Bharat Rakshak

Spy Story 5
The Cyst

Initiation.

"vilaiyERaPetra um iraththaththAl
viTuthalai koTuththIr,
iraajaaKaLAka lEviyaRAka
umaKena therinthu koNTiir"*

The young man sang in a remarkably hoarse voice for his young face, while keeping both his hands spread to the front, face open upward. He did that again and again in the same tempo and tune, like some kind of 'saadhakam'. It clearly looked like part of a sermon of the new generation churches, but there were no accompaniments, or the overt enthusiasm normally seen in such functions. There were no visible symbols of a sermon present either.

The stubby middle aged man sitting on a well padded chair behind the teak wood table was listening to this performance with scant interest. Time and again, his attention got diverted to a sheaf of papers he held in his hand, but he did keep glancing back at the young man often, as if to keep him interested. He was well built, with a dark complexion. The round face with some evidence of extra fat was adorned with a thick moustache, which complemented a pair of bright eyes that seemed to drill into the opponents. He was wearing a simple dress that could easily be considered a military camo uniform. It was hidden behind the table, but there was a loaded sidearm in his hip holster, which never left him.

They were in a room that was rather well appointed. It was devoid of any windows, and the walls and ceiling were paneled with polished wood. It was appointed like an office room, with a desk made of polished teak wood, and a padded chair behind it. There were a couple of chairs on the opposite side of the desk for visitors. There was another table, apparently used by a secretary, with a laptop computer. The main door to the room was closed shut, so was the small door that led to a toilet on the side. An air conditioner purred on the rear wall, and somehow, the entire room seemed to reverberate with that, giving an impression that the walls are not really solid. The room was empty except for the two men.

There was a 'ding' from a bell that was mounted above the door. The young man, who was, by this time, seemed too bored with the constant monotonous chanting of the hymn, missed a beat as he glanced at the older man behind the desk. The older man waited indifferently till the hymn was finished, and then lifted his hand slightly in a signal. The young man stopped instantly, and stood in a reverent pose.

The older man sat, lost in thought for a moment, and then, as if making a decision, put the sheaf of papers back on the table, and faced the young man again. Then he spoke in a rather high pitched and broken voice that seemed unusual for his demeanor, and in a language that is more appropriate at a pulpit or podium.

"Pullai**, remember this very well. Guard this well, better than your own life. Never forget this, nor what to do with this. One day, it will save the nation"

The young man fought hard not to show his boredom on this 'speech'. It was pretty evident that he had heard it many times already. Still, he brought in an expression of extreme deference to the words.

"Certainly, leader", he said in a clear, even tone. A tiny flash of a smile and an appreciative nod played on the face of the 'leader'.

"Now you can go" The 'leader' said. "Go with Divia. Listen to what he says, and do what he asks you to. The road may be hard, and the job may be tough, but you must give a good fight, and keep your mission." He paused for a moment, trying to frame the next sentence in his mind.

"Where am I going, leader?" The young man asked. The leader glanced at him, a bit annoyed.

"You will get directions as you go along. Right now, your order is to go with Divia". He said, smoothly moving to the stance of a military commander from the earlier, more priest-like stance. It had an instant reaction in the young man. Unknowingly, his limbs went to attention.

The leader turned his gaze down at the table, thought for a moment, and then pressed something under the table. There was a click at the door, unlocking it. It opened slowly, showing a young man in similar uniform as the leader. He was armed with a sub machine gun across his chest, and also a sidearm. He stepped in smartly and came to attention.

"Jessica Amma is here, leader". He reported. The young man, still standing to the side let out a gasp, and involuntarily glanced at the leader. The leader sat still, trying hard to hide his facial expression for a few seconds.

"Well, take Simon out." he instructed the soldier, and turned to the young man. "You are NOT meeting her, you understand?" The young man was quite distressed, but he had learned that any sign of abeyance to such orders from the leader would be big trouble.

"Certainly, leader", he muttered, and with great effort brought himself back to attention.

The leader waved slightly, and Simon followed the soldier out.

"Send Amma in" the leader ordered as the pair was walking out of the door.

Within moments, a woman, wearing the same uniform as the leader, but without any sidearm, entered the chamber. Despite the uniform and the military air, she seemed to be highly distressed. The dark, almost black, face was flushed with red sheen, which was accentuated with the bloodshot eyes. With the uniform, hairdo and the facial expression, she really looked like an angry tigress.

The leader, though he was preparing for this encounter, was startled by the appearance of the woman. He almost rose from his seat, which was very unusual for him.

The woman stood directly in front of the table, a few feet away, and glared at the man. He, who often gave orders to send young men to certain death without the flinch of an eyelid, was rather bewildered by this personification of fury. He saththere, waiting for whatever she brought in with her.

"Leader, where are you sending our son?" She hissed.

"Son?" the leader fumbled, for want of a proper expression.

"Yes, son. Our Son. Simon Mariadas. Where are you sending him?" She demanded, with both hands on hips. The leader kept quiet for a long moment.

"Jessica, I can't tell you, but it is not something that you are scared of" He finally said.

"Won't believe you!" She cried out. "I won't believe you. You have sent my brother away to certain death. Now you are taking away our son" Her expression of anger gave way to a wailing sorrow.

The leader stood up, and walked around the table. The woman suddenly gave a startle, and her expression changed instantly.

"Pardon me, leader" she stammered. "Consider it to be the sorrow of a mother. Pardon me" She turned to the man in a very regretful and pleading look. The leader was taken aback by this sudden change. Then, with great haste, he removed his right hand that rested on the holster of his pistol, and let it fall idly to the side. The woman noticed this, and let out a huge sigh of relief.

"Sit down, Jessica." the leader told in a sweet, but firm voice, pointing to the chair. The woman collapsed down in a heap. The leader walked close to her, with an expression of love and care on his face.

