Bharat Rakshak

Dileep garu
wrt latest post. What you described does happen many times. However, there is no extradition . That word is not used, it is applicable only in case of transfer between two countries. The police asks for Transit remand to produce a prisoner ( in this case suspect, otherwise undertrial if chargesheeted) and produces the said prisoner before the Magistrate. To get Transit remand for arrested person , Kerala police would have to take Production warrant from the Magistrate in whose jurisdiction crime happened in Kerala and then take the Transit remand from the Magistrate where the accused has been arrested, either by KL police of the concerned state police.If arrested for the first time then only transit remand is asked.

Generally this process is fairly easy. Magistrate would never deny transit remand unless Prisoner establishes that he has threat to his life in that state or if trail is proceeding as you hinted.

BMW surprise tell me that things run deep indeed. Gripping .

Well, this one actually happened in a case. KP guys went to HYD to get a big shot swindler, and got all kinds of roadblocks thrown in front, including a chase attempt.

Since no one seemed to figure it yet, I would also disclose that this story is inspired by a lot of real life incidents, unlike the previous ones. Welcome to easter egg hunts.

I am going to take the advice by Rahul and hold off till I can comfortably do a post in two days.

I start posting here to motivate myself to continue. If I keep the story to myself, soon enough a "WTF am I doing this for" moment comes, and I abandon the story. If I commit myself here, there is a strong counter to kill that instinct and continue.

I have a number of "well begun, but not even 10% done" stories in my HDD. Those are the ones not really in the Spy Story genre that BRF likes.

See you guys back here in a few weeks.

That's the reason for a feature in the infamous BRF Archiver program. I think Spy Story 1 or 2 had two separate stories going on in the same thread, by two different authors, with a lot of comments from other readers going on in between. I was losing track of who wrote what, so I coded in a feature that allowed me to pull out only the posts of a specific username from a thread. The two stories became much more enjoyable after that .

Chapter 7

It was a bolt from the blue. Angu Thevan was considered to be one from the lowest strata of the society, someone who mingled with the migrant folk who tried to cobble up a living by hard, manual labour. It was not an unknown fact that a lot of crime elements flourished among those societies, like members of the notorious ‘thieves village’. Despite the severe defiance and arrogance shown by Angu, the police didn’t expect him to last much, and they never even considered the possibility of a lawyer appearing on behalf of him.

And what they got was none tother than Mr. Xavier Kadakkal, a senior lawyer from Mumbai High Court, making his grand entrance, almost movie style, to do just that. To some extend the show did work. It took some time for the poor cops to recover from the shock, and by the time, Mr. Xavier had planted himself on a chair that every part of his body language complaining to be of much inferior stature for him. Abdul Razak, the circle inspector, sat there, somewhat dumbfounded, listening to the accented English of the new avatar. It took some time for him to come back to the reality that this person, with all the pomp notwithstanding, is just a lawyer representing a suspect, and could very well be treated as such.

Mr. Kadakkal wanted to post bail and get the release of Angu right away. By this point of time, Razak had recovered much of his courage, so he could calmly and carefully explain to the arrogant lawyer, that in these cases, the bail should come from the court.

“Who do you think you are talking to?” barked Mr. Kadakkal

“Yes, Sir..”, Razak said with an emphasis on the latter word. “You are the lawyer for the suspect side”

“You know I practice at the Mumbai High Court.” The point was driven home with a poke with the index finger on the table.

“Certainly, Sir.” Razak bowed, with a bit of a snigger. He didn’t want to totally piss of this creature, because only god knows what kind of influence he has, and what kind of a ruckus he could throw. Maybe he can get the DGP on phone right away. Who knows!!

“And you think I don’t know the law?” Mr. Kadackal asked, creasing his eyebrows.

“I don’t know what the the procedure is in Mumbai, Sir” Razak said. “But the procedure here is for the court to hear the bail plea.”

“I know the rules all over the country. You, as the investigating officer, do have the discretion to give bail in this case.” Xavier pointed straight at Razak.

“I am sorry.” Razak said with a bit of impatience. “There is no such precedence for that kind of an action here. If you think I am at error here, you are welcome to move the court.” He grabbed a sheet of paper from the pile on the table and looked at it, signaling the end of the current discussion.

“It might mean big trouble for you.” Mr. Kadakkal growled.

“That is alright” Razak said, taking his eyes off the paper. “Is there anything else you want from us?”

“I would like to confer with my client.” Xavier demanded.

“No problem with that, go right ahead.” Razak pointed to the inner room, where the lock-up rooms were situated.

“You mean.. I should get into that filthy lock-up” The question reeked in incredulity.

“That is the normal practice” Razhak said indifferently. “But I can give you two chairs to sit, if you insist”

“No! I want to interview my client at a comfortable place.” Xavier insisted. “Not in that filthy lock up in plain hearing of everyone. I think I have the right for that” He ended with a snigger.

“Sir, the best I could do is to put two chairs in that back room, and close the door so that you can talk in private.” Razak said, as if it was a great compromise and the final offer. The irritation was clearly seen solidified on his face, and Xavier knew that there is not much of a point in further antagonizing the man. After all, he still is the boss of this establishment.

“OK. Make it so. I would need at least an hour with my client. Please do not poke in till I am done.” He demanded.

Razak ignored the poke and ordered a constable to set up the two chairs in the back room, and take the prisoner and his lawyer to that room.

Angu was lying down on the floor, apparently asleep. The cop took Xavier to the door of the lock-up, and opened the gate. Leaving the lawyer at the door, he walked in, calling out to Angu to get up. There was no response from the man.

The cop pushed the figure on floor with the tip of his boot. With a shock and startle, he awoke, and briskly sat up on the floor. He pushed away the foot of the cop, as if it was some dirty or poisonous thing.

“Your lawyer wants to see you.” The cop said in Malayalam. There was no response. He repeated the same in what he considered to be Tamil.

Angu looked up. The cop pointed to Xavier.

Angu’s face brightened, not with hope, but with the pleasure of getting something he had been expecting.

“Now, the time has come.” He muttered in an accented Tamil. The cop did not understand that. Angu ignored the cop, and walked out of the cell, towards Xavier. He smiled wide at the man. “Shall we go?” he asked casually, and started walking out towards the door to exit.

“Where are you going?” The cop yelled. He came running out of the cell, and held onto the shoulder of Angu.

“Hand off!” Angu snarled at the cop. “got bail”. This time the cop understood what he said.

“Bail? For you? Did you dream?” The cop laughed. “He came to talk to you only.”

“True? No bail?” Angu asked the lawyer incredulously. It was clear that he was so confident that he will get bail the moment a lawyer turns up. He glared at the lawyer, as if to burn him down.

Xavier was visibly upset and at a loss with this show. The situation was rather comic, and some of the loitering cops were starting to get amused. The difference between the dirty beggar like Angu and the dapper lawyer was striking, even more enhanced by the arrogance shown by the former. Xavier really didn’t know what to say. It was also clear that he was not so comfortable with Tamil.

“No bail” he said in English. “I need to talk to you.”

“Talk!!” Angu said in English, though highly accented in a strange way. “What to talk? You get me out. No talk! I told..”

“Shh..” Xavier cut him off, with a finger to his own lips. “Come, I will tell everything.” He pointed to the back room that was prepared for the interview.

The cop was watching the scene as if it was a sitcom. When Xavier was successful to convince Angu to go to the room, he went back and reported everything to Razak.

It added to the already murky confusion in Razak’s mind.

Well, I am back. I think I have enough material to keep a daily dose. At least to a significant break point

Thanks for the patience, and thanx Rahul for reminding me

Name Angu reminds me of Angulimal the dacoit whom Buddha reformed.
BTW the guy got that name for cutting of fingers (Anguli) of his victims.

Chapter 8

It was the newspapers, not the TV channels, which took over and celebrated the new development. Most of the channels had just made a matter-of-fact report about the appearance of the high-profile lawyer for the beggarly Angu Thevan. Just one channel, which incidentally was started by a disgruntled media executive who was so fond of investigative reporting, that he found his employers not upto his level. The channel tried to run in into the lawyer and thrust a mike to his face. Mr. Xavier Kadakkal smiled wide to the camera with all the earnestness, and as the reporter gal enthusiastically shot her first question, burst her balloon by a simple “can’t comment on the client-attorney relationship” and left.

The papers, however, took the story to town. Correspondents in Mumbai had a field day, trying to dig up information on Mr. Xavier, who was a member of the Mumbai bar as per the court records. It was not a difficult task to obtain the basic information, which was immediately relayed to the papers.

Mr. Xavier Kadakkal was a retained lawyer for the “Asha Vahini Trust”, which is a charitable organization founded by some businessmen in the city. The trust’s primary activity is to provide legal help to poor people for defending cases against them, and Mr. Kadakkal is the leading lawyer on their payroll. There were also a couple of other such consultants, along with a team of junior lawyers to help them. The trust had an established record of intervention on behalf of a lot of poor people, mainly in Mumbai. It appeared that the outfit is quite legitimate. What was really missing were a link for this Mumbai organization to someone in the south.

And that is what precisely irked the sensationalist media. When facts fail, theories take over. When theories fail, speculation appears. When those to fail, it would be the turn for fiction. It was a time tested formula, and it didn’t take much time for stories to appear. The lawyer was from Mumbai, so he must be from the under-world. Stories started to appear in the papers about Angu Thevan’s connection to the ‘begging mafia’, which itself being controlled by the notorious Mumbai underworld dons. Colourful descriptions of the ‘headquarters’ of the begging mafia, where anyone can disappear indefinitely were all given print space. The only problem was, all these stories were drawn up, looking at the satellite images of some regions that looked like slums.

But after a few days, as Angu was safely behind bars at the sub jail, and the short attention span of the population started to waver to other issues, this angle of the story started to look a bit stale. It was a pair of enterprising reporters of one of the leading dailies who finally got the break. They got a court clerk to dig up something from the pile of papers pertaining to the case.

An address for Angu Thevan in Tamil Nadu!! His official address, as per the statement filed in the court, was a ‘care-of’ address of some Ramar Thevan, hailing from the village of Kuravelan Patti in south-central Tamil Nadu.

Soon enough, a small team consisting of two of the best hands from the paper started off the long drive. They had no clue on the exact location of the village, so their first destination was the district headquarters mentioned in the address.

Kuravelan Patti was a new settlement, made for the destitute folk who were displaced from the villages that got swallowed by the spreading urbanity. It was on the fringes of the administrative setup of the district, with very little visibility or interference from the government. The nearest police station was several kilometers away, and they had a pretty big jurisdiction to worry about. There were no basic services, and the only link to the outside world was a muddy potholed road that was built when the village was founded. A railway line passed close by, but the only use for that for the villagers was to serve as a public latrine.

Not too long after the fanfare of the founding ended, people with not so illustrious character started appearing in that village. The normal rough ones were followed by the more sinister ones, and finally, Kuravelan Patti became just another ghetto, a cesspool of crime and violence. Those residents, who could not take it, had the choice to sell their belongings to one of these new ruffians, of course for a pittance, and get the hell out with their lives. Those few who wanted to play hero and resist the bad elements, ended up losing limbs or even lives. Those who wanted to stay could do that, if they were willing to bear with the antics of these rough characters, and also pay a bit of a tribute on demand.

