her running steps versus the speed of the train. She had had these nightmares again and again. They had never left her.

Suparna was in a state of shock . The incident was too much for her to bear. So Shivangi had to visit the morgue to identify the bodies. More than the trauma of recognizing mangled flesh drabbed in white; accepting the unnatural, untimely deaths of parents was perhaps the most difficult task for children. It tortured her even today. She could still smell the incence her mother burnt before the idols everyday. It was the same smell which adorned their bodies - draped in white and carried on shoulders for the last rites. How peaceful the eyes of the deity looked at her home .. like the peace with which her parents rested on their pyres now.

The scene changed to Kalighat temple. But unlike at home - here amongst thousands of believers fighting to have a glimpse, the idol of Goddess Kali looked up with the fiercity in her eyes which had once destroyed the world. A number of purohits were waving five-basined lamps and fly-brushes before her. The air reverberated with the sounds of tambourine and bell - metal played on with sticks. The eyes misted with the smoke of burnt resin.

Tears flew down her eyes in silence. It was a mixed feeling of fear, love, regret, haplessness and hatred. Then everything went mute before her again. Her eyes were paining and she found it difficult to keep her eyelids open. Suddenly she wasn't feeling the emotions anymore. She found herself immersed in a sea of blackness. As if the whole universe was going to be created before her eyes now !

Like a phoenix the masked face resurfaced in the dark again and within moments it's entire body revealed itself. That high forehead with receeding hairline, those blood-shot eyes .. They were those same gloved hands she had seen a little ago at her sister's flat .. the same slender fingers which were trying to drown her in the bath tub. A finger pointed backwards and Shivangi turned her head to witness something written with invisible hands on her rear window - the scratching of fingernails on the glass making her giddy. 'Wait for me in your dreams, my sweetie' As she read the lines, realization dawned upon her in a moment. She came to know how her sister had disappeared. She knew her only chance lay in keeping awake. Otherwise she was never going to find out in her life time her sister's whereabouts.

The mask was falling off little by little. First the white coloured skin, then the red symbol on the cheeks. The smell of molten plastic was nauseating. Blood was flowing in a stream down the collar, painting the black jacket in red. Now only a pair of eyes stared at her in the dark. As the face inched closer she found the skin had been charred with flesh having peeled off at the cheeks and jaws revealing the teeth inside. A tongue rolled out from what could be called the mouth and kept licking Shivangi's cheeks as she desperately tried to keep her eyes open.

Soon the burnt, rotten pair of lips locked into hers - the fetid stench making it impossible to breathe ; while the gloved hands pinned her against the car seat. Her state of helplessness worsened further with the feeling of an icy cold hand sliding inside her blouse and the recognition of a sharpened steel object caressing her breasts . Judging by the pressure of the knife on her skin and the excruciating pain which followed she knew she was bleeding profusely. She closed her eyes.

Almost at the same moment the shrill ringing of her mobile phone brought her to senses. The man .. mask .. gloved hands .. black jacket all turned into dust like magic and mingled with the fog outside. 'Inspector Sarkar' she cried with joy as she saw the name on the screen.. But her happiness didn't last long . Before her worn out brain could register the real state of affairs - her position on the road, the vehicle's speed .. she found that her car had hit the bridge and was running straight towards the railings.

The Mechanic Strikes Again: Chapter 6 - A Solo Ride

Shivangi paused her hand on the ignition key of her car and glanced at the building outside . Every time she left after visiting her sister she had waved from the balcony. Suparna's flat was visible from the driveway of her block that led to the main gate of the complex. Inevitably her eyes would go up to the eighth floor to catch a glimpse of her smiling face.

Today for a moment it appeared she was standing there like before. Shivangi couldn't hold her tears any more. After her parents she had been her only support, the sole companion whom she could call her own. Yet she had failed to protect her . If she could've stayed with her she wouldn't have let her go like that. A young girl to stay alone in a city - their mother would've never approved of Suparna's decision. Shivangi's heart bled. If only Upendra had been considerate.

Shivangi was averse to selling off their ancestral property and see a commercial complex grow in its place. After all she was born and brought up there. There were so many memories associated with the place. Since it was going to be difficult now to maintain such a large property for lack of manpower, Suparna had suggested letting it out on lease/ rent. But Upendra could never let go of such an opportunity to build his dream project. And he was at liberty to do whatever he wished. The property had been transferred by Shivangi's father in the names of his daughter and son-in-law as their wedding gift. And Upendra knew it wasn't difficult to convince his wife.

It was the month of December and after a long while Kolkata was having a bitterly-cold winter. The weather office had also informed that the nights would be foggy and visibility affected for a couple of days. Once she turned towards Dakhshineswar at Dunlop more, a wind started to blow chilling her to the bone. As her car tore its way through the cloudy gray smoke, strange patterns drawn in yellow started to emerge before her eyes.

Soon creatures of all shapes came alive from the dust. The sound of rattling of windows got drowned in a loud commotion of people - their camaraderie being so infectious that she felt an inexplicable belongingness to them. A moment later she found herself standing before a bonfire with tribals dancing around it. The peculiar make-ups on their faces and paintings on their bodies blended with the vegetation of forest so easily that the whole forest appeared to be swaying to the beats of the drums and flutes.