"Jessica, I will not be lying to you. I am sending Simon away from danger, where he can carry the seeds of our mission for safekeeping. He can keep the flame alive even if we all perish." He said, looking straight at her eyes, with all the appearance of honesty he could muster.

"Leader, you know that all our lives and bodies belong to you, and you know the best how to use it" She said, now apparently relieved.

"Go back now, Jessica." He touched her shoulder lightly. She startled again as if a jolt of electricity passed through, and looked to his eyes lustfully. "I will visit you at your place soon" He said, taking his hand away. Her face lost the sheen instantly. Without another word, she rose, touched the feet of the leader, and walked away.


* A Xtian devotional song in Tamil. No need for translation, because the meaning plays no role in the story.

**Pullai: kid/son. Remember that these dialogues are in Tamil, translated to English.

Here you go folks. The fifth issue of Spy Story series.

Due to less than usual flow of creativity, I couldn't accumulate a comfortable level of buffer. Still I decided to start posting, because some feedback and encouragement might help the flow.

Good good start.....

I can already visualize bare chested, lungi wearing men with big umbrellas on horse back with back drop of monsoon fed green Kerala backwaters in his stories. The strong fragrance of chandan and coconut, women in their traditional dresses with veni in the braid..

Yay! Dileep is back! Welcome Anna!

Yay... Dileep Ettan is back!! Looking forward to an exciting story..

moving this to mil for visibility.

/now to start reading.

Good beginning. Looking forward to more...

Good start dileep Sir...
Waiting for more updates...

Welcome Back Dileepetta...
Exciting start.. Waiting for more..

Wow, finally wait is over.
Still cant forget Jasmine.

har har mahadev, dilip ettan.. eagerly waiting.... carry on the good work...

Dileep ji...Welcome back...

Chapter 1

The crystal clear notes from an expertly handled bow were tantalizingly filling the ambiance within the Volkswagen. Musical purists would have many things to complain about this particular rendition, but for Anish Kurup, it was just the right one. He didn't care if it was produced by an electrical pick-up mounted on a non-acoustic body, or the fact that it was a non-traditional, almost heretic mix of ragas. He found it extraordinarily effective to help him concentrate during the long drives, like the current one. It has even come to a level that he wouldn't think of hitting the highway without the wheel of his trusted Volkswagen in his hand, and this rather long track on his iPod. And hitting the highway was something he did almost daily.

Anish’s line of work made him to travel a lot by road. He ran his own risk management consultancy, which required him to make a lot of site visits to various projects. He preferred to drive around everywhere. His doctor had in fact given up on him on this, but not after pleading, and winning, in getting him agree to buy a very comfortable car. Anish didn't know as fully well as the doctor, but his back was the real Achilles heel for the body of steel that was the rest of him. He was under the impression that the army physicians must have been a paranoid lot to make him discharged on physical grounds. His otherwise sharp mind refused to accept the fact that his injury had made him unfit for service. Nevertheless, the injury often kept reminding him about itself by the back pain and numbness of legs.

The road was almost a straight line here. It was only two lanes, thanks to the utterly myopic vision of the people of his state, who objected to the widening of the highway. However, it was paved to good standards, and the Volkswagen gave a silky smooth ride. The violin music that played via the Bose audio system added to comfort of the drive as usual.

It was a special composition by his friend Balagopal, the budding composer of movie music, played by Bala himself on his precious electric violin. There was no accompaniment, except a synthesizer generated slow rhythm. Anish was no expert in music, but he realized that this piece keeps him very calm, composed and alert during the long drives. But experts in music differed vehemently. It was, in fact a mix of two ragas, Shanmughapriya and Simhendra Madhyamam, which differ by only one note. Shanmughapriya has the lower Ni and Simhendra Madhyamam the higher one. It created a kind of elusion to the ear, which forced the mind to be kept alert. Bala had explained it once to Anish, after he relayed some criticism about the apparent 'mistake' from some of his relatives.

The road was not busy at all. The stretch now went through a row of low lands, filled with paddy fields and coconut groves. It was an embanked stretch, ending in a bridge across a river. A casual look to his rearview mirror showed him that a Force Traveller with markings of Kerala Police was following, almost tailgating, him. It did not have any lights flashing or anything. He was surprised. There was no appreciable traffic coming from opposite side, so the traveller could pass him if needed. He eased on the accelerator a bit to force him pass.

The van also slowed down equally. WTF! Anish muttered to himself. He considered pulling over. He didn't want to be accused of blocking a police vehicle, but he remembered that driving a Passat has its own value among the cops in these parts of the world. He kept the reduced speed, constantly glancing at his mirror. The van was just following him at a close distance.

A bit of tension crept into Anish's mind. Years of military and commando training, though rusted at the edges, was trying to kick in. He felt the adrenaline starting to pump a bit. Constantly scanning the road ahead and the van in the mirror, he took a couple of carefully measured breathes to calm himself. By the time, they were already approaching the bridge.

The bridge was almost half a kilometre long here, as the river flattened out in the open wetland. The bridge passed the water at a height of more than 30ft, so that boats could easily cruise under. It was a route frequented by the house boats, as well as the service and freight boats the served the hamlets to the east. The Passat approached the threshold of the bridge, and with a little thud over the expansion joint, entered the first span. The cabin filled with rumble as the tyres ground on the concrete.

Anish noticed another Traveller coming from the opposite direction. Something isn't right. He felt it, as the heartbeat started racing. He noticed that the van behind him started to pull further back, and the van opposite to him pulling to its left. The world went into slow motion, as the reflexes, though dulled by the years of inaction, took over. His eyes involuntarily assessed the sidewalk and the guard rails of the bridge. They observed and measured the slight twisting of the front wheels of the traveller, and the ever imperceptible sway to the right.

