Thursday, December 13, 2018

Raghuveer muttered as he tried to keep pace with Luc; the narrow streets dotted with single-story houses and apartments. The contrast was strange and jarring, ancestral houses, more than seventy to eighty years old, sharing walls with modern apartments. From the bits of conversations the flew around and seeing the elderly women draped in sarees worn in the distinctive Tamil style, he guessed they were in Chennai. In the distance he could hear the ringing of temple bells, they must be in one of those agraharams, though he could not identify the exact locality. However, as the signboards, the few that he could see, were all in Tamil, he could not make out where exactly he was.

And it unsettled him.

But if he were to be honest, it was not the unfamiliarity of the location that perturbed him, enough had happened over the last week for him to accept it. Being in a different city at unexpected times had become routine for him.

It was a mundane thing, yet not ordinary, that had him preoccupied.

He had lost his temper that morning and shouted at Kamakshi, which was a rare occasion in their two decades of married life. They had arguments and disagreements, long weeks when they did not speak at all, days when she sulked but he had never lost his temper with her. And never in front of his whole family. And for a stupid reason that she had prepared upma without onions. They were all aware of culinary restrictions in his house which had somewhat relaxed after he married, for Kamakshi had worked around a schedule where onions and garlic could be used to prepare the meals, especially when she had learnt that he loved onion upma. But today was Subramaniam Shashti, and hence onions would not be used. He had never bothered with the calendar, simply accepting that some days, or rather most days, onions and garlic were forbidden.

Yet, today at breakfast when it turned out to be peas and carrot upma, he had lost his temper. He had shoved his plate away, pushing is so hard, it slid across the table and crashed to the floor. The shocked silence amplified the ringing of the crash and he had walked out, more in shame than anger.

Unfortunately, things had not ended there. When he sat down in his study to cool off, he realised his father had followed him. It worsened as his father spared no words to let him know what exactly he thought of his behaviour.

After hearing his father for a couple of minutes, he retorted, "You are my father, but I am not a five-year-old child so I request you not to scold me like I am one."

"The temper you displayed is exactly a tantrum a five-year-old child will throw so you will be treated as one. I do not care how old you are or how unwell you are, I am not approving that sort of behaviour."

His father stalked out and almost bumped into Kamakshi, who had been carrying a large steel tumbler of filter coffee, guaranteed to set even his foulest mood right. The hot liquid sloshed, spilling on her hand and his father's shirt, angering him as Kamakshi blabbered apologies while his father gently tried to calm her. His mother reached them on hearing Kamakshi's cry and led her away to wash her hand, though Kamakshi kept insisting the nothing had happened to her but was worried if the coffee had burnt his father.

Raghuveer gritted his teeth; he was responsible for the mess, if only he had not lost his temper. As he walked out of his house, he felt Tarun's eyes bore into him, his son was a momma's boy and held him at fault. The fact that Trisha, who always supported him, was silent proved that everyone agreed he had been wrong. It did not matter that he did too, he was too angry to apologise and too ashamed to0.

A walk would clear his head, he thought and started walking around the colony, hoping that at nine in the morning, he would not run into any familiar persons. He was in no mood for any pleasantries. With that in mind, he took a left into one of the bylanes leading off the main road and after a few minutes found himself in the narrow streets of a different city, with Luc a few steps ahead.

He sagged in relief when Luc stopped and then led them into a house, one which had been renovated and converted into a modern apartment model flats. It was empty but clean, obviously ready for the next occupants to move in. But for now, Raghuveer guessed would serve their purpose.

The view from the terrace was restricted to the house in front of them and as he looked he noticed that it was the only house that did not have any muggu adorning the open space before the front door. It could only mean one thing, there had been a death in that family and the nine-day mourning period had not yet passed. In that case, there should be no reason for his presence.

"Are you sure we should be here? There had already been a death..."

At Luc's bemused expression, Raghuveer stopped, maybe he should not be asking any questions. A doubt that did not get answered immediately for Luc wanted to know how Raghuveer knew that there was a death in the family.