It seemed that she was watching them in hiding. Suddenly one of them found her. But the man was different from the rest as could be made out from his costumes. He wasn't a tribal at all. In place of wild make-up on his face, he was actually wearing a mask - a horrifying white mask with a pair of blood-shot eyes piercing a huge forehead . He was clad in a black leather jacket and loose trousers, a bow-tie worn neatly around the shirt collar. Taking her unawares, her car's windscreen broke into pieces and the masked face showed himself inches away from her.

Almost at the same time she let out a scream her hand also got released from her steering. She was approaching the bridge she knew from the sound of a train nearby and was aware that if she failed to stop the car now it would either fly into the railway track running parallely or go crashing into the river below. She tried hard to take her foot off the accelerator but her limbs had gone numb.

She knew this was going to last for sometime. And within this time she had to manuovre the vehicle to save it from swerving left or right. Fighting her innermost fears for survival was a trial she had been subjected to many times before, a curse she had been suffering since childhood. But it was not the cosy comforts of her home. Again on second thoughts, where was the difference ?

Till her parents were alive, she didn't doubt about her safety. She knew she could always fall back on them in her miseries. But now who bothered whether she lived or died ? With Upendra away from home most of the time she was left to look after herself. She couldn't blame him either. God had not gifted her with complete womanhood. There was nothing with which she could hold her husband back at home. If she would've been a mother, she could've passed the rest of her life watching her child grow. Her child could've been her shield to all those ridicule, hatred and indifference she was subjected to since her marriage.

Her whole world had been falling apart before her eyes and she was nothing other than a mute spectator. 'No. this can't be the end. No this is not real .. this can't be real' . she cried out but her scream only pierced the stillness of the night to pieces. There was no car in the vicinity - not a living soul who'd hear her .. only the sound of the wiper on her car's windscreen to challenge her patience .

The Mechanic Strikes Again: Chapter 5 - A Brush with Death

Suddenly she found a pair of hands grab her head and pull her out of the water. Almost immediately the darkness all around her was expelled by a powerful beam of light from above. 'Good heavens. A minute later and you would've drowned yourself in the bathtub Mrs. Ghosh. Shivangi found that an electrician had been fetched and the fuse box repaired. 'What happened ? How did you fall asleep ? Are you Ok ? She could feel her heartbeats racing as Arunava came closer. She had changed and taken rest for sometime by then.

'You must've been stressed out. You've had a lot on yourself since last night. What you need now is complete rest for a couple of hours. Your husband is away, you said. Are there no one at your home .. a maid .. any relative ? Well bring in a friend if that's the case, but please don't stay alone. And don't worry. We're looking after the case and will keep you apprised of any developments. File an RTI anytime and you can keep a check on the efforts being made to find your missing sister that way'.

Shivangi smiled in her mind. She knew she had what was known as 'Narcolepsy' in medical terms. All of it had started when she was in class three. Suddenly one morning there was guardian call and the class teacher had complained her father about his daughter's inattentiveness and falling asleep in class. Later one night she had woken up screaming. That was when she had her first nightmare. She found it impossible to move her limbs when she woke up.

And things had only worsened further since then. The symptoms came up on her sister about a year later. Her father had consulted a number of doctors but to no avail. Referring to quacks, priests, even occultists had continued unabatedly and it wasn't long before the neighbours and relatives had labelled them as bananas - often sharing a laugh behind their back.

Psychological diseases are still considered a taboo in the society in which they had been brought up. It took a great deal of concealing and cajoling on the part of Shivangi's parents to convince her in-laws that their daughter-in-law was perfectly all right. Still the air couldn't be cleared. On their wedding night when she had left him unsatiated at the peak of his desire, Upendra had charged at her directly 'Your father has deliberately married off a sickly daughter'.

Shivangi knew there was no cure for Narcolepsy yet. Formal medications not being of much help, healthy sleep patterns and reducing stress in daily routine were the key to keep well - all of which were difficult to practice in today's hectic life where one had to survive the fierce rat race, everyday . Besides, one had to learn to keep one's emotions in control as well - those which triggered the sleep disorder.

Shivangi had tried to be as concise as possible. But now it seemed everything she had tried to hide from Upendra .. from the world .. from herself would be surfacing one by one. If the police sought Suparna's medical reports they'd also come to know that besides Narcolepsy she had Post-Traumatic -Stress-Disorder (PTSD) too since her parents' deaths. Her marriage would be on the rocks when Upendra comes to know of it all. Even the police would stop looking actively for Suparna once they come to know that she had psychological disease. They'd soon infer that Suparna had gone missing all by herself and there was no foul play involved. And who was not aware of the fact that the thousands of people who went missing in the city by themselves never came back, and their names were written off the records in no time ?

'Ok. Go home now Mrs. Ghosh. Just remember what I've said and if you need any help you have my number'. As he came closer and looked into her eyes Shivangi could feel the butterflies again. 'Are you sure you can drive of your own ?' Shivangi tried to smile, but actually blushed.

The last time she had got a ring from her sister she had been pulled into the flat by some mysterious force, and now hours after that there was something which stopped her from leaving. Suparna's memories thrived in every room, every corner of the flat and it seemed they won't leave her until she found out what happened to her. As Shivangi looked at her sister's smiling face from a photo frame in her bedroom, it seemed Suparna was hiding somewhere, waiting to spring upon her sister and shake her up from her reverie. Inadvertently her eyes fell on the bed-side table and it sent a shiver down her spines. This time she was sure it wasn't her hallucination.

'Officer just look at the glass over there'. Arunava Sarkar looked in the direction of Shivangi's shaking finger and walked up to the bed side table briskly. 'What do you see Sir ?' 'Your sister had her last sip of beer in her flat before she disappeared'. Arunava shrugged his shoulders. 'I can bet I found it to be filled a couple of hours ago when I first visited the flat'.

