Surreal

There were huge hoardings proclaiming the event; a big banner showing picture of the great writer Amarinder and next, a huge cut-out of the hero of the writer’s book, fully covered with only the title, ‘Surreal’, visible. The convention hall could only accommodate about 1000 and the same was jam packed; but more guests kept coming.

Gulshan got down from the car and looked at the crowd forcing themselves to go inside. He frowned and clenched his fist, unseen by others and walked inside the auditorium. The organizers rushed towards Gulshan and took him to the room where, Amarinder and his publishers were seated. Gulshan shook hands with Amarinder and others and exchanged pleasantries. The organizers informed Gulshan that he can carry on to the Dias and start the proceedings. 

Looking around the milling crowd, Gulshan adjusted the mike and started. “Ladies and Gentlemen, it gives me immense pleasure in welcoming you all to this great event for which all of us have been waiting for years. The time has come to unveil the secrecy behind the long running novels which is culminating in this fourth book. Please put your hands together and welcome our esteemed writer, a very cultured, well respected person in our city and more than anything else, my dearest friend Shri. Amarinder to this august gathering.” 

In the din of thunderous applause, Gulshan joined the guests and welcomed a middle aged man with a beard who was beaming with pride to the Dias. As Amarinder, the writer, settled down on the chair along with his publisher, Gulshan adjusted his spectacles and continued.

“As all of us gathered here are aware, that the much awaited sequel for the highly acclaimed series of novels, is being released in a few minutes from now. But, before that, let me share my feelings for my friend and fellow writer Amarinder. I have not only admired his style of writing stories but more than that, I am fascinated by his characterization which to say the least, is out of this world. One can easily identify with his main character and though it is fictional, he is more real than you and me. To be honest with you all, every time I read his novels, all the three of them, being a fellow writer, a sense of jealousy has crossed my otherwise pure mind; to that extent, his writing has impressed me.” 

Gulshan waited for the applause to subside before continuing. “Without taking too much of your precious time, I am as eager as you all are to hear from my dear friend. I am holding my breath to know, what actually happens to his hero of all the last three novels; is he going to die? Will he survive? Can we expect the fifth novel from the great Amarinder? Ladies and gentlemen, I request Shri. Amarinder to address us all.”

As Amarinder rose to his feet, the thunderous applause from the large audience in the hall lasted more than couple of minutes. Amarinder stood patiently in front of the mike and waited for the applause to subside with a broad grin on his face.

Amarinder adjusted the mike, looked around the smiling faces of his admirers and spoke in deep voice. “My dear friend Gulshan, dignitaries on the Dias and ladies and gentlemen. Indeed, today marks the most important day in my life both as a writer as well as a human being. From the humble beginning as a newspaper boy, if I have risen to this level, it is purely because of my hard work and love and affection of my well-wishers like you.” Once again, the ear shattering sound of applause lasted for more than a minute. He gestured for his aide who was holding copies of books which were tied with ribbons to give a copy each to the persons sitting on the Dias, walked back to the mike and said. “Indeed, the last part of my epic novel which every one of my beloved readers is waiting for is here for real. I request the dignitaries on the Dias to unravel the cover of the book to mark its release.”

Even as the public rose to their feet with loud applause, Amarinder, Gulshan and others on the Dias tore open the tape, held the book high with its cover page facing the audience. The scene on the Dias was also shown on the large screen on the side-line. There was a gasp among the thousands gathered as the cover page of the book depicted the hero of the novel is being stabbed in the neck by a weird looking character. 

Amarinder, holding the book walked to the mike and spoke once again. “Ladies and gentlemen, there is an old saying ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ which is apt for my latest book too. So, please without jumping in to conclusion, buy and read to know the ending of the saga which started almost 12 years ago.”

While the audience rushed to buy the autographed copy of the book, Gulshan stole a glance at the entrance of the hall and looked at his watch; there were only few minutes left for wrapping up the evening session. Where the hell has he gone? He thought to himself, cursing his trusted driver who was supposed to bring the package to him. Finally, as the noise subsided and everyone, happy that they could not only buy their favourite author’s book, but got it autographed by him as well, settled down once again for the last part of the programme.

Gulshan went to Amarinder and hugged him and clasping his hand, lead him and stood near the mike before speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, what you just displayed is unparalleled. The warmth and affection shown by you all by buying the autographed book has made this evening memorable. But…” he paused and looked around the gathering before speaking. “I, being a very loyal friend and admirer of our beloved Amarinder has brought a gift so precious, so rare and most importantly, befitting for this finale of saga of the hero created by the great Amarinder.” While everyone waited with a batted breadth, Gulshan took the package brought by his driver, tore open the covering paper held a painting aloft for everyone to see.