The reach of the government ended at the village of Karikkuli, which was four kilometers away. There was no separate administrative unit for K. V. Patti. It was just a ward of the village panchayath, and the elected member, a man by name Marimuthu, to the Karikkuli council served as the sole link to the government. The police outpost at Karikkuli never had any problem with anything from K. V. Patti, since no one from there ever approached them with any issue.

Armed with this information, and a vague set of driving directions to reach Karikkuli, the team left the district HQ. their first destination was the police outpost there.

There is no significance to the name Angu. Anguswamy is a common name in central TN. This name needed to be kind of unique, so I made him a Thevan. Also, a lot of the 'professional thieves' from the 'thieve's village' are thevans. The description of KV Patti mostly follows the actual description of the village of the real life person on which Angu is based upon.

Let me repeat that this story have a lot of real life elements, unlike the previous ones.

Chapter 9

The road to Karikkuli was reasonably motorable, given the fact that the team was driving a Bolero. It ended at the village square, which was nothing more than a couple of shops and a rickety building that housed the police outpost and village office. Once they left the highway, pavement was something that could not be found anywhere. The village square was covered by a black tarry slurry which apparently was a mixture of earth, sewage and human waste.

When the Bolero approached, a young sinewy figure, clad in the uniform of a constable appeared at the verandah, squinting at the car. Though it was a regular taxi and bore no mark of a police vehicle, he ran down the steps eagerly, and stood at attention in the mud. As the scribes alighted, he saluted and looked at them questioningly.

“Is the elder in?” John Mathai, the senior one of the reporters asked in what he thought to be Tamil.

“No sir. Gone to station. Who are you, sir?” The constable, who could be called a boy, asked a bit suspiciously. The fact that these new faces failed neither to return his salute nor to bark like his superiors are supposed to do, had made his original enthusiasm go away. He instinctively knew that these chaps aren’t the kind that held any government power.

“We are from Kerala.” John Mathai began. There was no point in trying to hide the fact. “We want to go to Kuravelan Patti”. The eyes of the cop narrowed, and his countenance changed.

“Kuravelan Patti? There is no such place here.” He said with a forced emphasis. “What work do you have there?” John thought for a moment.

“There is some ‘work’” he said mysteriously. “We were asked to come here and see Thiru. Marimuthu”. John knew about the trouble he could get into by dropping the name, if this character was available in the vicinity by chance, but as a seasoned journalist, fabrications like this came naturally to him.

“Marimuthu? Who? For what?” The cop asked. The young, but nevertheless seasoned by the years of hardship mind had already classified them as ‘unwanted intruders’. His nervous fingers played with the thick stick he held.

“Can’t tell you that. It would be enough if you can show us the way to the village”

John could clearly read the confusion in the cop’s mind. He was, obviously, trained to pretend that K. V. Patti didn’t exist to any outsiders, but a business contact to the village head is different. With some luck, and being diligent, he might be able to pry more.

“You are talking something, something. There is no Kuravelan Patti or Marimuthu here.” The young cop said with some deliberate carelessness. “You came here by mistake. This place here is Karikkuli.”

“No, sir.” John said with an air of importance. “This is a matter of some ‘goods’. Marimuthu should know about it. He asked us to come.” He looked pleadingly at the cop.

“You stay here.” The cop said sternly and walked back into the office. A few moments later, a fat, bald man in a lungi and a vest appeared, followed by the cop in his trail. By the body language, he looked to be a man of importance.

“Who are you? I am the village assistant here. What do you want?” He grumbled and rubbed his eyes to ward off the lingering sleep.

“We want to go to Kuravelan Patti to see Thiru Marimuthu” John said pleadingly. “Could you please show us the way.”

The man took a long look at John and his assistant. He then glanced around the Bolero, including peeks into the cabin. Then he scratched his chin and thought for a moment.

“It is a bad place for you city folk” He said matter of factly. “If you ask me, it would be better for you to to turn your car around and leave.”

“How can that be?” John protested. “We have work there.”

“I know what kind of work you have.” He snarled. “That work will not happen there, and some dangerous ‘work’ is all that going to happen. That’s all.”

“What is the problem?” John asked impatiently.

“Nothing.” The man said resignedly. “I said what I have to. This trail here will lead to K. V. Patti. Don’t come here complaining if you get in trouble, because we have no intention to help you.” He scratched his balls absentmindedly.

“That is no trouble, sir.” John said nonchalantly. “How far?”

“No need to worry about the distance” The man smiled. “The trail goes nowhere else. You will know when you reach there.” He cast a sad glance at them and turned back to his office. The young cop stood there dumbfounded. With a snap of the finger, the older man called him along, and both clombed up onto the verandah.

As the Bolero rolled on to face the trail, John turned his head and looked at the verandah where the cop and the man stood, watching them leave. The man casually raised his right hand, and made a slicing gesture on his throat.

The Bolero clambered into the trail, and soon, the bushes masked the scene behind it.

Chapter 10

It was Jijo Varghese, the junior partner and driver in the expedition, who saw the man shuffling around the trail in front. He was frail as a limb, but had somewhat decent clothes on, which however, were heavily soiled and worn haphazardly. His steps were irregular, in clear indication of intoxication. His progress via the trail was made slower by the uneven terrain, and the lack of any bigger trees or branches for handhold. As the bolero approached him, he seemed to be completely unaware that he is blocking the trail. Jijo made a couple of taps on the horn with no effect. In frustration, he let it blast full, and the man startled and turned around slowly.

He would have been anywhere between forty to sixty. A pair of dark and dull eyes looked on from the deep sockets. The body was devoid of muscle or fat mass. It was the typical example of the poor humanity that could be found anywhere in India.

“Who is it?” He tried to yell, but ended up in a babble. “Why do you try to kill me?” With some effort, he pulled up the lungi that was at the verge of falling down from his loin.

“Nothing, brother.” John intervened before Jijo could yell a reply, and held his shoulder restraining him. “We just want to go to Kuravelan Patti. Do you know the way?”

“Kuravelan Patti? I am going their only.” He said, with a glad expression. “Can I come with you?”

“Climb in” John moved further in, asking the man to get in along in the front seat. The man entered, fore ceded by the stink of sweat, soil and country alcohol. John had to fight hard to avoid throwing up. Jijo glared at him angrily, but understood the motivation and kept quiet.

“You are from Kuravelan Patti, brother?” John asked, as the car started rolling.

“Yes. There only my house, sir.” The man said, holding on tight to the handrail, as the car shook around the boulders of the trail. “Why are you going there?”

“Do you know one Ramar Thevan there?” John asked.

“Ramar Thevan? That is me itself, sir.” He said in a resigned tone. “Who are you? Police?”

“Why do you ask? Did police come here looking for you?”

“Yes sir.” The man shook his head in agreement. “Pardon me if I say anything bad, sir. I am drunk” He folded his hands. “Don’t do anything to me”

“We are not police. We came to help you only.” John said, putting on his best angelic face.

“Oh, people of Jesus!” the man smiled. “I understood. Glory to Jesus!”

John decided not to deny that impression.

“We came here now to help our brother Angu.” He said, assuming the best evangelical tone he could remember from his religious days.

“Angu? Who is that?” The man’s eyes suddenly glared from the depths. John smelt danger

“I don’t know that you call him here, but a brother by that name is in trouble in Kerala” John said nonchalantly. “The address he gave us was of here.”

“What help could you do if you want?” He asked, his automatic defenses dropping a bit because of John’s expression.

“A lot. We will not tolerate a Christian brother being abused.” John said, puffing up his chest. “First tell me who is he to you? Kid Brother?”

“Why do you want to know?” Ramar’s suspicions rose again. “What has any help to do with who he is to me?”

“Brother, you are talking without understanding. We need your signature in the documents to get the money. That is why I asked the relation.”

“Money? How?” The man’s interest got a boost. “For what?”

“Don’t you know?” John asked with a bit is incredulity. “Our brothers from abroad are collecting money to help Angu. We can give it only to the person responsible for him”

That got the man thinking.

“He is my kid brother alright.” He said eagerly, but John’s experienced senses screamed “liar”

“You should not lie. Later if it comes out that you lied, the money will be taken back” John said with all seriousness he could muster.

The man thought for a moment.

“He is the son of my elder*” He said finally, squirming a bit. “That is the truth”

“Elder? Who is that?” John asked eagerly, and instantly regretted that, as the man’s face shone in horror.

“No No. I said son of Elder Uncle@.” He said, with a guilty glance around.

“Is it?” John continued indifferently. “So, he is the son of your father’s elder brother?”

“Yes, Yes” The man said with an air of relief.

“That is good. I will show you the paperwork when we reach the village.” John said, as he looked around to see where they were going. Jijo was struggling a bit to keep the car on the trail of the undulating terrain. There was no indication of any village yet.

The man suddenly went pale.

“No sir. Can we stop the car, and finish the business here?” He asked, continuing to look around.

“Why? What is the problem at the village?” John asked, trying to sound unconcerned.

“Nothing like that. If we finish the business here, you could go back sooner, without the trouble of driving all the way to the village. That’s all.” He tried to smile, which came out as a grin. John immediately saw through that ruse.

“That is no problem. We want to see the village, and talk to the brothers there.” John insisted.

“No, sir. No need to do that, sir.” The man pleaded again. But suddenly fell silent.

John looked out and saw a few burly men approaching them over the trail. One was armed with a thick stick, and the gait if the others indicated that they are hiding the formidable blade of ‘aruval’ behind them.

All three men started sweating in terror.

*periyavar: literally big/senior guy. Often used to refer to the boss, head of village, political leader etc.
@: periyappa: father’s elder brother.

Aruval..is it a weapon ?

^^Yes, it is the kickass version of machete, with a curved tip. Google for images, and youtube for heroes and villains deftly handling it.

you can see aruval in action with coconut vendors in South India.Quite common in TN.
One interesting picture
http://www.flickr.com/photos/oochappan/2619043407/



Another one.
http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_xOeLv1yXtM/T ... G_0965.JPG
Aruval in action on Coconut

Chapter 11

The men started running towards them. Without instruction, Jijo stopped the car, but kept it in gear. For the first time, he cursed himself for obeying the order from John to go unarmed. Newshounds always went unarmed as a well known defense, but Jijo had the habit of carrying a flexible blade inside his thick leather belt. John had adamantly made him remove that before they started. Jijo felt really vulnerable, even though his blade would be no match for the three feet long iron blade now hiding between the shoulder blades of the assailants.

John had decades of experience over Jijo, and he never felt really threatened. He believed he could deal with any aggression using the age old passive compliance, as they were clearly unarmed and vulnerable. He waited for the men to approach.

But surprisingly, they seemed to ignore the men, as they approached the man riding in the car. John noticed that Ramar was now shivering, with mortal fear in his eyes. The man in the lead went straight at him, grabbing Ramar’s shoulder and growling “Get down.” Ramar didn’t need a moment to comply. He jumped down, and fell to one side, as his drunken feet could not find their balance. The man lifted him bodily and kept him upright.

“Who are these people?” He roared at the poor soul.

“I don’t know” Ramar stammered. “I was too drunk to walk, so I just took a ride with them”

“That is some story!!” He smirked. “Why are they here? That is what I want to know”. Surprisingly, none of the three men were paying any attention to John or Jijo.

