Voice of voiceless

The death square ground seemed very calm and unusually peaceful, the old church was a bit far from that turn and the road still has the remnants of the Anglo Indian settlements, many have abandoned the houses and most of the houses and factories were demolished, at a distance there was a Guajrati community still existing, doing their business and marketing. She knew her city was old, it was built along side the back waters which helped trade flourish during those days. As far as she remembers it is Raja Keshava Das of Travancore, who laid the foundation of the Venice of East, the beauty of the land mark and its coziness is what brought in tourists, there.

She loved the town, which had the fragrance of jasmine and spices which street vendors had. Nothing has changed, her school, the book stores, her rented apartment all stays. The city was like a maiden in her middle ages, reminiscing her grandeous youth. There was life in the beach, recently renovated. She sat on the bench near the old cemetery. The breezes were salty, coming from the Arabian sea. She could hear the waves, roaring hilariously running in to the arms of the shore. She looked at her android, it was slowly getting dark. She typed the message “where are you “.She knew something churned inside her, her intuitions and premonitions never went wrong. Her phone ranged, that moment, the Beethoven's note was heard aloud.  

She spoke in a very hushed and muffled tone, I do not want you to call me now. The voice from other side said” Ms.Arundathi, are you safe. ?”

She replied “that’s not your problem “, the voice from the other side said” oh it is very much, we have put you there and you are about to meet with a suspect, some one who has done 12 cold blooded murder. ”

She sighed, why do you drag me in to this Akbar, why am I here, she asked to the owner of the voice at the other end.

Madam, the voice replied, this case is very sensitive, it is 7 deaths, 25 years back and it just started again recently in three years, repeating patterns  and we have no clue, no idea, no faces, no leads and the only piece of commonality and evidence is your book, voice of the voice less left at each murder scene. The modus of operandi ……brings you here.It is like you have sketched it out all for some one ..

She laughed loudly, almost hysterically, Arshad is my friend and you are his only son Akbar and that brings me here, not a fiction novel I wrote 30 years back.

Aunty, Akbar's voice softened, I am in charge of this case, my father died with a heart attack, I have seen him suffer, due to this God forsaken case, he got suspended, he even could not get a good pension. He was a pious man, he always thought straight and had I not seen the book his friend gifted him years back which, he never tried to turn a page, my fate would be the same.

She said, leave me alone now, I am your bait, I could not even over come the jetlag, I need to rest Akbar 

Aunty, Akbar told, just meet him, this shadow man, and just tell us how is he related to you 

Me, she spoke in an irritated tone, he must be a fan of the book, does he even know me.

Akbar, spoke soflty, we don’t know, he sounded quite young but the passion in his voice, his deep felt eargerness when it was to meet you in person was so intense, he cannot be a fan, Aunty, he is some how connected to you.  

Their conversation ended there, She sat there puzzled, she was in a maze, not making a sense of any thing. She was going to meet a stranger, the sky above her was orange red, she knew the area was under surveillance, She searched her bag for her towel and wiped away, the sweat. She was young, bubbly young, full of fire, always in a mood to fight the wrong and make it right When she wrote the book, voice of the voice less.

The air around was never smooth for her, she tried to clad herself with her cotton saree against the cold wind. She saw some one walk towards her, the silhouette of a tall young man, appeared before her. When he sat near her, she felt a cold thunder bolt run in her, but when he lifted the cap and said hello, she felt a warmth, a warmth from familiarity in that cracked soft voice, it was so deep …..

She asked “ Who are you, “

Oh, an illusionist, he laughed with that reply 

She thought, he was too young of twenties may be and there is no chance of him knowing her and considering the present generation he could have never read her book to be her fan, or this generation has any civic sense in them, no one of his age would bleed for the social cause in this present day of selfish pursuits, he could be a psychopath and may be the police could be entirely wrong.

You don’t know me, do you, she asked him 

He said, oh yes, you run in my veins, in my cells, in my DNA, nothing has captivated me as you 

She shook her head in dismay, that’s funny, I left this town years back, no roots connect me here, I am uprooted kid and to know, this whole place is covered by police, if you are in a mood for fun, understand I am not, you are in great trouble.

Don’t you know where we are sitting, the dead, the dead is watching over me, he sounded so unique and he was confident, she realized. Above all, that, some thing in her was recognizing him, he was no stranger to her, how ever she tried to dismiss that insane thought, a writers instinct is triggering, she thought. This is a murderer, sitting near her, he was no one to her.  

