The Martyr

I am quite sure that no human, whose eyes shall chance upon this document, shall believe the words it contains. I do not write with the hope that I shall be freed from the chains of the asylum that bind me now. I write to silence that part of my heart which yearns to uphold the principles that my Master vouched for throughout his life.

My fingers quiver with the sheer magnitude of the truth that they are about to pen. I still shudder to recollect the events of that day.

It was a nice and fresh Friday evening. I stood on the side of the pathway leading onto the dais, beside Ram. He was excited and longing to see Master. I was dressed immaculately in white, exactly as Master always expected. White – the color of pristine love.

The trees around swayed gently in the evening breeze. Some people were whispering among themselves as Master seemed to be taking some time to come out. Some others, wrapped with shawls, just watched the proceedings in a withdrawn fashion. The birds made it a perfect evening with their melodious twitters.

Just then, Master stepped out of the house and came walking slowly towards the dais. He was about ten minutes late and his face seemed to be troubled by it.

Everyone brought their palms together to salute Master as he passed by them. I too did the same with all the reverence I had in my heart for him. Master halted in his steps when he saw me.

“My dear Govind, can you fetch my spectacles from the house? Forgetfulness is getting the better of this old man.”

I smiled in return for his grin and ran to the house. Master continued his walk towards the dais.

The spectacles were placed on top of Master’s wooden writing desk, beside the radio. Grasping it gently, I walked out into the soft sunlight.

Master had reached the dais and everyone had gathered around him: everyone, except one man who sat under one of the trees.

He had a green cloak wrapped around his gaunt body, and seemed to be lost in deep thought.

I knew every single person in the compound by face, except this man. And I was pretty much sure I had not seen him enter with all the others. I was puzzled as to how he got there. Now, however, after all that happened, his mode of entry is no longer a cause of bewilderment.

Master too seemed to have noticed him, despite not having his specs on. Smiling at him, Master spoke calmly, “My dear son, can you adjourn your thoughts for a few moments and join us in our prayer?”

The man in the green cloak did not seem to pay attention. It was then that I noticed the object that the man was staring at. He held a locket in his hands that he was twirling with his fingers.

“It must be the possession of a loved one that he has lost”, I thought to myself, although his face had no tinges of sorrow.

It was an unearthly face: white and expressionless. I quickened my steps towards the dais.

Master calmly repeated his question.

This time, however, the man in the green cloak raised his eyes and stared straight at Master. The red rays of the setting sun lighted his face and his thin, slit-like eyes glistened.

Master continued, “I haven’t asked for anything impossible. Step forward, son!”

The man in the green cloak grasped the locket tighter.

“Do not call me your son. I do not wish to be called a son of you people. I am a son of nobody. Do you get that you vermin?”

The manner in which he uttered the words sent a shiver down my spine. Somehow I felt this man meant harm. So I almost broke into a run to reach my Master on the dais.

“No no. Do not speak thus. We are the loved children of the lord who created us all. The lord who nourishes us all, the lord who…”

And then it happened...

For the next few moments, only one voice rang through everyone’s ears. A cruel voice that almost burned one’s insides with its echoes.

“I AM THE LORD OF THIS WORLD! AVADA KEDAVRA!"

There was a flash of blinding, green light and Master crumpled to the ground, dead. I lost my balance in shock and fell into one of the big bushes that aligned the sides of the pathway. Everyone witnessing this event gasped in unison but still stood riveted to the ground.

“THERE SHALL BE ONLY ONE LORD HENCEFORTH! THE DARK LORD! LORD VOLDEMORT!” he bellowed. I parted the leaves of the bush and stared.

The man in the green cloak was now chanting under his breath holding the locket in one hand and a wooden stick in another. I was just too stunned to even move. Within moments, an obscure mass of vapours emanated from within his body. It was as if his soul was coming out of his body. And then, the vapours dissolved into the locket. It shone brightly for a second and then grew normal.

The man in the green cloak guffawed as if elated by the success of his act and now stared at the crowd in front of him. They stood petrified with Master lying dead in their midst. He waved the stick, and one of the people in the crowd stepped forward, as if hypnotized. It was Ram. Another flick of the stick – a gun appeared in his hand. Another flick – Ram fired three bullets into Master’s limp body.

There was another swish and a wind swept across the faces of everyone in the crowd. I watched helplessly from within the bush. The people immediately caught hold of Ram, who dropped his gun. Some others lifted Master’s body and started running towards the house.

