Shot. But Not Dead.

Shot. But Not Dead.

4 mins 457 4 mins 457

I was angry, annoyed, vindictive, lonely and unloved. Above all I was heart-broken. No moral value registered into my thoughts. If the world had been so uncaring and insensitive then why would I be? When I was hungry no one fed me. When I loved someone, she ditched me. When I wanted to be good, all my reasons were snatched with a yank. Now that my life is lurching forward why should I care for others? I became a professional peddler. I was earning money and was also splurging it on drugs, drinks and what not. Money and connections give enormous power; I was also enjoying some of it. I never thought that there could be a dead-end of every journey. As a peddler, new faces are favored; as one spends more time in this trade their face starts becoming familiar and poses risks. I was easily identifiable hence my requirements started declining. It was a big jolt as the inflow of money dwindled but my expenses continued to rise. I was in deep mess. I had to explore newer avenues for existence. The dark world is also driven by greed and selfish motives but I had an advantage. I could be trusted.

I was attached to a group that smuggled gold. Nothing like one sees in movies. I was again a small fly in the gangdom. My work was to wait for instructions, then reach the pickup point. Passwords were shared and then a small package changed hands. I would then deliver the consignment to someone, as instructed. I never came to who were the key guys in this game. I was not supposed to know. That is how the design and construct was. I would be paid in cash after the work finished. Money was less here and I had to wait for days, even weeks for next instructions. They knew my whereabouts and they would always contact me, however I had no means of contacting anyone.

What if I ran with the consignment? I would make out that roughly every consignment was around a kilo in the shape of biscuit, nicely wrapped, it could slid comfortably in my pocket. Well, that is where perhaps the trust factor played a role. But, how much time does it take for the mind to change. I wasn’t that easy, they could dig out guys like me even from hell. The punishment was severe, always death, and no one would ever come to know about the disappearance. And, what if the police apprehend the conveyor? In that case one would either succumb to their beatings or they would confiscate the stuff and you would find yourself languishing in some cell for years. No protection in this area unlike the case of a peddler where my friend Vijay had assured that they had connections with the police. I could come out with some beating.

I had no reasons to worry. I had no one to cry for me and I didn’t really have a great zeal to live, especially after the heart-break. I worked with great efficiency and few instances gave slip to the police. My agility and knowledge about the city lanes and by-lanes came as a big savior. Time went by. Noting can move in a straight line without hassled. That is how the human life is designed. While carrying one such consignment, I was rounded by the police. They had trapped me in such a fashion that escape was almost impossible. I had tall walls behind me and the police jeep light beam fell directly on me. They were in good number and I had no means to run. The light was blinding. I tucked the stuff in my waist and sprinted towards them. I pretended as if I had a gun. They announced to freeze. I paid no heed and ran in a zig zag manner. I could dodge few bullets but one bullet finally hit me. I felt a severe burning sensation and I tripped. I couldn’t move my leg; the bullet had hit my thigh. Soon, I was handcuffed and dragged to the van. Slaps and cane rained on me. I was immune to pain and I passed out.

I was in the hospital for several weeks before being moved to the prison. A new phase of my life began. I was sentenced seven years. A good enough time to reform me into a better human. Could the time in prison really reform me, only time would say?


Rate this content
Log in

More english story from Prashant Dutta

Similar english story from Crime