“I am telling the truth, lord!!” Ramar folded his hands in pleading. “I was too drunk, and I thought I am still on the main road” He started crying.

“We told you hundred times not to go out of the village to drink” Another man began his share of the scolding. “Now you have invited unwanted people in. You will get punishment for this infraction for sure”

Ramar shuddered and started wailing.

“What did you tell them?” The man holding Ramar demanded.

“Nothing!! Lord!! By god, nothing!!” Ramar moaned.

“Why did they come? Did you ask?”

“Nothing!! Lord!! I didn’t talk at all!!”

“We will know soon.” The man growled and dropped Ramar. He fell in a heap, sobbing. Even then, the poor man shot a pleading glance at John. The man turned to John. His countenance changed to a more pleasant one, but it was clearly an act.

“Who are you sir, what you want?” He asked in all pleasantries.

“We are from Kerala.” John began.

“I understand.” He said. “I also understand why you came.”

John tried to speak in protest, but the man blocked him with a raised hand.

“Look, newspaper man!” He said in a grave tone. “This is a very bad place. You are not going to get anything from here. It is better if you go back.”

“We just want..” John began again, but was stopped by the man again.

“Look, brother. There are no law here. We are the law. If you don’t listen, your car and the bodies will have to be towed out of a gully here.” He said very matter of factly. “You can go back and maybe send your police or military.” He smirked again. “But don’t try your luck here yourself.”

As if to drive the point home, one of the men lifted the butt of the ‘aruval’ above his shoulder and put it back.

John nodded to Jijo, and the car was promptly put in reverse, looking for a place to turn around.

“Don’t stop till you reach the main road” the man with the aruval calmly advised. The Bolero burst forward, ignoring the boulders.

Here is the REAL Aruval.

Dileep saar, a bit based on the real life Soumya case, am I right?

And many more. Watch out for Easter eggs

Chapter 12

Jijo was surprised to find himself sweating profusely, despite his self image of being a tough guy. John was sulkily looking forward, seeing nothing. They had not bothered to stop in the village square of Karikkuli while returning. They had decided that it was not worth further antagonizing the villainous characters they just left behind.

“Those guys are not from here”. John said finally, as they reached the final up gradient leading to the highway.

“Beg your pardon?” Jijo asked, as the voice startled him.

“Those ruffians.. They are not from here.” John said again, half to himself.

“Of course they aren’t!” Jijo said with irritation. “They have scum from all the devils lodgings at that hell hole”

“No No” John shook his head. I think those guys are from abroad.”

“Abroad?” Jijo was surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Yes. I think they are some of those ‘illegal aliens’” John said confidently. “Did you notice the way they spoke?”

“Like the movie dialogues?” Jijo ventured.

“That too, but their accent is clearly different from the locals.”

“Oh, I am not that familiar with Tamil.” Jijo shrugged, as he evaded a pothole. “For me all Tamil sound the same, unintelligible, that is”

Suddenly, Jijo swerved the car to the right and slammed the brakes, as a young man burst out from behind a bush into the road, waving his hands, asking to stop the car. The first instinct for Jijo was to flee, but John made a clear order to stop.

The man ran towards the car, panting.

“What do you want?” John asked, looking with pity at the lean, sinewy figure.

“Only one minute sir.” The man mumbled under heavy panting. “I know why you came. I want to tell you something.”

“Get in the car.” John invited, trying to recover his breath and the adrenaline rush from the surprise.

“No sir. I can’t be seen. I will leave as soon as I tell you this.” He gasped, still out of breath.

John gazed at him, waiting.

“The people you met” The man said between gasps for breath. “They are very bad people. You will need the military to deal with them. They are very big people. Police can’t do anything with them” He stopped for a moment.

“Who are they?’ John asked. “I don’t understand what you are saying.”

“Listen to me, sir. The man you came for? He is not from the village. He was just hiding there.” He said, with hate filling his eyes.

“Who? Angu Thevar?” John interjected.

“His name is not Angu, and his is not a Thevar.” He groaned. “He was brought in from outside and thrust up on poor Ramar Uncle’s shoulders. He is very bad man. Even though he is very young.” He hissed in anger.

“Why are you telling all these? What is your name?” John asked suspiciously.

“You need only to know that, that ‘son of a snake’ has killed me, my life and my honour. How is it, you need not know.” He said, tears brimming up his eyes. “Please tell the police that he is a seed of poison that should be burned up to save the world.”

“If you speak in riddles, I can’t help you.” John said irritatedly. Even though he did get a good idea of what is going on.

But the man looked around in terror and ran away, down an embankment and vanished behind the bushes.

“Drive!” John yelled, and Jijo took off.

“What was that all about?” He asked, after covering half a kilometer and reaching third gear.

“All I am wondering, dear Jijo, is whether to disclose this in the article, or not.” John said with a mysterious air.

Despite some reservations, part of the encounter did appear in the newspaper article eventually, but no one seemed to have noticed.

Chapter 13

It was like crawling uphill on a rough trail, while engulfed in thick fog that made breathing difficult. A sharp mind that had a lot of embedded survival knowledge was trying to make sense out of a drug induced sleep. The crawl was endless, and every muscle of the body ached, and every cell struggled for molecules of oxygen. He was also getting flashes of various events apparently connected to the mission, but somehow, he couldn’t remember what the mission was. A strange rumble wandered around in the auditory sense, but that was deemed unimportant. Suddenly, he realized that he was crawling with his arms. His feet were missing.

Anish Kurup woke up with a startle and opened his eyes. The fog was so thick, that he could only see the grayness. But what confused him was that he was no longer on the rough ground. Somehow, he was instantly transported to a smooth and soft pad. A splitting headache started, as the eyes felt sticky. He wanted to rub the eyes, but could not find his hands. His hands! With a sudden burst of adrenaline, the vision cleared, and he realized that he was lying face down on a mattress, with cold sweat starting to run down.

Blinking a few times to clear the eyes that had a deposit of mucus, he tried to push himself around to turn, but something prevented him from moving. His whole body seems to be stuck in a straightjacket. Panicked, he pushed hard to raise his head and upper torso, in order to look around to see where he was.

He heard a creak and footsteps. Someone moved around into his view. He had to blink a couple of times to get focus.

It was his brother, Ajish Kurup, and he was smiling at him.

“Don’t try to move, bro. You are in a hospital.” Ajish said cheerfully. Anish had already exhausted his burst of energy, so he just let himself fall back into the bed. Ajish moved his chair so that he can face his brother and sat down, to be in level of the bed.

Anish tried hard to recollect the immediate past. Once the fog that numbed everything including his hearing and eyesight had lifted, his survival training had subconsciously kicked in right away. Instinctively, his mind had started to take in the environment. He was lying face down on a bed, which made breathing a bit uncomfortable. His arms seemed to be fine, except the lingering pain where the cannula was inserted into the vein. But his body from the upper torso seemed to be bound up tightly.

Though his reasoning faculties were not fully normal, his subconscious mind had already started making analyses about his situation. The recent past was totally blank, and the last thing he could remember was eating at a seafood restaurant that he loved. It was something he did when he took the long drive to the airport project near the hills.

Then it dawned on him. He even smiled a bit on that. If the last thing you remember was driving, you woke up in the hospital because you had an accident.

He tried to raise his voice to talk his brother who was looking curiously at him, but the throat, choked with mucus, refused to produce any sound. He tried to clear it, but there was pain in his chest when he tried to do it. It took some gently coaxing to get his voice back.

“How long?” Was the first words out in the form of a croak. Ajish held his hand and smiled. “Two days.” His voice broke off, somehow he was choking on emotion.

“Am I whole?” Anish asked, trying to grin. The concern that he felt lower torso bound up, and a distinct loss of sense below waist was really eating into him.

Ajish couldn’t help smiling through his wet eyes. “Except some blood” he said, as Anish went silent, trying to sense his limbs, starting from toes up.

“My legs are numb” He whispered, as he tried to wiggle his toes. He could sense tiny pin pricks of pain, and a bit of pressure change, but the motion was not felt. “Could you hold my toes for a moment?” he asked his brother.

“Captain Sir! No need to start survival checks yet.” Ajish protested. “You are as whole as you were. Take my word on that.”

“I know that you do think of me as an asshole”. Anish said, surprising himself that his sense of humor hadn’t left him even in this condition. “I am asking if any part of me is missing.”

“Everything is in place. As I said earlier, you just lots of blood, that’s all.” He said jovially, but the over enthusiasm didn’t get lost on Anish.

“I think I broke what was cracked” He told his brother, rather emotionless. But his inside was burning. It had been several years, but he hadn’t yet fully reconciled to the fact that he had to leave the armed forces. He volunteered for NSG with great expectations, and he couldn’t forgive himself for being stupid enough to get those two vertebrae cracked. He always felt that he squandered away the chance to pay the country back. Now, the numb legs and the tightly bound body told him that a life confined to a wheelchair was a serious possibility for him.

“The doctor told me that you will be fine.” Ajish said, as if reading his thoughts. “The fused ones are fine it seems. There was another cracked vertebra that compressed the spinal cord. They put it together. He said no permanent damage happened.”

“No need to lie to me, brother” Anish never had high regards for his younger brother’s antics. He is known to be a showman, and his career selling real estate, which according to the commando brother, was just lies and half truths.

“Well, you can ask the nurse.” Anish stretched and pressed the call button. He was a bit offended that his brother wouldn’t believe him even on his health. Anish felt bad.

“No No. I believe you, bro.” He said. An uncomfortable silence fell in the room.

“What happened?” Anish asked, breaking the silence. He had no memory of anything about any accident. “Did I crash the car?”

“No. Someone crashed into you” Ajish said matter of factly. “I think your beloved Passat saved your life and your back”

“Write off?” Though the question was negative, it was full of positive expectation. He did love that car.

“Not sure. We didn’t get time to look at it. It is still lying at the site.”

There was a knock at the door and the nurse came in with a wide smile. “Awake already?” she asked, taking a cursory going over of the patient.

Chapter 14

The interview with the police officer was a physical ordeal for Anish. He felt more pain all around his body, as the dosage of the pain killers was reduced, and his various wounds, including that of the surgery, started to heal. But as the officer had hinted that it was very important that he get as much of information as possible from him, despite some protest from his doctor, he had agreed for the questioning.

Anish was not aware of the unusual circumstances of his accident. His family had not really appraised him on that part of the story. He was under the impression that he just had a regular car crash. His surprise had no bounds when DySP Ajith Kumar briefed him on the unusual circumstances of his accident. Ajith then egged him on to remember everything about the accident. Though Anish naturally wanted to help the cop, he found himself helpless, as he had absolutely no memory of the event.

“Do you remember sending any message to anyone, like your brother” Ajith asked, like just another question.

“I told you, I don’t remember anything.” Anish was a bit irritated. “I don’t even know where my phone is, whether it is found or not. That actually reminds me. Did you get my phone from there?” He asked his brother who was sitting to the side of the bed.

“That is the funny part. Your phone is nowhere to be found at the accident site.” Ajith said, with caution.

“Maybe someone stole it. That is not uncommon in our glorious country” Anish smiled.

“Could be, but it could be that you took some photos after the accident, and they took the phone away to destroy the evidence.”