Counter intuitively, his right foot slammed down on the accelerator. The 180 horses under the hood, with an ample help by the modified controller, were unleashed, and the heavy car lurched forward. The steering wheel first snapped to the left and then to right. The tyres squealed with pain, as they ground against the rough concrete. His eyes watched the Traveller swing towards him, its own wheels squealing, and the disproportionately tall body swaying to the right. Like a couple dancing the tango, the passat and the traveller drew an arc around each other, till the middle section of the traveller found the right rear of the Passat, and made a heavy nudge upon it. The rear of the car started fishtailing, but the expert hands at the wheel snapped to the right, correcting the skid, even as the traveller swung completely to its right, and the wheels hit the raised sidewalk. Surprisingly, it did not turn over.

Everything went black for Anish for a moment, as the seat belt cut into his shoulder, and the numerous air bags exploded around him. The front airbag hit him with some force, but his momentum was to the left, and it slid off. The curtain airbags didn't even touch him. He came to the rest, with his body twisted to the left, with the seat belt almost pulling his right shoulder free from the socket.

Anish regained his senses instantly. He felt that he is fully back at his best commando self, and proved the fact with some of the choicest galis upon the stupid driver that caused the accident. He pulled himself back from the awkward position, and rested his back on the seat. Nothing seems to be broken inside him. He did a quick mental scan upon himself, and didn't find anything seriously amiss. The windscreen was still intact, and everything seemed to be fine, except the car was lying at an angle to the road.

He pulled away the now deflated side airbag and took a look to the van that caused this trouble. By the look of it, tit was pretty undamaged, and he expected the driver to come out and help him. But nothing seems to be moving from that van. His ears were still ringing, though rapidly clearing. He thought he heard a commotion from the other side of the van. He suddenly remembered the van that was following him closely. What happened to them? Did they crash too?

With some effort, he pushed himself forward. The car had run over the sidewalk, and hit the guard rails. He could see around the traveller that was lying at an angle to the other side of the road. He found the van that followed him was stopped just close to the van that crashed him. He noticed something chilling.

There was another crash behind them. A freight truck was lying across the road, completely blocking the road, and boxing in the van in the middle.

Suddenly, a bunch of people in a fight came around the stopped police van. There were a few cops in uniform, and there were some rough men in regular clothing. They were fighting.

This isn't good, Anish thought. He tried to move in an effort to get out, but he realized that the seat belt is stuck tight, and he is pinned by the collapsed steering column. He couldn't move.

The fight was ongoing, but the cops were losing. He saw a man who was handcuffed to a cop. He was trying to pull free from the cuffs. The cop was valiantly struggling, but he was seriously outnumbered.

Anish did something that he could given the state he was. He took out his phone, and started recording what he saw.

The fight didn't last. The cops were losing fast. They started to move to the back of the van, and Anish had to stretch far forward to keep his phone seeing things. He then saw something that chilled his bones.

The handcuffed man was casually chopping off the hand of the cop that was cuffed to his. Blood spurted everywhere, and Anish squirmed, despite his ample experience and commando training.

Then, one, by one, the men ran to the guard rail and jumped off into the river, leaving the unconscious (or even dead) cops on the road.

Anish pulled back his phone to stop recording. His arm had gone numb by this time, and with great effort, he let it fall onto the collapsed steering column in front of him, and hit the button to stop recording. As he was contemplating the next move in his clouded up mind, he felt his car drop with a heavy thud as the suspension that was keeping it up on the guard rail collapsed. Through the corner of his eye, he noticed that the traveller that had tried to hit him earlier, was backing up to hit his car again. He felt something break within himself, followed by white hot searing pain, and numbness creeping to his legs. Dark smog started to appear in front of him, as he started to slip into unconsciousness.

With great effort, he willed himself back to consciousness, and struggled hard to shut out the pain. With trembling fingers, he hit the button to send the video off to an address that came immediately to his mind. That was the last thing Anish would remember for a long while.

cliffhanger.

nice...

PS - What are hindustani names for Shanmughapriya and Simhendramadhyam?

Dileepbhai eat some garam garam bataka bhajiya with wagh bakri chaa and park yourself on your balcony with your laptop and just start typing away...

excellent start....keep posting.

Chapter 2

The well edited, but still gruesome images and video clippings of the accident site was looping continuously on one of the panels, while the customary BREAKING NEWS was scrolling on the bottom of the screen. The junior reporter was hyperventilating with his cliché filled soundbite in the background. All the local news channels were doing essentially the same, and the viewers had stopped paying attention quite a while ago. It was the same in the well appointed cabin of the DGP of the state police. The TV was on mute, and unattended, while Sunil Jacob IPS was sitting in his well appointed chair, reading the demi official e-mail report filed by Reeja Paul IPS, the region's Inspector General of police. He was repeatedly scratching his lower jaw, a habit he acquired after a stone cast by a student leader found him there, and made a scar, during his probation days. “This is not good, he thought. This is the proverbial thunderbolt after snake bite. The position of director general of police was more of a liability than a prestige, but someone got to fill it. Someone who is more of a diplomat than a cop. Mr. Jacob filled in that role well, and he hated problems like the present one.

The door opened and his ADC entered. “The channels are here, Sir” he said, knowing that the boss was in fact waiting for them. Sunil Jacob made a visible sigh, rose and grabbed his cap. He put it on, turned to the side and glanced at his reflection in the mirror conveniently placed behind a file cabinet. Satisfied, he walked out to the conference room to face the music.

The room was full, with all the channels, both local and national, having placed their equipment inside, and crowding up. It was hot like hell, even as the feeble, 'lowest bid' air conditioning unit struggled to give it a semblance of cooling. Some of the senior mediamen were standing outside, trying their luck to get any 'exclusive' comment from the man. Sunil Jacob was a media savvy person, and the channels loved him. He also kept very good relationships with all the media men in the capital. He nodded to the waiting reporters, and briskly walked to the table with a pile of microphones setup for the news conference.