The man in the green cloak chuckled hideously and vanished in a swirling mass of robes.

I do not know how long I sat there within that bush, utterly stunned by the happening. I grew doubtful of my own senses. I shut my eyes and dearly wished that I had been hallucinating. I waited for someone to come and wake me up.

Nothing happened.

It was night when I opened my eyes. I was lying within the house on a soft white rug. There were several feet walking about within the hall. I tried lifting my head, but it ached. Employing all the strength left in my weak limbs, I sat up slowly. For a moment, I wondered if it could all have been just a dream.

That was when I noticed Master’s spectacles still clutched in my left hand. And that was when the radio in the hall blared out, loud and clear, over the babble of voices, “We announce with profound grief that Mahatma Gandhiji has passed away…assassinated by Nathuram Godse...”


(Afterword : (For non-HP readers) It would be mentioned in HP books that Voldemort killed a Muggle (non-magic person) to create one of his seven horcruxes, The horcrux in Salazar Slytherin's locket. But Rowling would not have mentioned who that Muggle was that Voldemort killed. All that I have done is make Gandhiji that person)

An Hour's Worth

It is indeed with a purpose that I begin to recount this tale to you. I am not very good at telling stories though. I hardly find the time. So kindly bear with my literary flaws, if any…

Venue : One dimly lit alley, Crawford Street, Los Angeles

Stepping into the silent alley, I checked my watch, as part of the routine. It was time, I thought. But the alley lay deserted except for me and a little rat, rummaging through a nearby dustbin for its late night supper. Could something have gone wrong, I thought. In a flash, I took out my mobile, and glanced at the notes.

‘John Clay, 23, Crawford Street, L.A. - 8.00 pm'

I checked my watch again. It was then that I realized my mistake. “Time zone error. Rewind by an hour”, I told myself. I somehow seemed to have forgotten that Los Angeles is a solid one hour behind Colorado in time. A very costly error…

Damn it! So that meant I had to wait there in that alley for another hour. “Once you reach the spot, you can’t leave without getting the job done.”

The words of my boss echoed through my mind. So I receded into one of the musty corners, away from the feeble light cast by the solitary street lamp. Time ticked away slowly. My phone began vibrating. But I stared at the rat. I didn’t want to look at the phone. The ramifications of my mistake was mutely screeching out at the top of its voice from within my pant pocket…

* * * * *

The rat seemed pretty much ravaged as he pushed around empty tins in the dustbin. He paused for a moment as our gazes met. With a panicky squeak, he dived into the deep reaches of the dustbin as a huge, dark figure stepped into the alley.

I had a good look at his face as he entered the field of light. No, he was not John Clay. I leaned back against the wall. The phone was still vibrating, non-stop.

“John? Are you there?” he asked expectantly, trying to stare through the darkness that cloaked me perfectly. Silence was the only reply that his question received. Even the rat was holding its breath. And then, there were footsteps…

From my side of the alley, a hooded figure walked in. He did not possess a very good build, but still looked formidable enough. The darkness wreathed me perfectly as the hooded figure crossed me.

Both these gentlemen met face to face at the centre of the circular field of light.

“I’ve brought the money John”, said the huge man, lifting an old, ragged leather suitcase and pointing at it with a thick finger. “Where’s Nicolas?”

“He’s safe in our custody back in Colorado, Paul”, replied John, pulling off his hood to reveal a sturdy face.

I lowered my head, closer to my chest and smirked. Safe in whose custody? Haha…

“You give me the money now and Nicolas will be back as if nothing had happened at all”, said John with a greedy smile on his face.

My grin grew wider. My phone’s vibration paused for a couple of seconds.

“I first want to talk to him”, spoke Paul firmly, moving the suitcase away from John’s reach.

John clicked his tongue in disgust and then taking out his cell phone quickly dialed a number. I yawned and checked my watch with the adjusted time.

“J dot here. Hand it over to Nic”, spoke John over the phone.

There was a moment’s silence. And then, John heard the reply. The reply which I knew he would hear. My phone had resumed vibrating.

“What?! Are you serious?” John almost gasped and lost his breath as he heard the voice at the other end speak. Paul’s gaze on John grew firm.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me before?.........Okay. I’ll handle the situation.”

Speaking thus he cut the line. His fingers quivered as he put his phone back into his pocket. He felt for his gun inside his coat but could not find it there. His forehead was already dotted with beads of sweat, as he gazed unsteadily at Paul. Paul raised his eyebrows, riveting John with a questioning glare.