“Then why don’t you ask the phone company for the logs?” Anish asked, with some interest.

“We did. There is log of a message from your phone sent to your brother.”

Anish gulped.

“Did I? I have no recollection of anything. Didn’t Ajish get it then?” He looked at his brother. Ajish nodded negative.

“The funny thing is” the inspector continued with a glimpse of mischief in his eyes “that your brother’s apartment got burglarized later that day, and the phone was stolen.”

“What the!!” Anish held back the expletive. “What is going on?”

“That is what we want to know, Mr. Kurup” Ajith Kumar said with seriousness.

“Well, I wish I could help you, Sir.” Anish said. “Maybe my memory will come back after these medications wear off”.

“I would like to hear anything, anything at all, you could remember.” Ajith rose, signaling the end of the interview. “Also..” he added as an afterthought “I would request you to be a bit careful, and not talk to anyone else about anything.” He looked deep into Anish’s eye. “I guess I don’t have to tell that to a guy like you”.

With a smile, and a nod to Ajish, DySP Ajith Kumar left.

The brothers looked at each other dumbfounded.

Chapter 15

The sea was rather calm. It was past midnight, and the sea appeared to be a grey expanse, lit by the starlight and the odd luminous sea worm. The moon had already set, leaving them in darkness, except the odd light from the other boats. Francis Srank* was feeling lonely in the wheel cabin of the fishing boat St. Sebastian. The orange glow from the GPS and the fish finder was the only light in the cabin. The running lights of the boat was, like always, on, and it gave enough light for him to manage his work, which is to hold in place, with the net being deployed.

St. Sebastian was a medium sized boat, under co-ownership of Francis and three other friends, who double as the crew. It was a gill net boat, which deployed vertical panels of net, spread out by the bottom weighed rope and a top floated rope. Fish gets tangled in the net by their gills and caught. Owning the boat and the gear was an expensive affair, but Francis, being blessed with generations of handed-down traditional knowledge of fishing, always managed to get a good catch. These kinds of boats normally loiter around the 16 fathom depth, which is at around 18 nautical miles off shore. Tonight, following his instincts and the lessons learned from his father and grandfather, Francis decided to go further away, beyond the rocky ledge at 22 fathoms. His gamble paid off, as the ultrasonic fish finder lit up with a school of King fish in sight. Tonight is going to be a lucky one, he thought.

The chatter over the radio had subsided, as the other boats in the vicinity have settled down at their respective chosen locations. It is a welcome calm after the frenzy of calls in the initial hours of the working night, where they share information about the fish schools and their movement. Francis rarely participated in this. He is known to be a loner, and fiercely protective of his techniques and finds. Some of the more industrious chaps had, in the past, tried to tail Francis’s boat with a hope to share his bounty, but had to beat a hasty retreat after being confronted in a drunken rage by the master fisherman on the shore. Today, no one even knew that Francis had gone beyond the 22 fathom range.

Francis yawned, as fatigue tried to catch up to him. There are a few more hours before he would wake his crew up to draw in the nets back. He lit up one of his trusted beedis and strolled out of the crammed cabin to stretch himself. Holding on to the railing, he puffed hard, suppressing a cough. This cough, and associated wheezing had been troubling him for some time. Maybe he should consult a doctor, he thought, as he scanned the sea, horizon all around, with a few spots of light to the east.

The wind changed, and he thought he heard a rumble to the west. It sounded like a ships engine. Ships had been a threat for the fishermen recently. As the piracy problem in the west coast of the Arabian Sea had increased, ships are increasingly choosing to move closer to the Indian coast that is made safe by an ever vigilant coast guard. After a few close encounters with unsuspecting fishing vessels, the ships were given strict instructions to run with all lights on, and also blow the horn frequently.

Something troubled Francis. The unmistakable low frequency horn of a ship was not being heard, even after acutely listening for several minutes. Neither was there the glow of the lights over the horizon. But the sound of the rumble of engines, to his trained ears, was unmistakable.

“Some ******** is trying to kill people!” He muttered under breath. He threw away the almost finished beedi and clambered over the roof of the cabin to get a better view. He turned his head from side to side, trying to get a fix on the source of the sound, as his eyes constantly scanned the horizon for any lumbering dark mass. For the first time that night, he was scared. His past experience with ships is to observe the brightly lit vessel from far away, stop the boat and keep watching the progress of the ship. It never seemed anything dangerous. But a ship with no lights and horn can give you a nasty surprise if you are not really careful.

The added elevation gave him visibility further down the horizon. After a few minutes of intense scanning, he could visually acquire the profile of the ship. There were a couple of running lights lit, but it was no way sufficient for a situation like this. “That ******** of a captain must be shot” Francis thought. He tried hard to ascertain the bearings of the ship and himself, looking to the sky and also around him. When he looked back at the ship, he saw something that froze his blood.

He saw a profile of a boat in the dim light, right near the path of the ship. It did not show any headlamp!!

Who in the right mind would go close to a ship!! That too without the headlamps, he wondered. It didn’t make any sense at all. The standard procedure for boatmen were to stay put with all their lights ablaze, in an effort to make the ship see themselves.

He took one more look at the ship, the profile of the boat was gone. He was not sure whether it was something his mind played with him. With a sense of urgency, he looked up at the sky to get the bearings again, determined the position of the ship, and scurried down to the cabin.

“Ship!! Ship!!” He grabbed the microphone and barked into the radio. The fishing folk who had only recently got introduced to the marine CB radios didn’t have any communication protocols established. They just hollered into the radio, just like they used to do vocally over the waves. “Ship coming with no lights from southwest, at 30 fathom” He yelled. His voice immediately choked with a cough, and he wheezed, trying to get the breath back.

“Who is that? Francis Ashaan@?” Someone responded. “This is Josephkunju. What is it Ashaan?”

Francis pressed the key to transmit, but being out of breath, he could not speak. He released the key.

“What is it, ashaan?” Joseph came in again. “I didn’t get it”

Francis coughed hard and grunted to clear his voice. He keyed the mic again. This time he controlled himself and said in a lower voice. “Joseph! There is s ship without light and horn, coming from southwest, near 30 fathom. Watch out!!”

“All of us are at 16, aashaan. Where are you?” Joseph asked, not sharing the panic. A ship at 30 fathoms is not a threat for the boats at 16.

“I am at 24. Is there anyone else around in this area?” Francis asked carefully. He was now more convinced that he was mistaken about the boat near the ship. It was kind of impossible. The answer from Joseph came negative.

“I just told you to be careful” Francis felt a bit embarrassed to raise the alarm. Joseph was right. There is no danger till the ship come much closer. He, however, must watch it. He is too close for comfort.

“I don’t see anything yet.” Another voice broke in. After that, there was a brief chatter, as the boats exchanged their status. No one explicitly called Francis, but he felt that his panic was deemed un necessary, and the younger folks are making veiled jabs at his nerves.

Francis went back out of the cabin. The engine noise had increased in intensity, as the ship came closer. He watched it carefully, as it slowly progressed. “Running too slow” he thought. “Maybe having engine trouble”

As he watched and listened on, suddenly there was a loud crack, much louder than the engine noise. Such noises traveled well over the constant hissing of the seas. Then there was a loud scrapping noise. A minute after, the engine noise picked up, as the ship appeared to speed away.

The radio crackled to life. “Help!! Help!! We are hit by ship” A feeble,panicky voice yelled. It repeated a couple of times, and the radio went silent.

Francis stood rooted there for a moment, as the gravity of the situation dawned upon him.

*Srank: Captain of the fishing boat, who handles the wheel.
@Aashaan: literally, guru. Respectable salutation to elders in a profession.

Chapter 16

The 80HP Ruston engine of the fishing boat St. Sebastian roared, sending every piece of the boat into a frenzy of vibration. The throttle is pushed all the way forward, and Francis Srank was peering forward over the helm, with both the powerful headlamps turned on. The fact that he had just abandoned a net that costs lakhs of rupees, as well as the days catch it contained, didn’t mean anything to him right now. Some of his colleagues, maybe his relatives itself, are in danger, and the only course of action the veteran seafarer had was to cut loose the float and sink ropes with an empty jerry can tied up as a buoy. Thanks to the GPS, he had marked the co ordinates of the location, so that he would have a fair chance of recovering the net later, after the rescue mission.

His heart was already sinking, because the radio transmission of distress did not repeat again. Most probably the radio set would have got damaged in the sea water, but it could very well be worse. Colliding with a ship is no small deal for a wooden boat. Such events normally resulted in the complete destruction of the boat, and in most cases, serious injury or even fatality of the crew. But the valiant sons of the sea often float away on the debris of the boat, and are picked up by the crews of the other boats who would leave everything to rush for rescue. Francis knew his was the boat closest to the site. He knew that there were other boats that would be rushing in as well. The radio was giving out constant chatter, with the boats updating their position. Francis did not bother to put in his share of clutter into the airwaves. He knew seconds counted. He looked out for each of the swell to navigate his boat for the best of speed.

Still, it took an unbearably long half an hour to reach the site. Francis did most of the navigation the old fashioned way, by looking at the stars. But the trusty GPS was also helpful to provide the bearing. The first sign of the accident came, when they came across a wooden plank, with sky-blue paint on. Francis looked at it carefully, as he gave a twist to the wheel to avoid hitting it. “Holy Mother!” he thought as his heart sank. “That is the colour of Milton’s boat!!”. Maria Theresa was the boat of his friend Milton. Of course, a number of boats carry that colour, so he could be wrong as well.

Francis pulled the throttle back to half. “Jackie!! Thomas!! Look out all around. Looks like we are close”. The crewmen stood on either side of the bow, holding on by the railing, and peered around. Francis too, moved from side to side, trying to get a better view.

“There is something to the left” Jackie, who stood on the port side yelled. “Ashaan! Turn 10 left!!”. Francis quickly turned the wheel to come to the new course. He too noticed a bluish shadow there. As they approached, a big side panel of a boat came into view.

“Oh lord! It is Theresa Boat” Jackie cried. Francis held onto the wheel by one hand and moved to the left to peer out of the window. He quickly estimated the distance, and pulled the throttle back at the right moment. Approaching a wreck is tricky business. You are not expected to run over any survivors who may be floating around.

“Look down!” He cried. “Look down into the water”.

St. Sebastian inched closer, as Francis maneuvered the rudder to approach sideways. Around two thirds of the side panels of the forty three feet hull of the boat was floating aimlessly in the water. Loose planks and debris floated around, including floats, fuel cans etc. No sign of life was evident.

Thomas produced a powerful flashlight, and started scanning the beam around in the water. The boat went and softly butted with the floating panel. Nothing moved. There was no sign of life. Francis pushed the throttle upto quarter forward and softly pushed the debris around a bit with his bow. A bunch of sundry stuff, including plastic bins, cold boxes etc came floating out from beneath the panel. Still no sign of life. He pulled the throttle back to quarter aft and slowly pulled away. “Look around!!” He yelled. “Find the other half of the hull!.” He put the throttle in half forward and turned the wheel ten to starboard and moved forward. After passing the debris a good fifty feet, he took a careful look around, ascertaining the flow of the surf. Nodding his head in resolution, he pushed the throttle to full, and made a sharp turn to starboard.

