The cross connection

THE CROSS CONNECTION

“Isn’t this cute, honey?”

Sheila was leaning over the showcase with an outstretched hand holding a brass showpiece.

“Yepp, it’s a winner, I guess” I answered in a rather subtle tone from the opposite end. Why do ladies have this weird thing for stuffing their mantelpieces with mementos?

A disfigured monkey with a twisted ankle. And the damn thing costs somewhat a thousand. Why dont this modern art cost a little less. My skeptic mind scavenged over the rest of the showpieces searching hungrily over a pricetag with less number of zeroes.

These days I have an allergy to zeroes. I would gaze into the prize tag, gaze at my wife and then sink down into my wallet. Of course recession has dropped a “what for?” factor into all my basic needs. But that was not the immediate reason for a drought in my pocket. I was the most recent victim of a cheque fraud, that I nearly lost all my hard earned currency. All that because of not trusting my instincts. Being the biggest predator on the face of earth, me and my fellow humans are quiet a good guessers. And when it comes to me, I think I got a good intuition, to sense danger. But when trouble came, it came with a wicked smile. And I trusted people more than my intuitions.

But if something is destined to go wrong, it will go wrong no matter what.

I was driven back to consciousness by the melodious clinging of the cash register. My beloved wife had already billed the brass handicapped monkey. With a heavy smile I drew my wallet out and painfully paid the shop owner. My next move was to channel Sheila to the car as fast as I could before her eyes anchor on some other useless but brutally expensive showpiece.

As we exited the shop and rushed to the car, me mumbling indistinctively, followed by Sheila still mesmerized by the monkey, we hardly noticed a shadow walking towards us. I stuffed all the materials safely in the back seat and entered the vehicle when a masculine hand appeared on my right window. It first made a halt signal and then cupped itself in so as to state a request. It took me another second to scale through the arm and reach the obscure face. It was a well built man in his late twenties, rather early thirties. He had a dark complexion and his eyes had a stark keenness in them.

Prima Fasciaemy impression about this guy was not so great. In the wake of my past experiences I nailed him along with any other roadside crook. A not so good intuition kicked in.

“Pardon my intrusion sir. My wife is in the hospital and she is in a pretty serious condition. Could you grant me a lift to the city hospital?”

“Excuse me mister, this is no public transport. Try to get a cab or something” my tone was indifferent.

“Uff, honey why should you be so mean to people, like this. We are going the same route na, why can’t you drop in this poor fellow at the hospital?”

There are times when you feel like cutting yoursweetheart down with an axe and drink her blood. Mostly you won’t have an axe nearby or your wife may not be seated next to you. All you can do is to summon enough strength and face what’s coming. I did the same when my wife started to peel me shamelessly in front of a total stranger.

“City hospital is not far from here. Sir please sir. It’s the matter of life and death sir. Help us poor people sir.”

“I know city hospital aint far from here. Don’t teach me the route, you rascal” this I said inside my head. And I made funny faces outside.

I leaned backwards and asked Sheila in a muffled voice. “You sure want this mess upon our shoulders Sheila? Something tells me; this is not what it seems.”

“Of course it is dear. Just give your doubtful head a break.” The most polite way to say “go to hell with your doubts”

Ok, I took her word. If something goes wrong I can blame her, right?

So this man got into the front seat and we slowly drifted into the darkness.

Many questions were ravishing inside my mind. Every time the car was masqueraded by complete darkness, I prepared myself to block any jab or blow, this outsider can possibly inflict upon me.

The road ahead was turning more and more silent and my heart was roaring loud. In the backseat, my dear wife was humming some gingery melody. Evidently it was the only sound that filled the car. I felt as if she was enjoying tormenting me. Her voice grew into a consistent hum, as a sarcastic laugh over my silence. But it was not enough for the scene. To my horror the very fine gentleman sitting right beside me, started humming along, in a tone. This made me nervous. Anxious.And nevertheless obnoxious.Yet I kept my silence. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and drove as calm as I can.

During one of those casual gazes through the rear view mirror I could make out my wife’s eyes drooping down bearing the weight of a nap. To my left flank the lean black form was already snoring, now pillowing him onto my shoulder. I prayed that he doesn’t drool all over my Louise Philippe. I just got to get rid of this crook, or otherwise he is gonna slit our throats and rob us blind. To his right lay a small leather satchel. “Reaboke” it spelt in awkward fashion, which was at that time screaming loud “look at me…I am a crook by birth”. Was it my bitter conscience or was it my damned imagination that I got this weird idea of getting rid of this hoodlum.

I switched to slow speed and momentarily let go of the wheel. Then I took my wallet out and slipped it into that ragged satchel of his through a newly surfaced crater. When I withdrew y hand, everything looked pristine and the satchel didn’t show a sign of adultery. Now when hands came back to the wheel, I had a really wicked grin.

Few minutes later, i found myself turning into a petrol pump just to get a casual refill. I steeped on the brakes evidently enough to wake my fellow passengers, both of them unaware of the drama that was about to follow.

“wakeywakey” I dramatically remarked as I exited the car and moved to the nearest pump. A hulky Punjabi was guarding the nozzle, as I ordered (dramatically) a full refill for my car. When his hand extended in my direction and mine to my wallet’s direction (again dramatically) I thought that I would outrun even Marlon Brando in acting. My puzzled expression coated with exasperation triggered off a chain reaction.

Pandemonium was what followed. I yelled out that my purse was stolen (Stolen…not missing…). it shook that pervert to wakefulness. I paced to his side, pulled open the door and dragged him out.

“You sonovabitch, where the hell is my wallet? You took it… I know you took it, you rascal. I shouldn’t have let you even come near me.”

“What? What happened?” those words seem to come out of my wife’s mouth. But the situation was already out of control.

