MUNMUN SAMANTA

Abstract Tragedy Thriller

4  

MUNMUN SAMANTA

Abstract Tragedy Thriller

Afterlife

Afterlife

4 mins
357


Scene-1  

The man is there, blood smeared, gasping for life in bright daylight. The face cringed in tortuous pain and writhing agony lying on the sun-soaked pavement to die. The cotton collared shirt now clammed in scarlet blood shows the original blue check print only at the fringe that comes out from the belt trap. The lanky legs recline like a fallen scarecrow after a heavy storm, quite funny and obtuse. They are also there in their scruffy, baggy half pant and brazen jeans, four hounds altogether, dauntless, indifferent, though just a bit annoyed at the toil they have to undertake to kill the man. The emolument may be insufficient in respect of the panache with which they perform the job, from keeping tight vigilance on the victim for a few days to getting all information about his daily routine. Then they jump on him suddenly selecting this auspicious day for the murder, not so cautiously, as it is all too sure, too easy a task they are employed for. They are not in masks. What is the need for a mask when the victim is blindfolded, the black rough stuff tightly tugged on the eyes? There is no chance of recognition, even if, the dead cannot speak. He is not the Lazarus, arising out of the tomb. The wine bottles are scattered; the rough sharp edges burnished in fresh blood carry the same group that is oozing from the neck of the body. The head severed from the body is joined with a skinny bridge of smashed flesh, betokening their connoisseur in that art of throat cutting. The hooded eyes are towards the sky.

  There is no sound except that fuzzy monotone of flies, gathering on the clotted blood on the open gash and the whisk of running vehicles with a quick haltering look, the conscious escape and subdued retching sound.

 "You can loosen the tight eye cloth; there is no need for it anymore” one of them recommends cynically, as they are ready to go now. No, no need for a frantic escape. Police will not come. They are informed with conviction that there is no urgency to hurry up; police have taken a lump sum to come after 2 hours. Their zip is punctured and the mechanic has been seriously ill for some time. So they troll at the site, finishing the reminiscence of the wine layered at the unbroken bottle. One of them stops near the body, jabs the head with his chafed toenail and spits on scars on its face and the others burst into a guffaw. Then they start up the bikes breaking the languid silence and accelerating through the road like the knights of Arthurian legend.

Scene-2

  Darkness descends within Mr. Basant’s Lexus US as he keeps his head on the upholstery and is trying to soothe the straining brain due to the sight pollution, as they dodge out the dead man, plunged in the pull of blood, blindfolded.

“ This country is becoming a jungle of mafia” he grumbles as he attempts to open his heavy eyes but stumbles in the darkness that engulfs those corneas. He tries to calculate the time. Has he fallen asleep without his realization of it? Otherwise, they should be in mid-noon with the scorching rays creating mirages on the distant silky road.

“Is it already night? I cannot see anything. Then we should have reached. What is the time?” He shoots out several questions in utter confusion.

"Your eyes are blindfolded sir", says the driver calmly as he drives.

"What? How do you know?”

"As are my sir. I cannot see anything too. They are so tight and secure."

"Then how can you drive?"

" By instinct".

" Stop stop, cried Mr.Basant hysterically, " Stop immediately or we will be dead soon in the accident."

" We are already dead sir"

Suddenly the face of the dead man flashes in Mr. Basant’s dark eyes, a cold stiff face, residing on a lonely road, amidst dust and flies, eyes fastened with black cloth. He springs up from his seat. “Yeah that face, that face I know him, oh! God why my memory recedes so fast.” He clenches his brown striped hair within his grip and looks at the dark world inside the fold to have a glimpse of the mystery that he is trying to solve.

Then he leaps to the driver blindly.

" That was my face, the man, the man was me."

" And me too".

" And me too"

" And me."

The alliance of sibilant groans exasperates the fake yet palpable inky sky.


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