“Today afternoon...”, He began his statement in an even tone. “there was a bizarre accident on the Keeramana bridge, with a number of vehicles involved. It also involved a police vehicle, which was carrying a prisoner under judicial custody. Many people were injured in the accident, including people from the forces. Some critically.” He paused and looked in the general direction of the cameras. The bright lights made him squint a bit. “Report from the field shows that the prisoner in the police van has escaped in the mayhem. Our team has begun the investigation immediately, and a search is on to find the prisoner. Five members of the force are injured, one critically. Another person, who was in a car is in critical condition. That is all we can say at this time.” He finished the statement, by scanning at the cameras around.

The reporters immediately started shooting questions together, and as per the established custom, the loudest shouter got the chance. “Who was the prisoner? Would you confirm that it is Angu Thevan, the accused in the Sohail murder case?”

“Yes, it was indeed Angu Thevan” Sunil said, trying to bring in a grave look on his face. “He was being taken to the sessions court at Kottayam with police escort for a bail hearing.”

“Do you suspect foul play?” Asked another reporter, expressing the immediate theory that came up in everybody's mind. Angu Thevan had made enough controversy in the news, that his was almost a household, and hated, name in the state. He was under custody, accused of brutal assault and murder of young Sohail Akbar, a boy who was hardly seventeen. But the real reason for people's interest in the case was his antics during the course of the legal proceedings, including the appearance of expensive lawyers to defend him. Many newspapers ran investigative stories on him, trying to find his background, and the source of the money that is being spent to argue his case. When the news about the accident spread around, almost everyone have conclusively decided that it was an operation set up by his 'friends' to free him, movie style.

“We are not leaving any option open”, came the guarded reply from Mr. Jacob. After thinking for a moment, he continued. “Like the people do, we too tend to think that there could be foul play, and that aspect is being investigated also.”

“Have you any lead on who are the people backing Angu Thevan?” Asked the reporter from the channel owned by the party in opposition. They had been constantly trying to show that the government, somehow, is reluctant to prosecute and punish Angu.

“I have answered this question many times already” Sunil said, with visible irritation on his face. “We have limitation in investigating that. You should understand that it is not illegal to assist an accused in the legal process.”

“But you could investigate the source of the money” The reporter said. The argument was going in the pre-set pattern that got established months ago, and he wanted to take it the same way till he gets what he wanted.

“I have no interest to discuss that here” Sunil snarled. “I have officers injured, and a prisoner escaped. My priority is to find him, and determine if there is foul play.”

“But if you find his source of money, you will find the source of this incident”. The reporter insisted, and immediately regretted it, as he realized he stepped over the red line here.

Sunil Jacob decided to ignore him. “I have work to do. We will meet again when we have updates.” He said with a forced smile, and walked away. The reporters who were waiting like vultures for any exclusive comments tried to corner him, but he lifted hid hand negatively, and walked away.

When he reached his cabin, he found his ADC come out of the cabin. “There is a message from DySP Ajith Kumar. It is urgent.” Sunil hurried in, sat in the chair and opened the secure e-mail message system.

Ajith Kumar was one of the star officers of his team in the district. The only problem was he was not an IPS officer, but a promotee. Still, he was a much better cop than all the polished IPS boys produced by the grand old system. He was in charge of the investigation of the Sohail Akbar murder case, and as the suspect is now at large, his team was given the responsibility to investigate the accident case as well.

Ajith’s report was short and to the point from the Blackberry that the department started issuing.

Two vehicles in the pile up, the Tata truck that followed the police van, and the Tempo Traveller that came opposite it, had fake number plates. Both were stolen the previous day. The Volkswagen car belonged to the man who was hospitalized in critical condition. “Wrong man at the wrong time” mused Mr. Jacob.

And there was still no indication of the driver or passengers of either the Tata truck or the Traveller. Investigation is being extended far to look for sightings of the truck and van, and possible identification of the drivers.

There was no information on the escaped prisoner either. Search is on all around, and the possibility of an escape via boat is high on the list.

The DySP had ended his message, requesting assistance from the marine police to search the vast waterways.

Sunil Jacob knew that his life has become a lot more miserable, just a few months short of retirement.

Good write up sir.. Waiting for the next dose..

Interesting name, and guess there is indeed a police officer with that name in your home grounds . Should be KPS and not IPS.

DGP has to be from IPS, so Deleep is correct.

I think you might be referring to Sri Alexander Jacob IPS who was/is ADGP and IG Prisons Kerala. Jacob Punnoose IPS is DGP Kerala since 2008.

However DGPs don't have ADC. ADCs are police officers attached to the Governors. and Military Officer attached to the President. DGP would have Readers or APS or PS.

Chaanakya, thanks for the correction. I had no clue what the 'man friday' of the DGP is called, so just used ADC.

The reason why I write about the fictional ISS is that I have zero knowledge on the real organizations like military and police There are no fauji or paandu in my, extended or SHQ family.

Nope. There was an Asst. Commissioner of Police in Ernakulam City by that name, and he was a state police officer (hence KPS and not IPS). Perhaps our man Dileep, got the name from there .

Chapter 3

The gentle murmur of the airconditioning unit, and the occasional blast of the air curtain heard when the doors were being opened were the only sounds disturbing the sombre atmosphere of the intensive care unit. As it is normal for such facilities, there were a few people, relatives of the unfortunate patients often fighting for their lives, sat on the small set of waiting chairs. A TV monitor mounted on one corner of the walls was running some entertainment channel soundlessly, but no one was paying any attention. The occupiers of those chairs were either deep in thought, or in prayer.