The Mechanic Strikes Again: Chapter 4 - The First Clue

'Did you notice the TV Mrs. Ghosh ? Shivangi looked at the broken LED screen in horror. The screen was sunk inwards giving rise to a vent which went deep into the wall behind, yet it didn't bore a hole through it . It looked as if someone had dug a tunnel inside the TV to pull something in. 'Could be a chemical reaction which caused the explosion', Arunava Sarkar murmured to himself. 'Can a TV explode by itself ? Is there some major electrical dysfunctioning in the circuits in this flat ?' He called the constable to collect samples of the wreckage. The forensics would take care of the rest.

'Your sister had placed requisition for a mechanic .. a TV mechanic. The apartment owners' association informed us. She had complained that a particular channel was always showing up whenever she pressed the remote. And then videos would keep playing all by themselves with the remote failing to pause/ stop them. Reporting the cable operator had not helped - there are many users of that network here and they weren't facing the issue. A TV mechanic had visited the flat today, we checked from the registers. We've called his number but found it switched off. I've send my boys to the shop's address and they'd round him up soon for questioning'. Arunava apprised of the situation to Shivangi in a single breath.

Suddenly something fell from a rack of the TV unit on his shoes. He shone his torch below and found it to be a small wooden box. Alarmed, Arunava took out the revolver from his waist holster in a jiff and pointed it at an invisible enemy.. 'Anyone here ? F**k. Why don't you show your face .. you .. Don't you even think of escaping or else I'll shoot you '. The light from his torch only displaced the layers of darkness for an instant. His voice reverberated across every nook and corner of the flat as if in mockery of his situation. Then scaring the hell out of them a mouse ran across the room. There was a pendrive in the box. Both of them shot questioning glances at each other.

Arunava checked the washroom window till he was convinced that there was no possibility of any exit through it. Suddenly Shivangi found herself left all alone . There was a strange feeling of someone standing close to her. She could feel an unknown presence. Shivangi strained her eyes in the dark. It seemed a figure had taken shape in black and white and was staring at her. A white mask .. a pair of blood-shot eyes .. a strange symbol drawn in red on the cheeks. The chin was moving up and down.

It was mumbling something. But Shivangi was not feeling frightened anymore. Rather it was weariness which was descending into her eyes. She was feeling sleepy .. too sleepy to keep her eyelids open. The water in the bathtub appeared so refreshing now. She found herself climbing inside and slowly immersing her body into the cool waters. As peace and tranquility filled her mind she felt herself carried to another world. It was like a dream.

There was serenity all around. The air smelt of incence. She saw her mother offering worship in their house. Her father looked up from under the newspaper - relaxing in his armchair. Suparna called her to watch a new bird which had perched itself on the guava tree outside their house. All the conversations continued in faded tones. The two sisters sat chatting and giggling for sometime in the balcony before being rebuked by Mom. 'Its aready 12:30. When shall you two go for a shower ? Shivangi saw Suparna close the washroom door with a bang and climb into the bathtub. She was never punctual in her daily activities yet never tired herself from receiving scoldings from Mom.

The water was gushing out of the tap as she closed her eyes. Soon the tub began to overflow. Before Shivangi could drag her sister out of the water a pair of hands grabbed her neck and drowned her head inside. Shivangi looked at the gloved hands .. slender fingers . Her sister was flailing her feet helplessly in the water while her arms made futile attempts to release herself from the vice like grip. She was watching her sister die before her own eyes. But she wasn't feeling any concern, sorrow or responsibility towards her. It seemed like the furnitures, bath tub, taps, shower, basin and other fixtures, she too had turned into an inanimate object. She tried hard to scream her lungs out but only a long, grudging groan came out.

The Mechanic Strikes Again: Chapter 3 - The Investigation Begins

Within hours a police car pulled up into the porch of a posh building complex in Saltlec with its distinct blue flashing light gracing the roof - the wailing siren forcing the residents to wake up ashen-faced with fear from their midnight slumber.

The men in white lost no time in swinging into action. The main door of the flat was barricaded with 'Do not cross' tape within minutes. A police officer stood like sentry at the entrance of the block - jotting down statements of those retiring late from work before allowing them entry , while another waited at the lift gate on eighth floor. Visitors' registers were fetched, CC TV footages were collected, housekeeping staff were summoned. Suddenly the building complex of Suparna Sengupta's flat was brisling with activity.

'Hello I'm Inspector Sarkar. Arunava Sarkar. You filed a missing person report in Saltlec police station an hour ago Ma'am'.

Shivangi found a tall, sturdy man of 30-35 years age with a pair of dark, probing eyes and a pointed nose looking at her. He had long, curly hairs and his face was covered with short, boxed beard. He forced a cutely bashful smile when he shook hands and it seemed to set free a million butterflies in her stomach.

The flat was filled with darkness. 'There must be a fuse cut', Arunava gestured to someone and lighted a torch. Shivangi remembered that when she had visited the flat an hour ago the lights had flickered and went out, one after one. The first thing which took their attention was the feeling of doom which remained suspended in the air like thick, black clouds. 'Let's check the balcony first', Arunava looked at Shivangi. Those strict, probing eyes had a twinkle in them now. She lowered her eyes.

The sound of water trickling could be heard coming from the washroom. In the darkness everything appeared ghastly around. The light from the torch drew strange shadows on the walls as they crept from one room to another.