The gasp that came from the audience was even louder and their murmuring reached the crescendo. Gulshan, smiling broadly, presented the painting to Amarinder, who looked at the painting which showed his hero of four novels with a glittering golden sword in his hand, standing tall in front of an old fort as a backdrop while the slain bodies of his enemies was scattered around.

As the evening drew to close, the audiences left the meeting with a smile on their face, clutching their prized possession. Gulshan saw them leaving with a wry smile on his face.

When Amarinder indicated that he would like to leave, Gulshan insisted that he should accompany him and assured Amarinder that his driver will bring the painting in his car. Thus the entourage went to Amarinder’s house. On the way, Gulshan once again harped on the evening that went by and patted the back of his friend. Amarinder, on his part, insisted that his friend join him for a drink. 

Amarinder got down from the car in front of his sprawling bungalow and lead Gulshan to the tastefully decorated living room. Amarinder lived alone in the house after his wife of 12 years of marriage, passed away. Gulshan' s driver who carried the huge painting with him enquired where to put it up. While Amarinder assured Gulshan that next day he will arrange for hanging the picture frame, Gulshan insisted that the painting be put up in Amarinder bed room right in front of his bed, just above the French window.  

While the driver, with the help of Amarinder’s cook, put up the painting, both the friends looked at it and admired. The painting looked beautiful; the artist must have spent lot of time as the image looked very much like the character of Amarinder’s novel and appeared to be coming straight at them. Amarinder looked at the eyes and they appeared to look at him from every angle, even when he moved across the room. There was something about the painting that at once made Amarinder happy and scared.

Gulshan mixed the drinks brought by the cook. Being a heart patient, Amarinder was advised to be careful and not consume to much alcohol. Not a regular drinker, Amarinder took to drinks only when he felt happy; today, he was not just happy, but ecstatic. Both the friends started talking about their past and the way both came up in life. 

Gulshan and Amarinder were college mates where Charulatha, also studied literature with them. Charulatha later married Amarinder. Gulshan was secretly in love with her; but before he could express his love, Amarinder had wooed her to marriage.

Sitting in Amarinder’s bed room Gulshan closed his eyes and re-lived his past association with Charulatha. Charu, as he called her, loved him he believed. But something was holding her back, Gulshan though tried very hard, could not pinpoint it. He vividly remembered the day when he was supposed to propose to Charu; he wore a white coat and navy-blue pant – both favourite colours of Charu and picked up the best bunch of red roses he could find on his way to hotel. He entered the hotel lobby and his searched for Charu. There! She was looking radiant with a golden coloured saree and looked as if she descended from heaven. With a broad smile, even as Gulshan took few strides, he was in for a rude shock. Amarinder came from nowhere and holding Charu’s hands, bent down and was putting on a ring in to her slender beautiful fingers. Even as Charu smiled and bent down to kiss Amarinder, Gulshan threw the roses on the nearby dustbin and walked out crest fallen.

Gulshan came to present and looked at his friend’s eyes and thought to himself; but for you, Charu would have been alive today. I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to stop. Alas, she is no more. Perhaps, the wheels of justice are what I can turn, he thought.

After couple of drinks, Gulshan brought the subject of his wife and her untimely death. “Tell me my friend, it must be really painful for you to have lost your wife who was more of a friend and guide for your achievements, is it not?” said Gulshan. Amarinder became visibly discomfortable at the mention of his wife; controlling his feelings, he replied. “Yes. You are right on that one. Whatever I am today, it’s all because of my wife Charu. she would have been proud of me if she were alive today.” 

Amarinder, oblivious to his friend’s thinking, was continuing. “As you very well know Gulshan, Charu too was a writer. In fact, I give complete credit to her for actually helping me in creating these novels.” Indeed, you owe a great deal to your wife Amarinder. You will be nothing without her, Gulshan brushed his feelings aside and putting up a brave face asked his friend. “Tell me my friend, how did she die? I know we have discussed this many times, but still, it’s very hard to believe that she committed suicide all of a sudden. In fact, I very clearly remember to have spoken to her at length on the night she died.” 

Charulatha, Amarinder’s wife reportedly consumed poison and left a note behind which said that no one was responsible for her death and she took the extreme decision as she was unable to bear the physical pain that was bothering her for years.