Ajish Kurup sat in one of those chairs, with his forehead supported on his palm. The nightmarish ordeal started the previous day, and the sleepless night had numbed is senses, and his mind was not sure if he was asleep or awake. Often he would doze off, and his mind would play the horrific scene of the limp body of his brother being carried in the ambulance. Often it would extend to the merciless grilling of the police, and also to the wailing of his mother, and the stony stare of his father, but mostly, he would lift himself back to consciousness before the dream reached to that point.

His world got suddenly dropped into a churning turmoil the previous day, with a phone call. It was from a police officer, asking if he knew one Anish Kurup who owns a Volswagen Passat car. His heart immediately started pounding, and he knew that there was something seriously gone wrong. When he confirmed that he is his brother, the police officer informed him, rather bluntly, that Anish met with an accident, and is right now being transported to a hospital. “No, I don't know if it is serious or not” the officer informed a panicking Ajish. “You please try to come over immediately”, he said. He was, however, kind enough to give the likely destination of the ambulance.

By the time he reached the said hospital, they were preparing to transport Anish to the bigger specialty hospital, where there was facility to do neurosurgery. He could get a glance of his brother while being loaded into the ambulance. He was unconscious, but there were not much of injuries in the body. He could not get any information on the injuries or the prognosis from anywhere. The police and doctors were too busy attending to the injured police officers. Anish quickly left the place, following the ambulance.

He had to swipe his credit card for a pretty big sum, on top of the insurance coverage of Anish, but once the bloodthirsty system of the hospital was satisfied its monetary lust, they started to give the best attention they could for the patient. There, he learned from the duty doctor that the previous hospital had detected a broken back, and thankfully, had braced him properly during transport. Anish will be immediately admitted to the neurology ICU, and it will take at least 48 hours to get any solid information on the prognosis. Things were, at least for now, settled.

He immediately went about calling his parents and some relatives and friends, arranging to get his parents up to the hospital, and also to get the stuff necessary for a longer stay at the hospital. He also called and informed his workplace, which was the regional office of a major real estate firm. He is likely to need leave for a couple of weeks.

Once he came back to the waiting area, he saw a Sub Inspector of Police standing there. He came to Ajish, and after verifying his identity, started asking questions about his brother. Even though the officer was courteous, Ajish was really surprised on the procedure. His brother was just involved in an accident. He had no idea where, when or how the accident happened, but as usually accidents go, he would have either caused the accident, or is just a victim. Investigation on how the accident happened was more of a matter of insurance liability, and it was unheard of to have such an investigation when the driver is in critical condition. Ajish was a bit irritated by all these, and he dared to ask the officer why he is being questioned.

“We have doubts about the accident”, the officer said. “Haven't you seen the news?” Ajish hadn't had time to see the news. He was constantly running around in the hospital. “A prisoner escaped from one of the vehicles” the officer said vaguely.

“Then why are you investigating my brother? He was just going on his own business when the accident happened!” Ajish did not hide his displeasure.

“Do you positively know where he was going?” The officer didn't quite like Ajish's tone.

“How would I know? He runs his own business, and travels a lot on business.” Ajish felt it incredible that the police is apparently implicating his brother.

“What business is he into?” The officer asked. Ajish felt the initial friendliness of the officer ebbing away.

He controlled his emotions. It is not a good idea to antagonize a police officer. He tried to calm himself and explained to the officer about the business of his brother. He also clearly mentioned that Anish was a honorably discharged NSG commando. That apparently made no effect on the officer.

The next hour was really an ordeal. The officer asked all kinds of questions about Anish, and Ajish answered them to the best to his knowledge. He couldn't gather anything useful from the pattern, except that there seemed a bigger conspiracy about the accident. After the ordeal, the officer left without even a fake apology. Ajish noted the name of the officer, just in case. He then went out to get a couple of newspapers to find out what really happened at the accident to have this kind of an interest by the police. He could not get much information, except that there was a multi vehicle pile-up on a bridge, and his brother's car was one of them. The news also mentioned that the accused in the notorious Sohail Akbar murder case has escaped from the accident site. One of the papers, famous for propagating conspiracy theories, had its take, indicating that the accident was set up to free Angu Thevan, the accused.

Ajish sat there, with no more energy left to read most of the news coverage, when he saw someone who was dressed decently walk up towards him. He instantly guessed who it was. Accident lawyers and their representatives always circled the emergency rooms like vultures, to hook the lucrative claim cases. This must be one of them. It takes a bit of tact to deal with them, and it was something Ajish was not really prepared to do at that time. Still, he knew he had to at least talk to the guy and send him off.

Ajish was right. The man introduced himself as a junior lawyer. The typical post accident talk followed, with the promise of the Moon and half of Mars if he allowed the lawyer's office to handle the case. Ajish tried hard to play the 'too tired to think' card in an attempt to get him off. He asked for the card of the gnat, but was surprised to be asked for his own card instead. Ajish gave one out resignedly, just to send the menace away.

The lawyer took the card, glanced at it and pocketed it. He then moved close to Ajish and whispered.

“Did you get any message from your brother after the accident?” It took him by surprise, that Ajith really didn't understand the question.

“You know..”, the lawyer talked more slowly. “Did your brother send you any message, say SMS, right after the accident?”

“No. What are you talking about? How can someone who broke his back send messages? It was a police officer who called me about the accident, and I drove directly to the hospital. That's all.” Ajish said confusedly, and his hands instinctively went down to take out his phone. He saw the man's eagle eyes eagerly following his motion, and he let the hand fall limp at the last moment, without getting to the phone. The man's eyes tightened and his face changed colour.

“If you received anything” He said in a very serious tone, totally unlike the past demeanor. “Please inform me right now.” He moved even closer to Ajish. “Do not let the police know about it. It won't do any good for you or your brother” He almost hissed. He then dramatically turned, took two steps, and stopped again. “I will call you!” He grunted and walked away.