They checked the almirahs, desks, shelfs, lofts, under the tables, below the bed and every where for clues. But the girl seemed to have disappeared suddenly as if under a spell. 'I hope you haven't touched anything here when you entered before. Be careful Ma'am. We may lose fingerprints of your sister's abductor'. Shivangi knew she could trust him.

A three BHK apartment was too big for Suparna, but no small-sized flats were available for rent in the complex. On the top of that the close proximity of her office from the location and a reasonable monthly rent had made the broker's offer irrefusable. Once it appeared to Shivangi that three shadows moved across the walls with them instead of two . 'Something is wrong with the fuse box Sir. I'm afraid It's the job of an electrician.' Almost immediately a man sprang out of nowhere, scaring the shits out of her. In her state of anxiety she had forgotten the constable.

Strangely some things in the room had changed. The furnitures seemed to have changed positions. A chair had been pulled in front of the dining table. There was a plate with traces of biriyani in it and few crockeries lying on the table . But she was sure she had seen all utensils and crockeries in the sink last time.

An inkling caused her to check the microwave. The oven was hot, as if someone had heated food in it a few minutes ago. She could clearly remember Suparna's clothes to be lying at the centre of the sofa, but now they were lying at the corner. She had locked the collapsible gate and handed over the key to the caretaker in presence of Mr. Sen, the association's secretary. There was no way anybody could've sneaked inside. Was her mind playing games in the dark ?

The Mechanic Strikes Again: Chapter 2 - The Flat

A heavy gloom hung over the place when Shivangi visited it .. A never-ending silence left after a storm had passed through. But strangely everything appeared untouched.

All the furniture - the bed, sofa, cupboards, curtains - wanted to convey acts of a night in which they had been mute spectators. The dining table was clean, her dinner plates were lying in the sink and the subtle aroma of biriyani still filled the air . Suparna's dresses were lying on the sofa. She had morning shifts now and made sure that she didn't had to waste time choosing them. A glass of kingfisher sat lonely on her bed-side table - her favourite beer, along with the TV remote. The bed was neatly done and it seemed she was just about to settle down with her favourite show. Everything was there except her.

Shivangi tried to strain her ears for a sound coming from the washroom .. the sound of water trickling. That leaky tap, she deduced. The last time she paid a visit they had decided upon the necessity to call in a plumber but it seemed it hadn't been repaired yet. That was the one thing she hated about Suparna. She was never punctual when it came to housekeeping .. always liked to lead a bohemian life. Times have changed and girls ought to be more organised and willing to take care of themselves these days. Not having a boyfriend at an age of 26 was also a matter of concern.

The absence of parents made Shivangi responsible towards seeing her younger sister settle down into marital life. But she was at a loss of inventing ways to convince her. There wasn't much age difference between them which made it even more difficult to act her mom. Moreover, Suparna was a born introvert and it seemed she had recoiled more into herself since their parents' deaths.

Last night she had called her. There was something so queer about the whole incident, whenever she thought if it. It was difficult to believe that Suparna would finally give in and take such a drastic step. They weren't on talking terms after that argument following the decision to sell off their ancestral property in Burrabazar. Actually it was Upendra's decision.

Suparna was in the final year of her college when their parents died in a car accident. She had reluctantly stayed with her elder sister's family - Shivangi and her husband in Chandannagar for a couple of months. Then after she landed a job in BPO she moved over to Saltlec. Shivangi had caught her taking anti-depressant pills one day .

Though she had pledged to dessist from such acts of self-destruction again, she knew once alone she would resume her habits. How many times Shivangi had asked her to refrain from watching those bullshit on TV. She had even locked up some TV channels in her Saltlec flat - but to no avail. She said the shows gave her thrills and made her forget her loneliness.

But Shivangi knew that strong emotions like fear were harmful for asthma. Medical science also affirmed a link between asthma, anxiety and depression. Her doctor had made it clear that no matter what but Suparna should not be provoked. Too much excitement was fatal for her. Since young, Suparna loved to thrive in an imaginary, make-believe world. It was peculiar that given her age her bookshelf still abounded with fairytales and childhood fantasy books; not to mention the thrillers, mysteries and horror titles which sometimes even questioned her sanity. Did she appear to be frightened on telephone yesterday ?

One by one the man was entering the missing person's sex, age, height, built, complexion, dress when last seen, hair cut, visible identification marks, tattoo on hands etc.

'Does your sister have any habits, like smoking .. liquor .. drugs .. ?

It seemed to Shivangi that the question was aimed at her.

No

Boyfriends ? Anyone particular she was seeing ?

I know some of her friends but no one particular.

Why ?

If there was someone she would've told me.

Have you checked out with relatives .. her friends ? You sure she hadn't gone to anyone of them ?

No Sir.

Okay. I'll need the details of all your relatives and friends. We have to interrogate them.

What is the address of the location from where the person reported has gone missing ?

The Mechanic Strikes Again: Chapter 1 - The Disappearance

'Since when has your sister gone missing, did you say ?’

Last night Sir.

What brought you to her apartment ? You told she stayed alone’. She had called me.’

'You mean she called you to say she was leaving ?’

I got a ring from her mobile number, but couldn’t make out anything other than her groans and laboured breaths at the other end. What ?

She was trying to spell out something amidst her gasps. I tried to call back but without result. I even tried to reach her landline. I thought maybe her health had deteriorated . She has asthmatic problems you see.

Hmmm .. I see. At what time did you receive her call ?