Amarinder avoided his friend’s piercing eyes and looking away, answered. “Look Gulshan. You know very well the ordeal that followed Charu’s death. I was subjected to so much of humiliation and unwanted attention; what with police coming again and again for investigation. I was disturbed so much that I even contemplated leaving everything and going away to some unknown place.” Gulshan said nothing but stared at his friend’s face. Amarinder felt tired and desperately wanted to sleep; by now, half bottle of their favourite drink had been consumed. 

Gulshan, filling up his friend’s glass once again said. “This is the last one. As they say, one for the road! Road to glory and bliss, Cheers.” Amarinder though did not want one more glass, sportively gulped down the drinks and slumped on the table; he was down and out.

Gulshan called the cook and with his help, put Amarinder to his bed. Gulshan was a frequent visitor to the house and the cook knew him too well. He asked the cook to get him a glass of warm water and the cook left Gulshan alone with Amarinder. Gulshan looked at Amarinder who was lying on the bed, snoring and with a wry smile spoke loudly; “good night my friend, you deserve a long and un troubled sleep.”

Gulshan drank the water brought by the cook, thanked him and told him to lock the front door. He called his driver to the portico, got in to the car and left with a broad smile on his face, unseen by the cook.

It was past mid-night when a non-descriptive car drove in the near dark street and parked about 50 meters from Amarinder’s house. No one got out of the car. The driver killed the engine, emptied the contents of a card board box on the seat, took a deep breath and waited.

Amarinder woke up suddenly from his sleep and looked at the clock kept on the bed- side table. It was close to 2 a.m. He rubbed his weary eyes and thought about the evening and the large gathering of his admirers. Book will go to second print in no time at all, he thought. May be, I can come out with the fifth part quickly as well; the manuscript, anyway was ready, he thought with a smile on his face.

As he lay on the bed, he heard a murmuring sound. He looked around and thought by mistake the cook would have kept the TV on, but it was switched off. Is it my mobile by any chance? Again he looked and found that his mobile too was not on. He contemplated getting up when he heard it again, this time he could make out the sound, it was the voice of a human! But where was it coming from? He wondered.

As Amarinder sat on the edge of the bed, the voice, this time, very clearly came at him. “So you think by destroying me, you are going to become famous and live longer”? Amarinder stood bolt upright and looked around to trace the origin of the sound. “Who do you think you are? God? Ha Ha.. Ha.. Ha…the so called great writer cannot even identify his protégé?” Amarinder, beads of sweat on his face trickling down, looked at the painting and suddenly realised that, that’s where the sound appeared to be coming from.

Is this real? How can a portrait speak? Amarinder, with his legs shaking, started to walk towards the painting. “Stop. Don’t even dare come near me.” The voice thundered. Speechless, Amarinder stood near the French window and looked at the painting with disbelief. Is it the drinks? Or am I imagining things? He thought loudly.

The voice, this time in a measured tone started once again. “So, the great writer is confused! Tell me, what is my mistake? Why did you decide to kill me? Now that you have gained recognition because of me, you are discarding me? I won’t let this happen! I will see to it that the same people who adore you, worship you today, will start hating you once they know the truth.”

Amarinder completely shaken, folded his hands and started pleading. “Please! This cannot be true. My own creation rebelling against me? What truth are you talking about?”

“Oh, the great writer seems to have forgotten.” Came the voice once again from the painting. “Amarinder the great! The whole world thinks that you created me. But….” the voice trailed off.

Amarinder, now fully awake, started shaking un-controllably. “What do you mean? Of course, I am the one who created you, made you famous. Thousands of person worship your heroic’s because of me.”

Harsh laugh came from the painting. “Amarinder, you can fool the whole world but not me. I know who created me; it’s not you! I also know what you did to the creator. You have achieved all the glory on stolen…………” the voice trailed off. Amarinder stood shell shocked.

Amarinder holding a hand on his furiously pounding heart, managed to speak in a feeble voice. “Who are you? How do you know? What else…… you know…. “ His voice failing, Amarinder desperately searched for the ‘Loading Dose’ ( a tablet which must be taken immediately when there is a chest pain), bottle kept near his bed side table. Finally, he got it only to find the bottle empty! He fell to the floor, clutching his heart.

There was total silence.

Gulshan picked up the phone on the first ring. He listened intently. Smiling to himself, he took the paper envelope kept on the table, emptied the contents and flushed it in the toilet and threw the paper envelope to the dustbin. He asked the caller just one question; “Did you remove it?” 

The caller laughed and said, “Yes Sir. It was so simple; like you had said, the French window was ajar. All I had to do was stand on the window sill, put my hand and remove the two-way Wi-Fi speaker from behind the painting.”