“This is Francis.” He crocked into the radio. “We got one boat broken. Looks like Milton’s” He felt a lump in his throat as he tried to finish the sentence.

Even after hours of search, they could not find any survivors. By the morning, St. Sebastian, as well as the other boats who responded, had to abandon the search and leave.

^^What a great mix of details and thrill, great going Dileep ji !!!

Chapter 17

The TV channels were once again set afire by the high seas accident in the deep of the night that took the life of four fishermen leaving no survivors. It had flooded and effectively drowned out everything else in the news channels. It was standard operating procedure. OB Vans camped in and around the fishing village to capture the sorrow of the relatives. Khadi clad leaders vies for camera time, complaining heavily about the sad state of security in the coastal waters. Panel discussions had anchors and experts alike theorizing on international conspiracies from the organized fishing industry. The state police, specifically, its marine wing, was trying its level best to identify the ship that caused the accident. The local station of the marine police had its share of responsibilities, to identify the victims and watch out for bodies washed ashore.

In all these melee, the story of a bizarre road accident and the escape of a prisoner who was wanted in a gruesome murder were all but forgotten by the media. In the current information age, any story is no story after a couple of weeks, after all.

Anish Kurup, the innocent victim of that accident, was discharged from the hospital and moved into the original home of his parents in the suburbs, which was lying unoccupied. His lower torso was now encased in a plaster cast, which held onto his pelvis and spine in a tight hold, letting the cracked vertebra to heal undisturbed. As a consequence, he needed help with most of the daily activities, like getting up from the bed or cleaning up after toilet. Though he insisted that he did not need help, his younger brother Ajish forced himself upon the situation, by taking leave from his work to take care of his brother, at least till he can be on his own.

Anish still could not remember any details of the accident, except some hazy images of a Force Traveller coming towards him. He was not sure if that was a real memory, or a planted one from the third party accounts of the accident. After great insistence, he had successfully convinced his brother to take the ambulance via the accident site during his journey home. He was not well enough to get down and inspect the site, and had to take a look from within the confines of the ambulance. His car was already towed to the VW workshop in the city, and was under insurance processing.

Like any active person, who was forcefully confined to a bed, Anish also felt restless to great extremes. For the first few days after settling in, there was a constant stream of visitors. Relatives from all around came and went. Neighbours, who watched him grow up among them, and took pride in him being a part of the elite commando force of the country, dropped in to commiserate. Childhood friends of the brothers came in, reminiscing old time stories, trying to uplift the spirit. It was tough to say whether they were sad that such a predicament happened to their dear soldier, or happy that they could see him among themselves for a few weeks. But after a few days, the density of visits went down, and boredom started to set in.

The cable television and internet service in the village were terrible, so one of the first things that Anish did was to insist to get a DTH dish, and get a wireless internet connection that worked at the locality. With the TV facing his bed and the laptop placed on a gantry table, he felt somewhat ok. After getting hooked up for the first time, his heart sank, as the number of people in his social networks who expressed concern about him was, in milder terms, unexciting. Perils of being an introvert, he thought.

All through the ordeal, he was keeping in constant touch with DySP Ajith Kumar, to a level that is unusual between an investigating officer and a victim. It appeared to Anish that his background, that of being in NSG, and also in the profession of risk management, made an impact on the cop. Ajith was showing the unexpected courtesy of keeping him updated on the developments. Obviously, the calls ended with queries about the progress on recovering the memories of the accident. So, the calls were not entirely without intention.

As the initial rush was over, the brothers found just each other for company for most parts of the day. It was like going back to childhood. The young brothers were always seen together, doing some stuff ot other. The villagers found them wandering around the lands, at the pond, or at home building something. Always chattering. Always together. But the years, and adolescence had kind of drove a wedge between them. After Anish left the village for his studies, they didn’t have much of a chance to spend time together. Anish had joined the army straight from college, and the brothers met only for a few days while on leave. By the time Anish had left the NSG and came back to start his own business, Ajish had his job at a different place, making their meetings only at special occasions like Onam. Now, they got a rare chance to be the brothers again, as close as the two inseparable boys years ago.

It was a week and a half after they moved to the house. There was overcast sky and some drizzle. Their servants, both the lmaid who managed the kitchen and the man who took care of the house and yard, had left early. The brothers had an early dinner, and retired. Anish spent almost an hour watching TV, but the dense overcast was constantly interfering with the satellite reception. Finally, he turned it off and moved the bed to flat position, ready to sleep.

Sleep was not easy. The solid cast around his torso made breathing a bit difficult. There was a faint, lingering pain from his back that could not be located. The pain seemed to grow like a slowly warming up heater, and subsided when he moved a bit. Also, the lower limbs went into some numbness as the pain increased. It made sleeping difficult. Also, as he dozed off, dreams of absurd nature started which often woke him up. After what seemed like eternity, fatigue took over and he fell into some form of sleep.

It should have been his years of commando training that kicked his brain. In an instant, Anish Kurup was wide awake, looking at a black shape of a human form tiptoeing towards his sick bed.

Chapter 18

No one, not even a well trained soldier, can keep his guard up all the time. For someone convalescing from injuries at a place that could as removed from a hostile environment as it could be imagined, the response from Anish Kurup could only called remarkable. He was not sure what woke him up, but by the time he was consciously aware of the dark form that crept towards him, his body had already been pumped up with enough adrenaline, and being prepared for danger.

His mind immediately went into the possibilities. There can’t be any good intentions with this intruder. Robberies were unheard of in the village, and burglaries and thefts were rare. Recently, as the city had been extending its tentacles of urbanity around to the closer vicinity of the village, the associated perils of pollution and crime had also started showing up in the mostly calm life scene here. But someone breaking into a visibly occupied house was something not to be taken lightly.

Considering his current physical state, Anish decided to wait and watch for a moment. He didn’t want to surprise the intruder and make him launch an attack right away.

The shape had already moved well into the room through the open door. It stood there, scanning around and taking in the whereabouts of the room. Anish observed him, for it was clearly was a man, closely from half closed eyes. He tried hard to regulate his breathing, to avoid obvious signs of being awake. The shape leaned forward, as if to look at his face. Anish could get a better view of the man. He was a slender, but tall built one, with a dark coloured sheet of cloth wrapped around, covering his head like a hood. Anish considered it weird. The burglars of the few incidents reported around the city mostly appeared scantily clothed, and covered in black oil to camouflage, and also to be slippery if caught.

As if he made a decision, the man made a step forward, while being closely watched by Anish unknown to him. This is not good, thought Anish, and he almost opened his mouth to yell, alerting his brother sleeping in the adjoining room.

Then something unimaginable happened. The man exposed his right hand from the bundle of the blanket, which held a dagger. It had a blade that was almost a foot long. A violent jolt of adrenaline hit Anish’s system, and things seemed start moving in slow motion. The arm with the dagger rose, and started to describe an arc mortally targeting the chest of the sick man.

With a throat splitting roar, the commando within the battered body lifted itself using the functional, steel strong arms, and pulled the whole body up, sliding it towards the headboard by a few inches.

With a dull thud, the blade landed on the plaster cast, pierced it, and thrust an inch inside, wounding the skin of the sick man’s abdomen. Only the instinctive tucking in of the abdominal wall saved him from a bigger injury.

The assailant was completely taken by the surprise of the move, and in the confusion, he frantically tried to pull out the dagger from where it was stuck. Anish felt red hot pain on his abdominal wall, and realized that the dagger had, in fact, hurt him badly. He held his guts in, moved the weight to his right arm, and felt around the side table on the left of his bed. He found his tablet computer, being charged on the side table.

In an instant, he gave a jerky pull on the cord of the power supply, and the charger unit came free. He jerked it up, and with a carefully aimed swing, landed it on the head of the assailant. By the time, finding that it is difficult to pull out the dagger from the cast, he was trying to push it in, trying to make the injury of his quarry worse. The heavy power supply, aided by the momentum of the swing had given a decent punch to the hit, but it was not enough to stop the bully. Anish quickly moved the cord to the right hand, and prepared for another hit, all the while howling at top of his voice for his brother.

As the assailant deflected another blow by the swinging power supply, Anish saw another shape come in into the room, and then yet another one come after and try to tackle it.

It was Ajish, rudely awoken from his sleep finding the accessory of the assailant, and engaging him.

Chapter 19

For the first time in his life, Ajish Kurup felt that he should have paid more attention to his physique, and taken up some martial arts like his brother did. He was always the meek, non aggressive kid brother while Anish was the more active, pick up a fight kind of guy. During the childhood, Ajish never felt the need for anything in self defense in nature. He had the best defense at hand, which is his elder brother. But right now, the same fort of strength is lying bedridden, and it has become his call to save his life from the assailants.

During the melee, he even found time to pray that there are just these two bad guys. As it is, they seem to be pretty good in fighting, and any tilt in the strength would easily turn fatal for the brothers. He tried hard to pin his opponent down and deliver an incapacitating blow, so that he can rush to help his bed ridden brother, who, despite being seriously injured, seems to be putting up quite a fight.

Anish was able to land a couple of well aimed swings of the power brick on his opponent before the cable broke and the brick went flying away, knocking down an array of medicine bottles on the shelf. His assailant noticed this and leapt onto him, thinking that now it would be an easy kill. Anish saw this, and clenching his hand, his steely arms struggled to pull out the dagger that is now stuck in his plaster cast. The moment it came free, he restrained his hands, and continued pretending to loosen it, while fixing his eyes on the opponent. The opponent, sensing what seemed to be the helplessness, lunged at him, and in one swift movement, Anish moved the blade of the dagger to receive the heavy body being flung at him.

The man saw it after his body had committed into the leap, all he could do was to try a sideways motion, getting only a gash to the side of his chest, than getting impaled on the blade. With a thud, he landed, with his arms landing close to the original destination, which was the throat of the struggling target. He found balance and righted himself in a second, and put his weight down, pinning Anish to the bed. His black, thick hands were met by Anish’s, while the two men embraced in a deadly struggle. Blood started pouring out from the wounds of both men, soaking the bedsheet.

Ajish was trying hard to hold onto his opponent. Both of them landed on the floor, desperately trying to get on top. His opponent landed a couple of bone crunching blows to his forehead, and his vision darkened suddenly. As he was trying to land the third, Ajish turned his head sideways and saw the outline of his forearm. Without thinking much, he lunged forward, held onto the hand and bit it as hard as he could. There was a muffled scream, and some heavy blows landed on the back of his head, but he channeled all his strength into his jaws, and dug into the muscle. Taste of blood filled his mouth, which surprisingly, seemed to give a boost of energy and clear his vision. Without leaving his bite, he found some foothold, lifted himself up, and landed his knee over the torso of the assailant. For the first time in the fight, he felt he was winning.

More due to luck than plan, Ajish could push his knee down, sliding over the man’s chest to find his throat. A searing pain shot up the leg, but with all the strength and determination he could muster, he put all his weight down. A muffled grunt, and the sudden struggle told him that he found the mark. He moved the other leg to capture the flailing arm and pin it down. Leaving the legs of the opponent to kick around aimlessly, he held on, counting moments through ebbing strength, for the struggle to stop.