Ajish stood there thunderstruck. He knew his brother is in much deeper trouble than some injuries, and he too might be.

Chapter 4

Deputy Superintendent of police Ajith Kumar struggled hard not to yell some of the choicest words at the young man sitting in front of him. It would be grossly inappropriate to do that, given what he had to undergo in the past couple of days. Also, it would be in his interest to keep the man in good humour, as Ajith clearly saw some threads, though the man had no clue about them, being in his innocent hands.

Ajish Kurup was called into Ajith's office in connection with the investigation that had been undergoing about the bizarre accident that involved his brother, and also the escape of a notorious accused criminal. Ajith Kumar, being the officer of jurisdiction for the area, was designated to lead the team. It has already grown into a sensational case in the media, and the pressure on the police was tremendous. The first order of business was to locate the escaped prisoner, and bring him back to custody. Despite widespread searches, on land by the regular forces, and in the vast backwaters by the marine police, no indication of the escaped man, or his alleged associates had turned up. Investigating the accident itself, and finding answer to the critical question whether it was a setup or not, was another part of the investigation. The police had questioned everyone involved in the accident, except those who are in critical condition. The initial investigation about Anish Kurup's involvement had shown nothing against the man. Apparently, he simply was at the wrong place at the wrong time, that's all. He was still in intensive care, with steel braces on his spine, and not yet healthy enough to subject to questioning. But Ajith believed that would be just a formality to take a statement from him, and let him pursue his insurance claim case on its own. His subordinate had questioned Ajish Kurup, the younger brother of the man, and Ajith Kumar found no need to talk to him.

All those turned upside down when he got a call from the Kaloor police station. The flat where Ajish Kurup lived was burglarized in the past night. The interesting thing is, nothing valuable seems to be lost, except a blackberry phone. The sub inspector also informed him that there was an attempted infiltration at the workplace of Ajish, which was foiled by the alert security staff there. Ajith Kumar immediately instructed to get Ajish Kurup meet him at his office as soon as he can.

Ajish was catching some very badly needed sleep, after getting his cousin to manage at the hospital. He attended the phone with a sunken heart, assuming it is some bad news from the hospital. It was bad news indeed, but from the care-taker at his flat. He gave him the news of the burglary, and requested him to come over immediately to take care of the police investigation. It was the proverbial snakebite after thunderbolt. He wasn't too much worried about any stuff getting stolen. There was nothing valuable there. All the burglars could get would be some clothes and accessories. Still, the legal process would need him be there. Gingerly, he dragged himself out of bed and prepared to leave. Being too tired and unable to drive, he called a taxi to go back.

The CPO who came to investigate the burglary was nice enough, and together they walked around the apartment, trying to figure the damage. The door was not forced. Instead, the lock was apparently picked, with some damage to the tumbler. Inside, the stuff was ransacked, but nothing seems to be missing.

Except his blackberry that he forgot to carry that day. It was his work phone.

He called his office to report that the phone is stolen. They had already been alerted about the incident, and had some news of their own to report to him. The previous night, there was an attempted burglary at the office as well, but it was foiled by the security guard. His talkative colleague even tried to lighten up the situation claiming that it was the bad luck of Ajish that reflects on things close to him. He specifically asked the lady to immediately alert the IT group about the missing phone, so that they can take action to wipe it.

Anish had to go to the station to file a statement. The station writer heard his story with lacking interest, until he lamented about his predicament of having all the troubles together, like his brother in hospital and his flat being robbed. It seemed to pique the interest of the officer. After the statement was made, he was asked to meet the Sub Inspector of the station. He had some questions, and right away, he called the investigation team of the accident, and reported his finding. Ajish was not happy about the order to meet DySP Ajith Kumar right away, which means another hour of drive in the taxi.

Ajish found the officer rather pleasant. He was given a seat, and despite his decline, tea and snacks were served. He also noted that the questioning was more conversational, not confrontational. Ajish had to tell all the stories again, but this time, a bit more comfortably. As the conversation progressed, it dawned upon Ajish about the possible connection between the burglary at his home and his brother's accident, especially because his blackberry is lost, and he was threatened about any message his brother was sent to him. He hadn't mentioned his encounter with the lawyer to anyone, but at this point, he felt it was prudent to tell the officer.

That was when Ajith Kumar wanted to yell at him.

Ajish noted the change in countenance of the officer, and was taken aback. He had, indeed found the threat by the lawyer who visited him rather odd, but in his dazed mind at that time, he thought it is more about damage claims than anything else. But now, after learning that his blackberry is stolen, and remembering that he had forgotten and left the blackberry at home that very day of the accident, things started making sense.

And a chill started going down his spine. He started sweating.

tempo is def rising.

spine chilling story.
Thanks for the potent dose.

Is Kurup a malayali surname?It is also found in some tribal communities in Jharkhand. Any link with them??

Yes. Kurup, AFAIK is a kind of sub-group among the bigger groups of Nairs. Some of them also were involved in temple activities. One case I know is is Kalam pattu (literally "songs sung in front of a drawn up picture"). A beautiful picture is drawn of a deity (using natural, vegetable materials). It is some one from the "Kurup" sect who sings the songs about the diety. Finally a Velichappad (Oracle) comes on stage, does a quick dance and with his foot wipe of the picture.

There are different types of Kurups. It is actually a hereditary title bestowed by the king, not really a caste name.

Before the integration of Travancore, the kings did not maintain the military. The feudal lords did. The title 'kurup' was given to the colonels who ran those 'divisions'. There will be a 'kalari' to train the soldiers under the kurup. Some lords did their own 'kurup'ship, eg the legendary mankoikkal kurup of Marthanda Varma.

Most kurups were nairs, but there were examples from other castes also. The temple work came from their kalari work, because kalari is, in fact a temple for the 'warrior goddess'.