8:30 PM

You too stay alone or .. ? My husband is out of the city .. business tour

What business ? Building promoting

And you ? Are you working ?

No. Housewife.

Hmmm .. From Chandannagar to Saltlec .. takes two hours to reach by car Yes. Around two and half hours. That means you reached at 11:00 PM and found your sister missing from her flat. At what time did the security guard see her going out ?

Her flat was locked from inside. How could the security have possibly seen her ? Do you have a duplicate key to your sister’s flat ? No Sir.

’You mean to say the room was locked from inside and you broke-in to find her having vanished into thin air ? Please talk some sense Ma’am. Do you understand what you are saying ? The officer on duty shot an irritated glance at Shivangi before resuming in sifting pages of a worn-out register before him.

'The security guard and Mr. Sen of the opposite flat had accompanied me. Actually they had broken the lock.’

Was the door bolted from inside ?

There was something in Shivangi’s expression which reconciled the man. Was it helplessness, anxiety, fear or her charm ? 'Okay. Give me the details of the witnesses. We’ll have a word with them first.’ Now which floor is your sister’s flat in ? Eighth floor So did you find anything unusual upon entering the flat ?

'The TV was shattered’. Shivangi fixed her gaze on him and tried to read his mind.

'You mean the screen was broken to pieces ?’ But why would she do that ?’ 'She didn’t do it’. 'And there was no sign of an intruder having broken in ?’

No Have you checked the washroom ? Was there no way by which she could’ve climbed out through the window ? No Sir. The window is too small for someone to try that even if ignoring the risk of falling down from such a height and killing oneself . The balcony ? Isn’t there any emergency exit ? There is Sir. Fireman’s exit. But the door hasn’t been opened since years. The old, rusted lock hasn’t been broken .. we saw. 'Did you check if any thing was missing ? Valuables, cash .. any important documents ? As I said before officer .. there wasn’t any burglary.

Well .. please don’t mind but was your sister suffering from any psychological problem ? Depression ? We all suffer from depressions these days Sir. But nothing that would drive her to run away from life. A very happy-go-lucky girl she is .. never breaks down before adversities .. I know her from childhood. We grew up together.

Any other illness ? As I said officer. She took medications for asthma and was on inhaler. Your sister’s mobile number ? Is it missing too ?

Okay. But I found her mobile on the charger

Any enemies you know of ? She’s a favourite with everyone. Why would anyone want to harm her ? 'Okay I’ll need some personal info to fill in here. Shivangi doubted whether the man was buying her statements at all. She also knew she had to convince him somehow, if the police had to be taken for a visit to Suparna’s flat. Sometimes places and situations spoke more than conversations.

Why to blame the police ? Well.. anybody would’ve taken her to be a mad woman.

My Daughter's Photograph

Present Day : 00:30 Hrs

My hands are tied behind my back. From the position I'm lying I can only make out the ceiling. It is strangely curved in shape, like the wooden hull of an upturned boat. The smell of moistened earth announced the approach of rains. The sound of drums of a tribal dance underway is wafting in from a distance. I remember to have been invited to such festivals so many times - to have squatted on the ground with the entire village, mesmerized by the women singing and dancing in line sequence to the rhythm of drum and tune of flute.

Sounds of muffled voices bring me back to reality and I strain my ears with the hope of catching any word. I try to cry but only a feeble groan escapes my mouth. I moisten my cracked lips with my tongue. I need water badly. My thoat is parched from thirst and the back of my head is paining unbearably. I don't know how long I'll be able to hold on in this condition.

What time is it of the day ? Or is it night now ? I don't know. Turning my eyeballs to the right, I can make out a window. The glass pane is covered with a thick cloth, most probably a blanket which is blocking the light outside. There is a gasoline lamp burning close to my head which is driving me nuts. Will closing my eyes bring any respite ?

A huge, dark statue stood before me, blocking everything behind. It was a hindu goddess - pitch black in colour, eyes which burnt like embers and lips smeared with blood, a pair of prominent, white canine all adding to her ferocity ; a garland of skulls worn around her neck, eleven hands brandishing weapons while one held the amputed head of a corpse - from which blood trickled. It was the most scariest of idols I've seen in my life. Suddenly the idol went up in flames and her skin started to peel off at places, exposing her flesh, arteries and bones. Her face had also changed to someone I'd known so well. 'Maya !' I shrieked with horror. But there was noone. And then I realized why Maya could never be here.

Ten Years Ago

Since the day I landed at the obscure village near Suri, forty-eight kilometres from Rampurhat town of West Bengal; I knew I'd have to start from scratch.

They lived like stray cattle on the streets, filthy and buzzing with flies; their families having abandoned them for long. The villagers still believed the disease to be God's curse, punishment for their sins in earlier births. People avoided going near them, let alone touching them. Hardly anybody knew that treatment for leprosy was available now. It's despicable the way these illiterate people were misled based on their religious beliefs, so that the society could easily wash their hands off their responsibility towards them.

I started with renovating the ramshackled church, turning it also into my residence and clinic. At first people ran away seeing a man clad in white robes. I guess they haven't seen a Christian priest before; the church having been abandoned for long. It took a great deal of cajoling to convince them to come for treatment. But what could medicines do in absence of proper diet ?

A primary school for the lepers' children was founded . The elders were given training in making jute bags, cane baskets and other handicrafts and their wares were later sold at Rampurhat handicraft fairs. We called our project 'God's Blessings' The children however came for the lunch, rather than to learn ABCD or arithmetic. As news of our initiative spread, more and more people started enrolling at the rehabilitation centre.