Anish had almost given up, with the fatigue and blood loss overcoming him, and the assailant seeming to gain strength, when he heard the roar like grunt from his brother, and the wheezes of strangling of his opponent. Thinking of nothing, he made one last and feeble attempt to call his brother. The voice came out only as a wail.

As he was losing consciousness, he felt something heavy crash into his opponent, and the weight getting lifted off his body. Blackness engulfed him right after that.

Realistic and nice description of the fight

Dileep. Your narrative style is fabulous. greedy for more.

Great stuff Dileep

Chapter 20

Head Constable Kamalan of the marine police outpost was an easygoing man. He was assigned to that part of the force primarily because of his background of being hailing from a fishing community, but his nature had also played a part. The marine police almost never faced any real crime situation. The worst that can happen in their jurisdiction is some petty fights between the fisherfolk about some damaged equipment or encroaching on the claims. His main job used to be helping in search and rescue for the fishing vessels and their crews, and liaison with the higher authorities like the coast guard.

Kamalan was rudely awakened from sleep by his phone ringing. He took a look at his wife, still asleep despite the blaring ring tone of a devotional song on Lord Murugan. “ Not even a Tsunami would wake this daughter of a buffalo!!” he cursed, and stood up trying to figure where the right end of his lungi was. He looked at the clock, and the time seemed to slap him out of the sleep. After hastily tucking his lungi in, he grabbed the phone. The number belonged to Globin, one of the local leaders of the fishing community.

“What is it Globin?” He asked, after clearing his throat a couple of times to get the voice out.

“Kamalan Sir!! Come immediately. One boat is hit by ship!!” Globin’s voice was terror impersonate. Kamalan felt as if the bottom of his stomach falls away.

“Where? Which Boat?” He struggled to find words. This was something indeed terrible.

“At 24 fathoms. Francis aashaan is the one reported it. It is said to be Maria Theresa. You jnow, Milton’s boat.” The voice trailed off, as Globin seemed to be talking to someone else at the other end.

“Globin!!” Kamalan yelled to the phone. “You there?”

“Yes, sir” Globin came back and said apologetically. “Five or six boats are doing search. The rest are coming back to get aid. They are still out there, expected to land in a couple of hours”.

“OK. I am coming right away”. Kamalan told curtly and hung up the phone. He stood there thinking for a moment, and then started putting on his uniform.


Since the accident happened close to thirty nautical miles away from the shore, the poorly equipped marine police unit could not do pretty much anything productive for the search. They immediately reported the incident up through the authorities, and the coast guard was alerted soon enough. Two patrol vessels, both a few hours sailing away, were directed to the region to assist. Action was also taken to alert the Mercantile Marine authorities to find the ship who was the culprit.

Though it was not part of his official duty, at least till the identity of the boat that suffered the mishap is positively established, Kamalan took it upon himself to visit the house of Milton Correya, the owner and srank of the fishing boat Maria Theresa. In the fishing village, everyone knew everyone else, and the head constable of the marine police outpost was an important social position. Also, Kamalan knew the life of his people. His father was a fisherman himself, and only his determination to get an education to his son that had made Kamalan to get out of the trade and get a job in the police.

The group of houses was typical of any fishing community. Earlier there used to be small huts with thatched roofs made of coconut leaves. After the Tsunami of 2004 took out a lot of the houses, government and charity aid was used to construct simple houses with brick walls and concrete roof. Milton’s house was one on the end of a small, 2 ft wide lane, flanked with fence made of coconut fronds and Gliricidia bushes. A small crowd of women and children had already been assembled there, as well as several men, who were starting to put up a tent roof in front of the house. As Kamalan walked up, the men nodded at him acknowledging, and a few stopped what they were doing and walked up to greet him. Kamalan nodded back to them, and turned to the front of the house.

Jesinta, the wife of Milton, and his two daughters, were sitting in a woven mat spread on the floor, silently weeping. The womenfolk from the neighboring houses were sitting flanking them, trying to console, and often giving out a sob or two themselves. A brand new motor cycle, which is yet to get its registration plates, was parked at one side of the yard.

As Kamalan walked up to the house, Jesinta looked up and saw him. For some unknown reason, she gasped, and looked at the cop with a terrified expression, and with both hands held the two young girls. Kamalan was really taken aback by this expression, which he often seen with people confronted with petty crimes. Though a cop, he was there in the capacity of a local person, and there was no need for this woman, who know him well, to be scared of him. It felt really odd for his police brain.

Given the situation, he shook that off and smiled at Jesinta. She averted his gaze, held onto the girls tighter, and started another shallow wailing. A couple of older women crossed themselves.

A bit embarrassed, Kamalan turned to one of the men who walked upto him, and started off with the regular chit-chat appropriate for the occasion. The search party was not yet come back, but there was no positive information yet. And the ‘children of the sea’ knew very well that means. They just pretended of having some positive hope outward.

Throughout that day, as he went through the official work connected to the terrible incident, the thought of the woman’s expression kept coming back to Kamalan

one good thing about my brief hiatus from BR is that I finally got to read the whole thing at one sitting.
I really like the larger plot but I do have a little uneasiness about the fight scenario. would a person with serious injuries manage to put up that much fight ?

Chapter 21

Head Constable Kamalan was not too surprised to see the man walking down the dirt patch that led to his home. Solomon was the local handyman, who took care of most of the tradesman needs of the locality, be it that of an electrician, plumber, or even carpenter or mason. He too was from a fisherman’s family, but for some unknown reason, he hated the sea and the profession of fishing. On rare occasions, under the influence of alcohol and camaraderie, he used to claim that he considered fishing to be murder, earning a living by destroying thousands of lives. In any case, from a young age, he forced himself upon one Thankappan who used to do the odd jobs, as an apprentice. After the guru had to leave the place implicated in a scandal, Solomon took over as the local handyman. The only other passion he had was religion. He was an independent preacher, whom every other religious source, be it the catholic church, or the evangelical churches that operated in the area hated. That was because he came down heavily upon them for their corruption and un-christian ways. Kamalan was friends with him, as they enjoyed discussing the spiritual subjects, as both of them dissected the teachings of two icons. Jesus, that Solomon believed in, and Narayana Guru, that Kamalan believed in.

He also served as a valuable information channel for Kamalan. His service was very valuable in Kamalan’s work of policing, because even though he had a good record of working with the community, most of the people still had the fear and abhorrence to the police. Solomon almost never volunteered information. He used to claim that he is obligated to talk because he hated lying.

Given the event that rocked the village the previous day, the visit by Solomon could mean only one thing, Kamalan thought. He rose from the plastic chair where he was having his morning tea, and welcomed his friend.

As expected, what Solomon had to tell him was indeed, related to the unfortunate event of a boat being run over by a ship in the high seas. Milton Correya, the owner of the boat Maria Theresa was a well known person in the locality. Kamalan had a reason to interact with him in the recent past.

Milton used to live near a cove, almost a km south of the main beach, with his wife Jesinta and three daughters. The Tsunami of 2004 took everything he had, including little Maria Theresa, his youngest. The entire area where his house, and that of a few others stood was taken by the angry ocean that came out of the cove, like someone tipping a trough full of water. Though the rehabilitation efforts by the government had provided them with a house to live in, and some capital to lease a boat, they still were in deep financial troubles. His taking to the bottle didn’t help the situation either. It was not a few weeks ago that a couple of bounty hunters showed up at his place, as he had defaulted on some loans.

Kamalan had to intervene, as the ruffians created terror in the area. Allegedly, they made indecent remarks on Jesinta, which prompted the neighbours to intervene. Daggers were drawn, threats were made, as the poor neighbours went back shivering. Someone had the sense of mind to call Kamalan. By the time he reached the location, the bounty hunters had made their escape, leaving a terrified Jesinta and two daughters. Kamalan spent almost an hour, listening patiently and sympathetically to the pathetic life story of the family, and left with a heavy heart. But almost everyone in the fishing village had similar stories to tell.

But today, Solomon had a totally different picture to paint.

Milton, apparently got a chunk of money in the past week from some unexplained sources. He had bought a brand new motor cycle for himself and some nice clothes for his wife and kids. The neighbours were already talking hush-hush about the sudden prosperity of the man, mostly out of pure jealousy. Some speculated that he got some windfall, like a bunch of smuggled gold, or a briefcase full of money. Curious as a cat, they first approached the crew of his boat. Maria Theresa was a four man boat. Apart from Milton who was the srank, it employed three Tamil youths who came along as part of the lease terms. It is not unusual to have Tamil fishermen to work in these villages, as like any other labour intensive profession, the local boys were shunning fishing, and the migrants were taking their place.

Being lived in the village for almost a year, these young men were already like local residents, and spoke Malayalm reasonably well. They were carefully approached by a few of the men to chat up. But suddenly, they seemed to have forgotten the language, clamming up and raising an impervious wall. So no progress was made thon that front.

Then some of the men even tried to join Milton up for a drink, but surprisingly, Milton refused, citing that he stopped drinking the filthy illicit liquor. He ceven gifted them a bottle of brandy from a stash on board his boat for good measure.

And that is when the proverbial cat was killed because of the curiosity. Chavaro, one of the loose-tongues asked Milton where the bottle came from, and whether he got it in his fishing net. Though this quip was made in a friendly way, it caused a remarkable change in Milton. He responded with a volley of choicest abuses, accusing of the men of being jealous of his “well prespired for and well earned” money. The men, being encouraged by the alcohol that was already in the veins, shot back that they have no reason to be jealous about the “smuggler’s money”. Things went to almost a brawl, but Milton suddenly stopped short and walked away, claiming that it is beneath him to fight with these men.

The gossiping womenfolk also tried to do their gestapo work, but neither Jesinta nor the little girls were of any help. They too seemed to be genuinely surprised by the sudden wealth their man of the house seemed to have found himself in. The lie detector of the women did not pick up anything wrong in that story. After all, the men lived their own lives in the fishing village; while women toiled away just to keep up their part of the bargain.

The event was soon forgotten and forgiven, mostly because most of the participants were not in a position to remember it the next day. Still, there was an uneasy distance that Milton kept with the rest of the crowd. Since Milton’s boat did not employ any locals, this was the norm anyway.

It all changed with the tragic accident, and the untimely demise of Milton.

Like any village community, the fishing village rallied together to deal with the catastrophe. Men organized search parties, hiring the best and fastest boats from harbours as far as 30km away. Women folk stayed with Jesinta and the girls, trying to comfort him, and praying together. No one bothered to remember the recent bunch of gossip.

That was till Francis came back ashore after the tiring search in the high seas. Him being the only eye witness of the event, had to tell the story many times to different audience. Though the story was generally the same for all such iterations, some of the doubts that had already formed in Francis’s mind also found their way into them. During the aftermath of the tragedy, the focus was to conduct the search, so he hadn’t got time to think. Now that he is back ashore, relaxing with a glass of the strong stuff got him thinking about the oddities. He started sharing them with his friends.

Why did Milton go beyond 24 Fathoms? Why was he appeared to be approaching the ship than staying away? Why was he not lighting up his headlamp?

There was only one conclusion. Milton, blessed be his soul, was doing something illegal, something to do with the ship when he got run over.

Piracy? Smuggling? Trafficking? The questions came out of the alcohol induced clouds in the minds. But they collectively decided to keep it quiet and not give publicity. They need to think of the poor family that he left behind.

But Solomon thought otherwise. He came to Kamalan.