After Travancore was integrated, the king formed an integrated military, so there were no more kalaris and kurups, and the families just maintained the title.

Anish and Ajish are brothers born to one of those 'we didn't know we were soldiers' kurup families of north Travancore.

AoA! I am surprised this thread went under my radar - Dileep mullah, atleast you should have alerted me the other day that you had a new story out

Added later: This looks like its gonna be his best story yet! Do I sense some connection to Mumbai (apart from VP ofcourse)??

Thanks Sachin and Dileep

Dileep, Some data of people from Bangla desh in kerala:

viewtopic.php?p=1279966#p1279966

Dileep Saarji waiting for the next installment!!
Please post soon!

Chapter 5

Angu Thevan!!

That name was of more notoriety than the actual person of barely the age of marriage that held it. Kilometres of newspaper columns and hours of broadcast time had been spent on him in the past several months. In the ‘information’ age of sensationalizing everything, he had been portrayed from all hues ranging from being an innocent victim of conspiracy to a blood thirsty demon. His name had been drawn into all kinds of dirty politics, including stateism, racism, sexism, and so many isms one can possibly imagine. The reality belonged somewhere in between, and mainly unknown to most of the players.

It all started with the discovery of the mutilated body of a sixteen year old boy, Sohail Akbar, in a bush down an embankment of the approach road of a bridge. The scooterette he had been riding was found a little bit away, with some telltale signs of a crash. He was quite underage to ride that scooter, and did not possess a license either. His bereaved father had confirmed that he had just recently started riding it, and still was in a learning phase. To the police, it was a clear case of a road accident, however tragic it may look.

Still, some of the local Sherlocks had raised the concern that the body was found a bit further down the road from where the scooter was found. This was on the premise that Sohail was coming from the direction of his house. A feeble scratch mark on the pavement, which was purported to be that of the crash also agreed to their view. According to them, it was impossible for him to fall down that further, even if he was riding very fast. But, somehow, the police was more inclined to believe that it was just a road accident. Obviously, they didn’t feel the need to convince every Sherlocks, Moosas and Pushparaj of the locality on their wild theories.

At least till the autopsy report came, which let the channels and newsfeeds ringing.

The poor boy, Sohail Akbar, was subjected to brutal indecent assault before he was dead!!

The gory details of the autopsy findings were not made public, but the channels, with cleverly drafted words, were successful to communicate the implications to the masses. Sohail’s body also had some minor injuries that could have been caused by a scooter crash, but his sad demise was caused by a demonic person with insatiable and brutal sexual perversion. A vociferous public outcry resulted instantly. An ‘action committee’ was formed by the local ‘social servants’, and agitations, including the customary ‘hartal’ followed.

The state police had to put their finest on the case. They went around with the finest toothed comb they could muster. The local public also went out enthusiastically, trying to find leads. There was no clear indication of the time of the accident, because Sohail was alone at home that day, and no one really knew when he went out with the scooter. That was until someone showed up with information that he had seen a boy/young man riding a scooter on that road. It was a taxi driver, who had to take evasive action when the boy almost lost control of the scooter in a panic right in front of his car. He could not, however, identify the boy’s photograph, because according to him, he was more interested in avoiding the crash than looking at his face.

This addition al information had made some real breakthrough. Before long, a shop owner down the road reported that he had noticed a Tamil speaking youth in a very agitated state had bought a drink of soda at his shop in approximately that time frame. It was not a busy road for pedestrians in general, and the shop owner hadn’t seen anything else out of ordinary that day. To cast a wider net, the police had the approximate time of the event public, and asked for information from anyone who passed through that road in that window.

That did not turn up much expected help though. There would have been hundreds of cars and two wheelers passing by on that road in that hour. No one showed up with any information, despite repeated appeals on TV. Desperate, the police decided to look at the floating Tamil population in the region. A reasonably good description of the ‘person of interest’ was available, so the police went into the standard operating mode of looking for him among his kind. It included getting the standard artist rendering of the man on look-out.

By this time, the pressure on the police, as well as the political leadership had become tremendous. The Chief Minister, who held the home portfolio, was constantly being grilled by the media, whenever he allowed them to meet him, which meant several times a day. Every time, he gave out the same greased statement that he has extreme trust upon his police force, and the culprit will be caught soon. Towards the end of the day, he often unloaded all the frustration upon the DGP, and the pile of stinky stuff was dutifully passed down the command chain. At some desperate moment, one of the officers suggested that they should go an arrest some random tamil guy from the locality to get the people and politicos off their back. This suggestion, obviously made in half jest, was immediately and forcefully rejected by the Supdt of Police.

The testimony of the shop owner, and the police efforts to investigate the tamil population led to vigilante action by the locals. Whispers passed around behind the poor folk, and eyes of deep suspicion were cast on them. They also found a sudden fall in the demand from the locals for their services, which was casual, unskilled, labour. People who had built shacks and rented them out for these folks confronted their tenants with questions about the incident. Someone started a rumour among the tamils that the locals are planning an attack on them. A wild panic ensued, and some families left the place overnight. But the next morning, each of these dwellings had a few more additional members of good physique and not so friendly demeanor. The situation became very tense pretty fast.

Abdul Razak, the Inspector of the local station was mad with anger and desperation. He got hold of the council member of the area and a few other local politicos and paid a visit to the tensed up families. He talked to each of the families, promised them that no harm will ever come to them, and asked them for help. The council man made a tearful appeal in what he thought to be Tamil (which in reality was a kind of mispronounced Malayalam) to the womenfolk to give out information about the man they were looking for. He also made the drama of showing around the gory photograph of the body of Sohail.

Nothing happened. No one came forth with any information.

Razak drew up all the power he could muster out of his uniform, and warned the families to get rid of the people they brought in for ‘protection’. He guaranteed their protection. The families readily agreed to send them back, but everyone knew it was an empty promise. He made a final appeal for information, and dramatically clicked his heals and walked away, following the famous style of actor Vijayakanth whenever he did a police character.