"It is apparent, there is no muggu, and..." seeing the bewilderment on Luc's face, he elaborated, "the muggu is that design drawn in front of most, if not every, south Indian house. It is not drawn only when there is a death in the house so that everyone around knows about it."

"Ah, quite informative. And sensible when one ponders on it. I have to admit that your ancestors did know what they were doing, unfortunately, the intentions have been lost over the ages."

Unsure of whether it was sarcasm or appreciation, Raghuveer kept quiet and took in his surroundings. The narrow balcony afforded a full view of the house he had pointed out, though it was in partial shadow. The distance between both the houses was about four metres, at the most and as the height of the balcony would be around twenty feet, it would be sufficient range for a handgun. A rifle would be sheer stupidity to use. Though when Luc did hand him the Glock 17, there was no satisfaction that he had assessed correctly, only a feeling of unease and unrest.

Minutes ticked by and as the sun rose higher, the streets became deserted. Chennai was hot and humid throughout the year, and today's temperature must be in the thirties. Despite the shade of the balcony, the heat made him sweat and though the occasional clouds and passing wind provided some respite, it could make it difficult to get an accurate shot. He had waited in far worse conditions yet he could not shake off a feeling that it would be different today.

It was closer to noon when a woman stepped out of that house, she would be Kamakshi's age he guessed though her body was stiff with grief. From his vantage point, Raghuveer could make out the trembling of her fingers and wondered who she had lost. When she bent down to draw the muggu, a few simple lines that joined to make an intricate pattern, he knew it was the tenth day of mourning.

That was also the start of the end.

A harsh cry rang out, "Maami, where is that wastrel son of yours?"

The woman jerked up and shrank back, disgust and fear radiating from her, "Muthu! Do not take another step forward, you have done enough damage, please leave us alone."

Muthu seemed to be in no mood to heed her words, he stepped closer and grabbing her arm, repeated his question. She never got a chance to answer as someone else stepped into view. Younger than Muthu, yet taller, his face bore a hardened expression. But what caught Raghuveer's attention was his shirt, stained with blood. Yanking Muthu off the woman, he spoke to her, "Amma, go inside, I will deal with this piece of shit."

Raghuveer thought that she would object, he could see that she was struggling; the blood-stained shirt shocking her, but then in a few seconds she gave up and walked inside without a word.

Muthu pulled his hand free, and clutching the youngster's shirt, demanded, "Arjun, what have you done with my brother?"

Harsh laughter answered him, "Your brother and his friends got what they deserved, I would have liked them to suffer longer but they were not as strong as my sister. And now you will get what you deserve."

It was at that point the Luc whispered, "That is Arjun, he is just back after stabbing Muthu's brother and his friends to death. He is your next target, anywhere in the chest would do. Take your chance and fire."

The bullet slammed into Arjun's chest at the same time the knife struck him. As the blood flowed and Arjun gasped, Muthu turned and ran. Raghuveer saw Luc glide towards Arjun and he wondered what colour the mist would be. It was a deep purple shade which glinted in the sunlight, contrasting with Luc's pale skin. Raghuveer closed his eyes and for the first time over the past few days, sympathy for Arjun filled him; he was too young to die, even if he had killed three people and would have killed a fourth.

Raghuveer stayed with his eyes closed, swamped by fatigue, he waited for the familiar pull of his gut, that signalled that he had been transported. But when he felt a hand roughly shaking him, he opened his eyes and stared at his neighbour's worried face.

He lay slumped in the bylane he had entered in the morning. Blinking once, then twice, Raghuveer shook himself awake and staggered to his feet. Brushing off the concerned questions, he waved him away and started walking back home, unsteady for the first few steps. Even when he was able to walk straight, he did not quicken his pace, pondering over what had happened. An overwhelming sense of sorrow washed over him, Arjun would have been as young as Tarun was; his mother would be devastated at his death.

And for the first time, he wondered if it was worth destroying so many lives to save his son's life.

And the first signs of regret, but is it too late? What do you think, could you let me know.

Thank you for reading,
Nyna