Rahul, if Anish Kurup was healthy, the attacker wouldn't have reached within ten feet of him. Injured, retired or even old, he is an NSG commando. He did what he could.

Kalakkan story Dileepetta. Waiting for more.

Chapter 22

Ajish Kurup’s hands trembled uncontrollably, and the chair fell down, crashing down on his feet and hurting his toes. He didn’t feel it presently, as he lunged forward, collapsing onto the duo of men lying crumpled up on the bed. Blood was everywhere, and the sweet stench of if saturated the air. His brother was lying on his back, unconscious and drenched in blood, both his own and that of his assailant, who was lying face down on top, bleeding from the cut on the back of his head where the chair landed. Ajish shook him once to see if he was conscious and would fight back. Seeing his body limp, he commanded all his strength to pull the body up and away from his brother. It was a very tough job, as his knees were already shivering and feeling rubbery. Somehow, he managed to push the body over the edge of the bed, letting it limply fall on its back with a sickening thud, as the head hit the floor again. Blood was streaming from a wound on his torso, which met with the blood dripping down from the bed and collecting on the floor.

Ajish immediately turned his attention to his brother. He flicked the switch, but the lights did not come on. He remembered that power was out when he woke up into the commotion. He searched for the phones that were kept on the side table. It was all in a big mess, as the fight had displaced everything. He could not find a light source to check on his brother, except the very faint starlight coming in through the window. He moved back to the head of the bed to take a closer look at his brother. The visible parts of his body, in whatever way he could see in the limited light, seemed to be fine. The mattress was drenched in blood, which Ajish prayed to be not of his brother.

Trying not to touch the prostate figure on the floor, Ajish squeezed himself and crawled under the bed to go to the other side. The bath room was on that side, and his immediate thought was to get some water to sprinkle on his brother to try waking him up. He had trouble with crawling, as some liquid, maybe blood, was on the floor making it slippery. As he moved past the bed, and tried to raise himself, his feet found something very desirable. A flashlight that used to be kept on the side table had fallen on the floor.

Greatly relieved, Ajish grabbed it and turned it on. It was one of those two cell LED flashlights which gave a reasonably good beam. First he shone it on the bed to take a better look at his brother. Anish was still unconscious, but breathing normally. The light showed Ajish the horror of the wound on the plaster cast. There was a puncture on the plaster cast, which had blood oozing out. With a pitiful wail, he called out to Anish again, and instinctively tried to press down on the cast. Though unconscious, Anish’s body twitched in pain. Terrified, Ajish let go, and decided to get some water to try wake up Anish.

It took some effort for the trembling hands to get hold of a mug and turn the tap. His hands were all slippery with blood and sweat, which could not grip the knob of the faucet. It took him moments to get the sense to use the towel to wipe his hands clean. Finally, he managed to get some water in a mug, and he shuffled back towards his brother. He sprinkled some water on his face, wiped down gently and called again.

With a groan, Anish woke up. Relieved, Ajish felt the body of his brother go tense looking at him, he called out to his brother, and asked him whether he was ok.

“I am fine. Where are the thieves?” Anish asked, his voice cackling as he felt his throat to be on fire.

“Just a minute. Forgot about them”. Ajish mumbled. “Let me see.” He rose and shone the beam of the flashlight to where the assailants were left down. Anish struggled to push himself up to look, but with a cry of agony, gave up and fell back.

The one who attacked Anish was lying passed out, face up in a pool of blood. Ajish moved the beam further out to where he left his own quarry.

There was only a streak of blood leading to the door. He was gone.

Chapter 23

Ajish fought hard to clear his head, which began clouding up from the exhaustion that comes after a bout of adrenaline. He can’t afford to lose out right now. His brother needs immediate help. He was not sure how bad his injuries were, but he knew that they would be worth of worry. But before he went for that, he needed to secure the lone attacker who remained in the room. There was no time to find or pursue the other one, who apparently dragged himself away.

Hr staggered closer, with great effort not to slip in the pool of blood, to the prostrate figure on the floor. The beam of the flashlight played on the bloody face. The pitch black skin had started to pale a bit because of the blood loss. He was well built, with lean but strong muscles, almost like a martial artist. The shaggy shirt of a checked pattern, soaked in blood, stuck to his upper body. The hair, ample and wavy was all messy, with half of the mass stuck together in blood. Ajish looked around to find something to bind him up. He couldn’t find anything available, except the power cords of the table lamp. He grabbed it, and tried in vain to pull the cable out from the lamp body. He felt too weak to get any effect on it. Finally, he decided to abandon the attempt, and use the cord with the lamp attached. With great effort, he lifted up the arms of the assailant from underneath his torso, and bound the wrists tightly together. The slack of the cord is looped around the bed frame and securely tied up.

He was not happy about it, but that will have to do temporarily, ad the more important thing right now is to take care of his brother. But before that, he need some light.

With knees frequently refusing to obey, he shuffled out into the hall, and onward to the niche around the stairwell. The main power panel was placed there. Shining the flashlight in, he found that all the breakers are in position. The power must have failed in the mains, or even been disconnected from outside. He limped oback into the hall again, and got the tiny emergency lamp out from the shelf. This will have to do, he told himself. As an afterthought, he grabbed a couple of electrical cords lying around the shelf and walked back to the room where his brother was lying injured.

Without losing any time, Ajish went back and bound the feet of the assailant also together, and tied it to the tower bolt of the door. This way, the assailant was really stretched between the bed and the door, which would make any escape difficult.

His attention was grabbed by a groan from his brother. Anish had phased back into unconsciousness. The exertion and the loss of blood had taken its toll, even on the steel strong body. He was groaning from pain, even in an unconscious state.

“Stay with me, brother” Ajish called out, as he gently shook his face, trying to wake him up. With a painful wail, Anish woke up. His eyes stood glazed for a few seconds, before sheer will power made them clear, and allowed him to look at his brother peering down at him.

“One escaped.” Ajish reported as he held on onto the hand of his brother, panting. He allowed himself a bit of rest before he tried to check out and maybe clean-up his brother’s battered body. “The other one is laying knocked out below on the floor”.

“Tie him up well, kiddo”, Anish said in a low mumble, trying to turn his head to look down.

“No need to look. I tied him already.” Ajish said with a sense of pride. “You still think I am a good for nothing loser, don’t you?”

“That you always are, but you did pretty alright tonight.” Anish tried to smile. “Now, be a good boy, and take a look at my chest. I think the knife just got inside the skin, but I want you to see if the blood flow stopped there.” He winced as Ajish carefully lifted up the plaster cast to look in.

“It seems wide enough for a finger” Ajish reported, as he trained the flashlight into the wound. “But I think the blood stopped. I see no flow there.”

Anish took a gasping breath, and the muscles on his torso twitched. It held for a moment, and then relaxed again. “Did any blood squirt now?” He asked, with the voice strained with pain. Ajish gave the negative.

“Good. It is just skin wound as I guessed. Nothing to worry.” Anish said calmly, as his breathing eased. Such wounds are considered “just a scratch” by the commandos.

“What do we do now, bro?” Ajish asked, as he too, felt a wave of relaxation swept through his body. You want to be moved out from this mess?”

“First things first. We need the power back. Can you go out and take a look at the meter board?”

“You think they removed the fuse before entry?” Ajish asked, with a tone of skepticism.

“Well, worth checking. I don’t think they would take the trouble to cut the cable.” Anish said, as he laid back a bit, apparently to take a rest from his self examination. “Take something to defend yourself. I don’t expect problem, but there is someone out there who ran away.” Anish said casually, trying to hide his concerns. But getting power back was vitally important right now.

Ajish grabbed the flash light, and walked out. The meter board was mounted on the rear wall of the house, close to the back door of the kitchen. While passing through the kitchen, he grabbed the machete that is normally used for opening coconuts. He listened intently for a few moments before opening the door and peering outside. There was no sign of anyone out there in the yard, at least as far as he could see in the tiny beam of the flashlight. He ventured that it is safe, and walked out over the small verandah to the meter board.

He was surprised to see the fuse block lying on the ground. He grabbed it, and with some effort, plugged it back into the slot.

The lights came on inside.

He walked back, careful to lock and bolt the door behind him. He was still confused on how the assailants entered, and one of the escaped, from the house. But there was no time to investigate. While walking back to the room of his brother, he grabbed the wheel chair that was parked in the hall and pushed it into the room.

Lifting up his brother onto the wheelchair was not easy. He had to move the tied up body of the assailant to get space for the wheelchair.

“Shit!” Anish cursed under his breath. “I think he moved.” As he noticed a twitch in the body. He planted a light kick on the side of the torso of the body, but it was just limp as before.

It took some time and great effort to get the injured body of Anish into the wheelchair. Normally, Anish would lift himself by the strength of his arms, and need only some guiding for his stiff upper body to slot in into the wheel-chair. But right now, his fresh injuries made it impossible, and Ajish had to carry most of the weight. Several occasions, Ajish felt that his brother was in searing pain, but trying hard to hide it. He let out a sigh when he was finally successful, and began to wheel the chair out.

“Stop!” Anish yelled, as he looked at the prostrate figure of the assailant. “Leave me here, and get some rope. He can loosen those knots in no time.”

Ajish was not so sure, but as he looked again at the bindings of the hands, he found that those were partially undone already. Highly suspicious, he planted another kick to the limp body, but there was no response again. He seemed to be out cold as it were.

With an air of resignation, Ajish walked out, and after a few minutes came back with a length of thick polypropylene rope that is used as a clothesline. Anish gave clear instructions, and the man was bound well in accordance to them. Finally, he was secured to the window rails for good measure. Anish did not allow himself to be wheeled out before he was satisfied with the knots.

It took almost an hour for the brother to clean up and give first aid to themselves. After settling Anish down to the bed in the other room, Ajish went back to check on their prisoner, as well as to find the phones to call for help. Anish allowed himself to relax, and welcome the sleep that he had been trying hard to keeping at bay.

“Bro!! he was abruptly brought back to consciousness by the yell from the other room. He heard frantic foot steps coming back to him. Ajish appeared, all frantic and excited.

“He is dead!! He is lying dead there. What do we do?” He wailed, and collapsed into the empty wheelchair kept near the bed.

Chapter 24

The small elongated building was built with cheap materials. The walls were un-plastered hollow bricks, and the roof was a simple flat arrangement of corrugated asphaltic board. The concealment of the electrical wiring showed like veins on the wall. There were four rooms in a row, each barely ten feet wide, and also a pair of bathrooms at one end for common use. This was a typical rented accommodation available in the village, which used to be occupied mostly by the fishermen, and employees of the seafood processing and ice units.

The three youths who worked in the fishing vessel Maria Theresa lived in one of the rooms. The other three rooms were also occupied by men of Tamil origin. According to Velappan, the landlord, the tenants were pretty decent folk. They paid the rent on time, and refrained from tearing the place down. This building stood on a sliver of land enclosed by a small drainage stream and a dirt lane. The other side of the lane was a coconut grove. There were no houses within a hundred metres of this one, and the locals basically left the residents alone.