I took it upon myself to visit every home regularly to check. It was during one of such visits that I found Maya loitering on the streets with a sullen face. I was astonished at her resemblance with my daughter Mary. She too had long, curly hairs extending to her waist; except that her skin was black. Her parents had given her the name Mahamaya after the hindu Goddess Kali, but the villagers called her just Maya. She didn't seem to be infected, so I wondered why everyone avoided her. As it turned out, the villagers considered her evil, the cause of their misery. I learnt that her father worked as a Mason at Suri. She had a brother two years younger to her and both had started going to school in Suri, only a year back.

While coming from home I had carried one of Mary's dolls along with a frock, few hair ribbons and lots of chocolates; amongst other things. When I beheld her belongings everyday it made me feel her presence. And now when I saw Maya, I couldn't help giving them as a gift. Her dirty and tattered clothes gone now, she looked like a little princess in the white frock. I could never forget her cheshire cat smile. While every child in the village addressed me as 'Doctor Uncle', Maya would call me just 'Dakta', unable to pronounce the bengali word clearly at her age.

A discoloured patch had shown up at her back at the age of ten, when her parents had left her at the leper colony, fearing leprosy. All the problems had started since then. The children who played with her had died one by one, either in a night's fever or while vomitting blood. Without heeding the villagers' warnings I brought Maya to my chamber.

Upon examination I found her to be affected with psoraisis and not leprosy. It is a rare disease in which there is a peeling rash across the entire surface of the body. The rash itches or burns intensely, and spreads quickly. That explained her skin bleeding. But I knew very well that psoriasis was not contagious and so death of other boys and girls through her was impossible. It could be they got infected with diarrhoea and going by the unhealthy conditions in which they lived; it was most probable. Maya was in the advanced stage of 'Erythrodermic Psoriasis' and I knew her chances were bleak. However I still prayed to God for a miracle.

No one came on Maya's funeral. Michael and his wife Nancy, who had brought her up at the village made the arrangements and I had to officiate the burial. We had sent news to her parents but to no avail. My heart sank as I saw her being laid inside the coffin - her little life's final destination. She seemed to be sleeping and her face was smeared with all the innocence of the world. As I read the prayers while she was lowered into the earth, I found it hard to hold back my tears. Then I remembered. Sometimes we don't understand God's ways immediately.

One Day Before : 17:30 Hrs

I'd just completed my evening prayers and was about to have my supper when a jeep arrived outside and a group of men armed with swords and machetes stormed into the church. First they took out all books from the shelves and set them on fire, pushing and pinning me against the wall when I tried to resist. They ransacked the building, turning the almirahs down and breaking all medicine bottles and first aid kits.

The leader of the gang, Rajenderbhai - a bearded man in his mid-thirties then held up his hands implying his men to stop. 'Pack up your belongings and go back to America, Doctor'. He spoke in amateurish English. 'Okay I'm ready to do that if you promise to take care of these hapless people.' I took stock of the situation before speaking. A ridiculing smile crossed the man's lips hearing me speak hindi. I tried to look into his eyes, making effort not to sound a bit aggrieved, but trying to find a solution treading his way'

So long Rajender was standing with his right leg on the chair before me, but now he kicked it away, pulled another one and sat crossing his right leg over his left. 'We'll take care of our people. You needn't worry Saheb'. Bringing his mouth near me he hissed like a snake. 'Our people don't need Christian missionaries to throw them alms and teach a few english words in exchange for .. You have no right to make our people Christians against their wishes.' 'Good gracious' This really surprised me. 'But we don't convert anyone against their wish'. I defended. 'We only take in those who willingly likes to embrace Christianity out of love for Jesus Christ. You and your men are free to be my guest and check out for yourselves'.

A crowd had gathered in front of the church - people on crutches, people with distorted faces, people without eyes, with fingers of hands or feet missing; which they deliberately tried to hide by wrapping shawls around them. Fate had not just made a mockery of their lives, but also snatched away their self-respect, the power to reason, to decide between right and wrong.

'These missionaries have come here to strip you of your religion, alienate you from your fraternity, your country. Never believe the white-skinned, they can never become your friends'. Rajenderbhai was at his job. The homebringing process had begun since long behind my back, I found, and today's act was a pre-rehearsed one, perhaps the concluding part.

They broke out in loud applause after the hate speech aimed at all Christian missionaries - the people who sacrificed their lives towards improving the lives of lepers and slum people in India for decades. It was then that I saw axes and sticks in their hands. The eyes which once begged compassion was now filled with rage.

'Do you know what had happened to Maya ? Or the many other children who died in this man's hands ? At this one of the men whispered something into their leader's ear. 'Hmm . Your centre has other serious charges too, Doctor. You've fed beef to the villagers. 'You've also distributed lingeries to the womenfolk - tried to stain the rural innocence of village people with the filth of the west.

Rajenderbhai continued with the accusations unabatedly. 'Let them off and they'll never stop adultering our society. Do you think these people deserved to be spared ? He faced the villagers again. I knew anything I said in my defence was useless now. So I left it to God to save another of his innocent son from further misery and no matter what I had complete faith in him. At the mention of Maya, Michael, stepped forward and measured me using a mixed expression of sorrow, anger and hatred; before spitting on my face. Then someone hit me on the head from behind.