Upon some instinct, he turned around to look, and caught hold of one of the men glaring at his wife, who stood holding on to her children in a terrified state.

That eventually provided the break everyone was looking for. Angu Thevan was caught after following a trail from that woman, but gone far and over state borders.

But no one, no one in the apparently smart police force wondered why such a long trail existed for this guy, who would pass for a common two bit pickpocket.

Dileepji, Nice story. But slow posts killing anxiety...

Chapter 6

Angu Thevan had left the most incriminating evidence, plenty of it, upon his victim. His DNA. His guilt was, at least for the investigation team, the public, and the local media, was proven beyond doubt.

But in a democratic country with an independent and unbiased judiciary, these things take due process and due process always take due time. In this case also, the same thing happened. Angu Thevan was arrested in another state, so the first hurdle was to get him extradited to the custody of the Kerala Police. Normally, this is a simple procedure. The police would produce a warrant from the local court, and the out of state court will accept it and hand over the suspect. Unlike international matters, the intra-state transfer of suspects is governed by the common penal code, which makes things simple.

But the officers who went to collect their prisoner were due for a shock. The court there decreed that the warrant would be kept pending, because the prisoner is already charged with a theft case at that court. They had to undergo a complex game of legal chess, over the course of almost a week to get their bounty in hand. The officers claimed that there was an attempt by the police to block the exit of their vehicle at the city boarder, but it was vehemently denied by the local police chief. “It was all a misunderstanding” he claimed to the TV cameras. The senior anchor of a reputed news channel did the unprecedented step of shrugging in sarcasm at this show, repeating “all a misunderstanding”.

Finally, after a long, eventful journey, the suspect was produced in front of the Magistrate, and he was remanded to police custody. It was after that, the media and the public got a chance to see the much awaited visage of the much demonized man. He was starvingly lean, with ribs clearly visible. The head was rather big in contrast to the lean body, covered in shaggy locks of hair. But it was his eyes that caught the attention of everyone. It was the eyes of a Hyena. Full of cunning, hatred, and hunger. He glared at the cameras and the people hurling profanities targeting on him, despite the blinding bursts of flashes. It was only a few seconds before the police officers raised their hands to end the brief photo op, and pulled their prisoner to take him to the armoured van. Angu resisted a bit, raised his right hand and shouted a couple of sentences. No one could hear them over the commotion, except possibly some of the camera microphones. He was pushed into the van, the doors closed and the van drove out to the lock-up.

At the station, Angu refused to cooperate with the police, even so much to get down from the van. One of the cops instinctively went to the famous ‘persuasion’ and ‘reason’ treatment, but was immediately prevented by his superior. This was a very high profile case, and they knew they had cameras focused on the van. Angu had refused to talk at all, from the moment he was handed over to their custody. Any trifling show of response was reserved to queries and commands in Tamil. Any communication from his side was via gestures. Presently, he held onto the bars of the seat of the van, and refused to budge. The cops tried a bit of pushing and shoving, but he seemed to have a lot of strength, despite the wiry frame. He simply resisted any effort to move him.

Meanwhile a rather big crowd had gathered at the outside of the station yard. A few constables were trying hard to keep the mob at bay. They were loudly baying for Angu’s blood, and the constables were trying to reason with them.

Suddenly, a few stones landed on the steel net that protected the windows of the van. The cops tried to locate the source in the mob, but it was an impossible task. As if in response, the loud speaker on top of the van came alive, and commanded the mob to control themselves. The prisoner is being dealt with as the law demands, and the mob should disperse off immediately. In response, another stone landed on the van. A few cops came out holding riot shields and stood near the van.

Suddenly, the door of the van opened. The cops in riot gear arranged their shields to protect themselves and the men exiting the van. In a single bunch, everyone walked to the main door, and vanished inside.

No stones were cast further. A whisper spread around, predicting that the prisoner is finally budged and moved in. The cops refused to face the media, but promised a press conference by the SP the next morning. The crowd slowly dispersed. One of the cops who were guarding the gate later asked the one who came in the van how they got the man to co-operate. “The stones did the work” he said with a smile.

They tried to question Angu that night itself, but got easily fed up with his stony silence. Once again, roughing him up was out of question, so they decided to lock him up for the night and begin the questioning in the morning. They were already tired, and the superiors also had expressed their desire to personally question him. They locked him up in one of the lock-ups, and watched in amazement, as he immediately went comfortable on the floor and started snoring.

But the real surprise visited them in the morning.

A BMW 6 series luxury taxi drove up, into the station yard. The uniformed driver jumped out, ran around and opened the rear left door. A man in early forties, in an impeccable pinstripe suit came out of the car. Carrying an attaché case, he walked up the two steps to the verandah with a spring and confronted the sentry at the door who looked on in amazement.

“I am Advocate Xavier Kadakkal. Want to see the CI”. The sentry could only nod and point to the half-door of the office.

I too wish I could get to a daily post level, but the creative juices are not flowing at an enough rate. I always buffer a lot, in order to do tweaks in the stories as ideas come. I try not to run down on that.

saar ji my 2 NP advice. hold back on posting here and build up to a level where you can post twice a week at least.

Dileep,

May I also suggest that you edit the top post and append your story parts to the same post? That way, the comments don't distract from the flow of the story when reading multiple parts together. Keep up the great work!

No. I usually create a new thread which has only the story and keep the comments here. Currently it has not reached critical mass yet.

I second this idea. I can bear withdrawal symptoms and anxiety for next post once, but repeatedly it becomes unbearable. Though I have hope , given the track record, that Dileep garu would finish his story no matter what. Unlike Vivek and Shankar, in whose case I am still waiting form many formations to move up.