“Noth….Noth….” It was taking some time for the words to come out. “Nothing, Paul. You cannot speak to Nicolas now. Not yet.”

“What do you mean not yet? I’ve brought the money you’ve asked for, haven’t I? Why can’t I talk to my brother then?”

“See… Paul… Listen…The situation is…”

Just then, Paul’s phone began ringing. With a grunt, Paul wrenched his phone from within his coat. He glowered at the mobile screen for a moment, with such fierceness that it may have evaporated on the spot.

“What the fuck is it, Bob? I told you not to disturb me for another hour, didn’t I?” he shouted back at the caller.

And then, Paul too fell silent. He stared blankly at the floor as he heard the man called Bob, speaking from the other end. Within a few seconds, Paul had cut the line. He was still staring at the floor. John gulped.

Placing his phone back into his coat pocket, and still staring at the floor, Paul spoke, “How do you wish to die John?”

“Listen Paul. It… It….It wasn’t our fault. At least… It wasn’t my…my fault…”

Paul raised his gaze from the floor and stared right into John’s quivering eyes.

“I asked you a question John. You haven’t given me the answer.”

“Paul… listen… We really do not know how this happened. The fellows are searching the whole of Colorado for the murderer. It wasn’t one of our gang. Trust me. It wasn’t…”

I grew restless as my phone continued vibrating with a renewed sort of vigour.

Paul dropped the suitcase onto the floor and his right hand went to his rear pant pocket.

“John… Do you know how much I loved my brother?”

Paul began advancing towards John, who began skulking in his shadow.

“Wait…Paul… we just kidnapped him for ransom. We were running short of money. Why would we kill him? We DIDN’T kill him. Trust me. We knew that he is your brother, Paul. Still we kidnapped him. That’s how desperate we were for money. But we would never have had the guts to kill him. It must have been one of Warner’s men who did it. You know Warner, the drug dealer? He is bent upon getting our gang into trouble...“

“Oh…so it was Warner who killed my brother then?” asked Paul sardonically, pulling out a black pistol from his pocket and pointing it at John’s forehead.

“Yes. Yes.” John nodded frantically.

From where I stood leaning against the wall, I could see that expression on John’s face clearly. The expression that I had seen on countless faces before. The sole expression that distinguishes the brave from the cowards…

“So it was Warner who killed my brother then…”

This time it was not a question. It was as if Paul was repeating the words to himself. John nodded his head frantically again. Paul’s right hand still held the pistol to John’s forehead while his other hand held his head by his hair.

John’s eyes were staring at the finger on the trigger. He gulped as the finger slowly loosened.

“So it was Warner who killed my brother then…” Paul repeated for a third time, as he loosened the grip further and looked away from John’s face. “Hmm… ok then. He’ll join you soon.”

The alley echoed with a gunshot. There was the sound of a boot hitting flesh, and a thud as John Clay toppled to the ground. A small pool of blood formed on the dusty floor and flowed slowly towards the dustbin.

Almost immediately an alarm sounded somewhere and there was the sound of rushing footsteps. Paul acted fast. Placing his gun back within his coat, and grabbing his suitcase, he vanished out of the alley in a flash.

I still stood waiting in the shadows as three men came running into the alley. They were clearly policemen in plain clothes. One of them kneeled down beside John, while the second lamented “Yet another murder? And that too when we were on patrol…Gawd… The General’s gonna screw us man…”

The first man caught hold of John’s wrist and gasped, “He’s still alive. Guards let’s get him to the hospital first. Jesus, save this chap!”

Unfortunately, Jesus wouldn’t be able to help, I thought, as the policemen lifted the hurt man onto their shoulders. I looked at my watch. It was 8.00 pm sharp. I stepped out of the shadows and placed the tube in front of John’s mouth.

The policemen never saw me, as they busied themselves with rushing towards the hospital. I kept up the pace with them. Another two seconds I thought, as I took the tube closer to John’s mouth. His eyes fluttered for a moment as he looked at me. I smiled back reassuringly. And after the two seconds elapsed, I halted in my steps.

Closing the tube with a cork, I placed John’s soul safely within my coat as the policemen rushed away into the darkness with the corpse. It was then, that I finally plucked out my vibrating cell phone and stared reluctantly at the screen, unable to imagine how many times it would have buzzed in this one hour.

“6124 alerts! 6124 people queued for death...”

I had to do overtime that night. And that is when the true worth of an hour hit me on my face.

I just felt like sharing this with you mortals. Thanks for reading. See you soon. :)