Present Day : 01:45 Hrs

These are days of sunny spells and scattered showers in India. The rain has stopped since long, and the air was getting warmer again; but still no signs of my abductors. Maybe they've decided not to come at all. Perhaps my worst fears is going to be true - that they're going to starve me to death. The thought of water once again brought attention to my parched lips ! I could even drink my body waste now. The room was getting hotter and hotter every minute and whether it was due to the sun outside or I had caught a fever I couldn't say. At this moment I became aware of a strong odour - a pungent, oily smell I was so familiar of. Kerosene!

Suddenly I was choked by black smoke billowing from the floor causing me to cough my head off.

Almost instantaneously the window glasses cracked into pieces letting in currents of hot air into the room. It took some time for my worn out brain to register the fact that the building had been set on fire. And the realization of it sent a cold wave of fear down my spines. The first thought which came on my mind was of Mary. When I closed my eyes I saw my daughter smiling at me .. that same cheshire cat smile. 'Remember my birthday Papa ? You've promised to come home'.

I tried to wriggle my hands free from the rope that tied to the metal rings of the trapdoor below. The inconvenient position I was in, my lack of skill at it and overall the fatigue in my muscles made the task impossible. I could feel the intense heat near me and it appeared I was lying at the mouth of a huge oven. I knew I'd have to roll away from the door opening in the nick of time to prevent myself from falling into the basement room and getting incinerated inside.

Seconds seemed like hours and minutes turned into days as I waited for the flames to leap up to the rope tying my hands. And then it happened. I heard the flames sputtering near my ears and felt my skin getting roasted. Almost instantly the rope snapped, throwing me into an abyss of death.

It seemed I was falling into hell and I could hear voices of trapped souls from below pleading me to set them free. I could also make out a girl's sobbs, spelling out my name in her own unmistakable, inimitable way, pleading me to free her. That single moment reminded me once again the purpose of my life and I thanked God for chosing me. How my hands had managed to grip the iron rings at the last moment, how I gathered the strength to haul myself up, I don't know. My gown caught fire in a moment and I realised my legs were getting burnt to a crisp.

When I reached the floor above I could barely get up. In that state of shock and despair I recognized my church now. The place I'd been tied down was the sanctuary and the vesting room was right below it. The room had an entrance from behind the church and it was strange that a trapdoor existed here that I didn't know of. Also, there was no staircase going down.

The statue of Christ had come off the wall and was lying head down on the altar. The organ console in the choir was broken, the chairs in the nave upturned, the pulpit lying on the ground. The church was beyond recognition now. With flames all around, the transept or narthex were difficult to locate. Keeping a direction of right angles roughly to the altar I rolled away on the floor looking for the right hand side transept. As I neared the exit suddenly a part of the ceiling crashed down, blocking the door. A wooden joist hit me on my head and I must've blacked out for few moments.

That harrowing experience of making my way through the towering inferno and reaching the Narthex will give me nightmares even several years later. Everytime I made an attempt to crawl forward, I remember some invisible hands pulling me back. With claws as sharp as steel they tore away my flesh as I cried out in pain. All around me I could see silhouettes of different shapes and hear their whispers. Slowly they came near .. very near me till I could feel their hot breaths on my cheeks. And then the putrid smell of their burnt, rotten flesh began to torture my nostrils.

When I came out at last, laid on my back and looked at the sky above, the church was a roaring blaze behind me. The last thing I remembered was the sound of running feet and someone calling out my name.

It took about six months for me to recover. Complex skin grafting operations .. facelift .. multiple fractures .. spinal cord injury. And it made me crippled for the rest of my life. The inspector of the local police station visited me at the hospital one day and asked if I knew my abductors before. When he asked me to write an FIR and help them draw sketch of the leader of the group, I declined. My religion has taught me benevolence .. to forgive .. to believe in the change of heart ..

Moreover I know these people would get away no sooner than they are arrested. Even if there is law against illegal religious conversions, how could anyone take law in their hands ? Without strong political backing, how can anyone dare to conspire against a man believing in a minority faith .. take local people in their confidence and try to burn him alive, all in a secular country ?

Epilogue

Back home in America I place flowers and light candles before Mary's and my wife's portraits. I curse myself everytime I'm reminded of my helplessness in trying to save my child before I could even cradle her once in my arms. Perhaps it would have been better if I had listened to the doctor's words. Dorothy's body wasn't prepared for motherhood yet but I could hardly have waited for a year or two. I know only through my faith in Jesus Christ in all obscurities of life can my sins be atoned.

I celebrate Mary's birthday every year .. buy her new clothes, dolls and everything my heart desires. I can't stop doing it. When I'll return back to work I'll take her memories with me again. I've got to go back to India to complete my mission .. It doesn't matter if I'm not a missionary anymore. Who said one has to be one in order to serve God's children ?

The project which I had started in Suri must be completed and running. The diseases deadlier than TB, leprosy or diarrhoea in India are perhaps poverty and superstition. If we can fight them only then will mankind attain true salvation from sins owing to religious fundamentalism. Maybe only then will Maya's soul will get emancipation.

As I pack my bag, I'll keep aside my daughter's frock and hair ribbons. Now that I have a photograph of her I don't need to carry her belongings anymore. No matter whatever I've to endure to spread God's love, I know I'll always have Maya with me. In my heart, she'll always remain the daughter Mary we always wanted but never had.