The sun was already setting over a horizon that was more of grey than the customary red. The air was still, and the sky was hazy. It seemed the environment also shared the mood of the village that still hadn’t recovered from the shock from the morning. Head Constable Kamalan, followed by Globin, Solomon, and a few residents as well as Velappan walked to the building. It has become their responsibility to trace some contacts of the ill fated crew of the boat that got run over by a ship. Since the searches could not find any survivors, it was almost certain that the three were dead, and they need to find some contact information of the relatives to pass on the bad news.

One thing was still troubling Kamalan. Till then, nobody, including none of the other residents have contacted him, enquiring the whereabouts of the missing men. When a group of people live together at a shared residence, they should be concerned, especially when the whole village is in turmoil. His cop’s mind was getting really uncomfortable about the fact.

Together, they walked towards the building. “I see no lights.” Velappan said in a bit of anxious tone. It was already getting dark, and people should be already putting on the lights. As they approached the building, they found it totally devoid of any movement. The clotheslines tied among the coconut trunks were empty, and all the doors were locked with padlocks.

“No one is here.” Kamalan said which was obvious.

“Maybe they went to a movie or something.” Globin ventured. It didn’t make sense either, given the situation.

“But we need to contact the relatives as soon as possible.” Kamalan said, thinking of the questions he is going to face from the sub inspector. “Velappan, do you have the key?”

Velappan used to hold back a key for all the rooms, mostly without the knowledge of the tenants. This is needed, because sometimes, these guys vanished without any warning. He came forward and moved to the room to the right extreme. Taking a bunch of keys from the inner pocket of his underwear, he tried to open the lock. After several minutes of trying various keys, he gave up.

“Let me see” Solomon, the handyman offered. Velappan gave the keychain to him. It didn’t take much time for Solomon to figure that the padlock is of a brand that had no matching key in the ring.

“They changed the lock, Velappan chetta” He said with a shrug.

******** Velappan cursed. The assemblage of men smirked, as all of them knew how bad the loss of a padlock would be to the old cheapskate. “There is no value in renting to the Tamil folk, other than getting the rent on time. What to do!” The old man muttered.

Solomon looked around and fetched a piece of rusted steel rebar lying around.

“What are you going to do?” Velappan yelled. “Break the door”?

“No. I am just going to break the lock.” Solomon said, as he prepared for the feat.

“Can’t we wait for the folks to come back?” Velappan pleaded.

“Come back from the depths of the sea?” Solomon quipped, and continued with his work. The other men felt a bit bad about the insensitive comment. Though Solomon was one among them, and was a really helpful hand in technical matters, they still considered him kind of a traitor, as he abandoned the hereditary occupation of fishing.

“We need to get some information. Otherwise how will we inform the relatives?” Kamalan asked. There was no disagreement on that.

The padlock turned to be a formidable opponent. Solomon proposed to break it open using a hammer, but Velappan vetoed it. “The door is made of soft wood” He exclaimed with vehement opposition. “It will crumble with one hit of a hammer”

Finally, Solomon had to borrow the bicycle from Kamalan to fetch his tool kit from home. Struggling with a hacksaw and files for almost an hour got the padlock to give way. The room opened.

The darkness gave way as the tiny CFL lamp came to life. The intruders stood aghast as they looked in.

The room was completely devoid of any material stuff, except a torn towel spread on the back of the steel chair. No mattresses. No bags. No clothes. Nothing.

Kamalan stood there, sweating. He knew he is facing an incredible mystery.

^^^ Lots of incidents from the recent past..
1. Soumya case.
2. The Enrica Lexie..
3. The Sri Lankan refugees who were recently caught by K.P (when their plan was to scoot to Australia on small boats)..

Chapter 25

The unexplainable vanishing of eight men, all of Tamil origin, made a big commotion among not only the people in the coastal fishing village, but also in all of the media. Correspondents ran around like mad dogs, thrusting a microphone to the face of anyone who cared to even make eye contact. It was sensation at the extreme. Right after three of their neighbours, specifically belonging to the same ethnicity, gets involved in a collision incident in the deep seas, they seemed to have hastily vacated their rooms and vanished. The important thing, as the anchors loved to repeat, was that the room of the ill fated people were also cleaned out leaving nothing behind.

After HC Kamalan discovered that the room belonging to the crew of Maria Theresa to be empty, he ordered the forcing of the other doors, and found that all the rooms were cleaned out, just like the first one. Every member of the expedition went speechless. This was something they could never imagine.

The cop was the first one to stir. The first thing he did was to call his boss, the sub inspector of the local police station. Mr. Thomas George was a very capable officer who already had made an impact in the population, not by the physical abuse, but by his very professional approach. He was there at the site within half an hour.

By the time, the news had spread among the residents, and a small crowd had already gathered around. Kamalan made strict orders for them not to enter the rooms and touch anything. He had already started the basic enquiries to the people by the time the SI arrived.

There is an inherent lack of cooperation by the people for any crime investigation. This is because of the fear of getting into the hassles of having to go to the court to testify. The poor working folk in the village make a subsistence living, and one working day lost, waiting at the court only to hear that the case is postponed, was something they could not afford to have. Still, given the circumstances, and the stature of Kamalan in the locality, made them a bit more comfortable. They didn’t have much to say about the men, except that they seemed to mind their own business and live peacefully.

Those people were typical of the Tamil labourers who came to Kerala. They worked hard and saved every bit of money they could. They did not indulge in anything. They purchased just rice, a couple of vegetables and the bare minimum spices. Those, and the low denomination phone recharge cards, were the only commerce they made their custom to. They did not take credit from the stores, but always paid cash. When they did not make money, which unlike the construction labourers was rare for the fisherfolk, they went with less food than to borrow.

The shop keepers were not so fond of them because of the spending habits. They bought little, bargained a lot, and demanded change to the last paisa. But other than that, they minded their own business and lived a secluded life.

But Rehman, the provision store owner had a trivia to report. For the past couple of weeks, they seemed to indulge a bit more. More than a few times, they bought extra stuff from his store. He also remembered that they often carried takeout food parcels when they came back from work at the seafood factory.

That was a very rare occurrence. Those guys never bought or ate anything from the food stalls. Firstly, most of them didn’t like the taste of local cooking. Secondly, they hated spending the extra money. One day, as the pleasant smell of chicken fried in coconut oil permeated the shop, Rehman ventured to ask them what the occasion for celebration with chicken is. Now in hindsight, he felt that they passed worried looks around, and one of them replied that it is the birthday of someone. Rehman left it at that.

“Maybe they got some illicit money and wanted to celebrate” Rehman commented. “Did anyone have anything stolen?”

The cops did not respond. No one else had anything significant to add. It was already very late, and they decided to continue the work the next day.

Since no one knew what exactly those people did for a living, other than being told that a couple of them worked at the seafood factory, it was tough to proceed with the investigation. The team asked around with all the seafood factories for any employees or labourers of Tamil origin who had gone absent. They got a few leads from there, and the investigation progressed from there.

And one piece of information, got from the owner of fast food stall near one of the factories, corroborated what Rehman claimed. A couple of the Tamils, apparently labourers at the factory, had bought food from his stall almost regularly in the past week.

Chapter 26

The serenity of the small village was terribly violated that morning, as the police, media, and the casual onlookers thronged to the old house that stood in its own acre of land. The brutal attack on the residents, one being convalescent from a recent accident, was big news itself, but one of the assailants being dead as the brothers fought to defend themselves was really sensational.

Ajish had called the police immediately after he saw the man who was left tied up to be dead. The prospect of getting into trouble for the murder was not too much of a concern. There was enough evidence around for the struggle they underwent, and his brother Anish had the stab wound to show. The whole place was drenched in blood. But he could not imagine how the guy died. Of course, he had a stab wound, but Anish was pretty confident that it was not mortal. There was blunt trauma to the head that Ajish caused when he crashed a chair onto him. Maybe that was the cause. Who knows! They had only tied him up by the hands and ankle. That shouldn’t cause death!

It was the ambulance that came first. The attendants found that Anish’s wound was shallow. Thanks to the plaster cast, and his own reflexes, the dagger did not go beyond an inch. It just needed sewing up. They took him away, leaving Ajish to take care of the rest. Anish would, in all likelihood, return in a few hours.

By the time the ambulance was getting ready to leave, the first detachment of the local police arrived, followed by DySP Ajith. He took special interest in the case because Anish being an eyewitness to the sensational escaped prisoner case. He also valued the newly made friendship with the ex soldier, and was sincerely concerned about his well being.

By the time he arrived the advance team had completed the basic evaluation of the scene. The dead man was lying, body in an awkward, fetal position with the face up. Eyes and mouth were open. The wrists were tied together with rope, and linked to the ankles which also were tied together. Skin near the ties were severely eroded by the rope. Ajish didn’t remember it being like that when he tied him down. He was unconscious them, and offered no struggle. Maybe he awoke and tried to escape, he thought, but kept the thought to himself. He did not want to make any comments that could be used against him.

Ajish had already given his story to the cops. He did not hide or alter anything. In answer to a question, he made it clear that he had no clue why the attack happened, and declined to speculate on the reason. When DySP Ajith showed up, he had to go through the story again for the officer.

DySP Ajith hesitated in front of the room. The smell was horrible. The blood was already getting to decay, and the smell of death was unbearable. He took out his handkerchief and covered his mouth and nose. He carefully and methodically observed the scene. He noted the pool of blood, the blood drenched bed, and the furniture in disarray. The police photographer dutifully documented everything. After he covered the whereabouts, he turned to the dead body.

The process of making a "Mahazar" at the murder scene was no way as glamourous as one sees in the movies. It is a horrible experience. You have to deal with all the filth and stink, as well as the psychological effects of seeing death up close. You also need to maintain your presence of mind, to make sure that all pieces of evidence was recovered and documented. This included detailed description of the scene, including measurements, and the description of anything and everything that is deemed important.

Ajish was sent away during this process, basically to fend off the queries of the locals. His relatives from the locality had already arrived and assumed responsibility of running the house. He was left to answer the questions, and narrate the story again and again, whenever a new ‘important’ person arrived. He also had to find time to contact the hospital to enquire about the well being of his brother. At least on this side the news was good. Anish is doing pretty good, and will be back by evening.

By the time the media showed up, Ajish was totally tired, and disgusted. Entrusting a cousin to take care of them, he retired to a room and lied down to rest. Soon enough, he dozed off into a very uncomfortable sleep, filled with nightmares.


He was woken up by loud knocks on the door. He was being asked to see the DySP.

Half dazed, he opened the door and walked out, as his cousin led him to the room where the dead body was. He found DySP Ajith standing there, deep in thought. He had to call him to wake him up from thought.

“Ajish, I think you should see this. Make sure that you tell Anish when he comes through.” Ajith said, as he invited Ajish in, leading him towards the dead body, which was being prepared to be moved for the autopsy. The sub inspector looked up in surprise to see the officer leading in a civilian. Ajish tried hard to fight back the nausea. He really wished he could avoid doing this.

“Look..” the DySP pointed out to an ornamental chain that was on the neck of the dead man. It was a thick chain made of silver. There was a cylindrical pendant on it. Ajish didn’t see anything remarkable on that.

“Do you remember anything about this during the struggle?” Ajith asked Ajish. He didn’t even remember seeing it, and he said so.

“He bit into that pendant” Ajith paused, looking at the reaction of Ajish. “It was cyanide!”

Ajish was too tired to be surprised.