How do you know me child, she asked, her voice still has an unusual tinge of knowing him.

Let us talk, about voice of the voice less, and my protection, is not your concern or worry. He said. You wrote the first page in your note book, didn’t you sitting in the beach, he suddenly said.

Her face slowly turned, pale, she tried to see his face, under that star light sky, with street lights of old amber, it was young and hand some, his eyes so attractive, peered in to hers, she felt he was looking in to her soul, she did not ask him how in the world he knew that, She wanted to listen, now, for she started to believe he knew her, he knew her more than fair enough.

He said, you were crying, looking helplessly in to the sea, with out voice, your pain was silently muted.

She just stood up, and all she wanted was to walk away, rather run ,he is not someone who just the book ,he seemed to be some one who saw it happening ..the book..

You should sit, what other options you have Aaroo, my Aroo, your book binds us, you words spoke and they were not words, it was the cry, relentless cry that shook every branches of me ….

Who are you, she asked, tell me, how do you even know me, she broke in to tears 

Remember the first chapter Arundathi, if I call Aroo it is disrespect, that is something only few knew, of them few addressed you so he said calmly in ice cold tone that pierced her like dagger, she knew Akbar is listening and that was the time she thought of Arshad his dad. They were thirteen of them and he was one among them …..

That was an evening like this, when it all started don’t you remember, the man asked her. Throwing her in to the timelines, which collapsed long back, trauma erasing moments in it. She was in waves, and a laughter arouse in her memories …Avanthika, she called out 

The man held her shoulder, whispering to her, yeah, you wrote everything vividly, that fateful night the two of you decided to stay over, celebrating, your success in exam at Avanthika s home ,you and Alexi …..

She felt in those words she knew him, she has heard that husky sound of him, his presence, his persona, but it cannot be possible, Alexi if alive would be older than her, not so young like him. But he was the ghost who is now reminding her of everything she had buried in herself and the whole cemetery seemed to her body, throbbing with truths of undead, of the voiceless.

The man continued, you wanted to shout, but you were paralysed, you wanted to protect, but you were a kid yourself and Alexi covered your lips with his trembling fingers, you saw the parents, tied up, beaten, badly, the little brother, she was tied up badly, your favourite Avanthika, her underwear poked in to her mouth. .

No …she yelled stop that 

Arundathi, Arundathi, you wrote those words vividly, like drenched in your own blood, the thirteen old men, like animals, ripping her, every inch of Avanthika, for nothing, but pleasure, money, and you and Alexi, could just run, when it is all over, you never spoke a word nor he, Alexi nor you could afford only silence, you were cowards ….but you did not remain so you knew you needed the world to know it and you needed a parallel justice. For in the court, the parents those miserable parents were blamed for selling their daughter and they ended up as fire balls after the first hearing 

She sat with him looking in to the emptiness, when he said, you created a hero, didn’t you  ,to bring the hidden screams the answer,any thing thwarted, silenced according to you would be taken care .An under taker of the legacy of your vengeance. 

She looked at him, He suddenly asked, did you love him. . Alexi 

No ….she replied 

So you were only using him, he was mad for you, he lived in this Utopia you created, destroying himself. he carried your book like his bible …

She interrupted him telling you are wrong, boy 

She revived herself and her being changed before him radically, she was some body else, she told him, You think you know a lot kid. but you know nothing.

So enlighten me he said why did you leave my dad,  

She told him, I made thirteen of them, thirteen heroes if you wanted to call them so to fight, against the insolent might that pervades our society, one was a police man, a failed cop, no he just was looking so …She was talking loud that she felt the universe is a stage and she is murmuring her truth 

Akbar went frozen..but he kept listening 

Kid she told, Alexi loved Avanthika, he always since we all learned to read and write in those apartments of ours …since we were just little preschoolers 

The man looked at her and she knew he was finishing some undone chores, some cleaning up the world needs, when God is also put in to mockery, she was just creating, creating stories, building heroes to represent God on earth.

She told him, I need to go kid, hope this was a great meeting 

He was silent, then he disappeared in to the thin air like an illusion

Akbar, I have a flight to catch She told over phone,  

Yes Ms Arundathi …..he replied 

She looked at the white while lilies that bloomed once again and got in to her ride. On the bench she left a copy of the book, an award winner, the voice of voiceless.