A Puppet Play

Magnet

It's been long since measuring waves in Physics classWhen I could easily send iron feathers afloat into the air Many springs later I find myself collecting sea shells againThe naked, inebriated night is beckoning to get lost now Filling the glasses of your eyes little by littleAnd the complex theory of scienceIs transforming into white pigeonsAnd getting lost into the attraction of the infinite

Oasis

If ever in your journey of lifeYou find some unknown, unrestrained dreams blocking your wayTell your eyes to keep them dazed in your intoxicationTill the time your fire can wet them in creating lifeAnd you can tear away the contract deed into pieces and say " Here's my gift of Oasis to youDon't ever get lost in sand storms again "

The Enchantress

You can summon spring on earth at your will A doused match-stick too can give birth to a sun The long abandoned class struggle can resurface once again from a cigarette ashtray How many times does love need to burn to become immune to heartbreaks ? The nights passes away mercilessly pouring sorrows into glasses The desire of drinking the nectar of your physical grace and becoming immortal Has kept alive hundred thousands of poems waiting to become insects again

Unrealised Womanhood

If you believe I can dedicate a night to the lonely rivers When the jingling of your voice would enrich the moonlight My emotions are waiting for a volcano to strip Caged in the serpentine embrace of your breaths Can the reverberations of a rainless, scorched existence Inspire a pair of sensitive minds abruptly withdrawn from mingling into a sea of happiness ? Can motherhood set free the debt of chastity nurturing in your womb through centuries And give recognition to the unrealised womanhood ?

Balance

Balanced on the brink of social denouncement our terminal desires are walking a tightrope Whereas fireflies could've easily lit up your flower garden at night Like a bee my mind is painting your body with the colours of gulmohar now Our lips are sucking in our weariness .. melancholy Our minds fascinated with lust are learning to maintain balance between our bodies Little by little our tainted selves are being stripped down to reveal our souls Though aware of a moment's carelessness to be death for sure Our dreams of dawn are kneeling down before the attraction of an obstinate kiss

If you meet suddenly

If a rainy afternoon suddenly meets an eighteen year old you one day Would you be ready to walk on knife edges again ? Will the sun draw a poem of fire lovingly on your forehead now ? Can a pair of doe eyes watch a wet heart - burn ? Once your forest could change into the spring's tresses and liquefy mount vesuvius Can the barricade of your full-grown braid be able to stop the bloodshed of a matured heart now ? Can your kisses wet lost human values once again ? Like you wet your house's courtyard with the auspicious rice-paste ? If you ever come across your eighteen year old self again Ask her if a river could become spring again ?

The Wait

The homeless emotions are waiting to watch a storm since long A cloudy night is waiting to rain down on your mind The petals of my untold stories scattered on your courtyard Are waiting to be picked up to colour the horizon Discovering your mind's new mode of music now doesn't make the Esraj's tune sad any more Even the love spilling out of your body and wetting your nights Are waiting for that dawn When you'll meet your lost self again

The Return

If you want you may return back Like the birds return to their nests at the end of the day Like the sudden weary and unresolved life craves to get back it's security Like the evening's love lifts the veil of teary - eyed night And caresses pillows and blankets with the moonlight of conjugal bliss You may return back keeping the beggar's glass empty The one who could've forgotten life's misery collecting intoxications of the Oasis Before getting extinguished forever can he burst into flame one last time ? Doesn'nt the pain you inflict to fulfill your whims of measuring emotions Flood your heart too everytime you engage in your cruel game ? You complain of your inability to read your mind forever But have you ever diffused the clouds around your heart with your mysticism ? Have you felt the differences in polarity which define man and woman ? Still if you won't stop trying to fathom the depth of sea with the waves at shore If you wish to ignore the magnetism of the blue horizon to blow conch-shell before the holy basil at sunset If you wish to return to your mirror searching for your lost image again you may go But please burn your pair of wings before you turn mortal again So that fairytales can never become true ever

The Deceiver

If you find yourself getting melted little by little In a puppet transformation factory If the wreaths of indifference and neglect of years Turn into marital chains and shackles, standing in the way of your freedom You'll be bound to pick up your smartphone one day " Hello, Anyone there beyond seven seas and thirteen rivers ? " " Can you help me take breath in open air ? " Your pent-up fire of lust need to ascend to it's peak in order to free the curse of chastity Spread your wings like a bird to the beckoning of the unspeakable Can the full moon's grace wet your lips now ? When the vesuvius gobbles up your motherhood ? A scarlet woman would seek the blue sky in her accustomed nudity of the night Your neck, breasts, navel, buttocks and vagina would be flooded with dead insects Once the wealth of your eyes could build a Tajmahal Familiar smell, familar touch, familiar hatred, familiar tears of happiness Which an enchantress could never pay the respect for The pride in your physical grace never fail to trample on the earth Which cracks into pieces trying to hold a river disloyal to her heart And you wipe off the sun's poem from your forehead shamelessly, without hesitancy To fill in the void of your hair-parting with the waning moonlight You put up empty glasses of loneliness filled with your inebriation for display To imprison unknown, unrestrained dreams of dawn with your fake promises The love which you beckoned only to paint your courtyard on fullmoon The love which never tired balancing on a tightrope The love which could've waited countless nights in hope of an oasis Today you have unknowingly undressed an eighteen year old incomplete, failed love The barricade of your braid can hardly give shelter to homeless emotions now Managing the dupatta of your traditionally worn saree from falling down on the altar of marital promises The jingles of a pair of running feet coloured in lac-dye Would be certainly stopped by a familiar encumbrance of security And the magic mirror would show the peeling off an angel's radiance to reveal an ugly, cruel deceiver