“Hey stop pushing him like that. Let’s frisk him. If he has your wallet, then let me assure you sir, this rascal wont sees the light of another day” our fellow Punjabi clenching his fists said.

“Bingo” I thought. My plan worked.

And there it was. As three pairs of confused and curious eyes watched, I earthed out that wallet of mine from inside his satchel with the prowess of a magician and held it out as if it was the Kohinoor diamond.

“Saabji…I know what to do with these kinds of people. You don’t worry. Let’s take him to the nearest thane. Let the police make a Khichdiof his bones”. The Sardarji had already planted his massive fists over that man’s shoulders and started his moped.

Now it was up to me to direct the play forward.

“Oh that won’t be necessary. I am just thankful to god that i got it back before it was too late. Let him rot in hell. No need of making this an issue.”

“No saabji. This is already an issue. I am going to take this man to the station. Bu you should accompany me to the station to report this. Only a few bashes from the inspector can straighten things out.”

“But that won’t be…”

“Don’t worry Saabji, I am not handling such a case for the first time in my life”

Now for a second I thought things were going according to plan. For a second though. Now everything was upside down. This man was going to a police station for a crime he didn’t commit. I don’t think am turning sympathetic or something all of a sudden and I don’t care even if he gets beaten to death. But police station has always given me chills. Unnecessary enquiries, lots of questions, unwanted explanations, all of them even result in making me responsible for all of this. I guess it was a bad idea.

By the time I cleared my mind of all the negative thoughts, the Sardarji was half way to the station dragging that man behind him. My wife’s expression demanded I little more explanation from me. But all I could do was to purse my lips tightly enough to withhold any unwanted words to avoid my head under the guillotine.

We could hear cries even from a few yards away. On the inspector’s table was a senile mobile phone kept as a piece by a rubber band, a few ten rupee notes and a ragged shirt. In one corner of that stingy cubicle sat as a crumpled heap, our hitch hiker, painted in cherry red except for parts still inside clothing.

He had an uneasy expression, something which called out, “So this is all you got? Come, I am ready for more.”

His eyes. Why it has to be the eyes? They were steadfast on mine. And I could feel a certain fear lurking inside. I felt small… incredibly small. I just slaughtered my conscience for my prejudice and held the life of an innocent man at stake.

“He seems to have made up his mind that he didn’t take your wallet. Looks like he needs a little more of our special treatment” saying this, the inspector paced towards him. Might be round two for that poor fellow.

“Wait officer. Enough. I don’t want to press charges. Leave him alone” I could barely mouth those words.

“You sure, sir? These hooligans deserve all this. You don’t worry, since you got your wallet back. Let us handle him.”
“Enough of your handling mister. Let him go. He is already half dead.” My wife snapped.

“Sheila, please… Sir I don’t want to register the case. Please let him go.” My head weighing down with guilt.

“Okay. Your wish.Haraamsaaleyhereafter don’t show your lousy face in this neighborhood, or else I will break all the rest of your bones. You hear me?”

“Yes Saabh.” The man was literally moaning. He somehow got up on his feet and made it to the table, picked up his things and started down the low staircase into the dark.

“Sir you don’t worry about him anymore. He won’t even dare to look straight into your eyes again. Continue your journey” The policeman released his fist with a thunderous click.

We were walking down the staircase and once more we came across our poor Hitch hiker. My wife’s anger now transformed into a vague contempt (one emotion exclusive to all those uptown society ladies), as we walked past him. We were a few yards from him, that a monophonic tone rang somewhere behind us. I dared to slacken my pace and look back. I could see him talking laboriously into the phone. All I could hear was “I am on my way…..what?... serious?….i don’t know what to do…two…”

“It must be from the hospital. Please honey. We must be of some help to him. Poor fellow” my wife laid her hands on my shoulder.

“Hmm. I will do what I should.” I walked up to that man who by that time had finished his call.

“Hey, I am sorry for what happened. I can drop you at the hospital, if you don’t mind.”

“No thank you sir. I can walk” he wasn’t walking away though.

“No no. I am really sorry for what has come to you. Come with me. Let me do this one thing for you.”

I knew that look in his eyes. It was stinging me deep.

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As the car was drifting into the parking lot of the City Hospital, our hitch hiker was peeping out through the window, scanning for some familiar face. And fortunately he found one too. The new guy looked like the twin brother to this man. As soon as he saw us, he sped across the lobby towards our direction.

“Chittaranjan…I was getting scared when you were getting late. Hey look at you. What in gods’ name has happened to you?” the new comer seemed not to notice us.

“Oh… its one long story. By the way, how are things here?” Our man seemed a little more enthusiastic than before. With this the other guy pulled him to a considerable distance and started talking. They talked for almost 10 minutes. All this time i was gazing at either of them to ascertain what they had in common. Both of them had the same ragged satchel, with the only difference being a large gap like the open mouth of some tropical crocodile in that of the newcomer.

“What do they do for a living?’ i thought. Before my logic could reach a conclusion, Chittaranjan came back. Now he was smiling. There was a light drizzle of relief in my heart.

“Sir, she is well beyond danger. The doctors say she will make it. Oh thank god. Now i am happy.”

“Well, where is she now?” that was my wife who seemed more elated than the by-stander himself.

“She is in the ICU. You want to meet her Ma’m? Coz they are not letting us in. maybe they will let you..”

“Its already late honey. Perhaps we can come back again tomorrow.” I snapped. Enough for one night’s memoirs.

“Oh… Well then sir. We must be off too. We don’t have a place to stay. Must find some corner so as to spend the night” Chittaranjan seemed to be in some kind of a hurry.

“Good bye” It originated in my brain and passed through all those neural networks and finally when about to exit my mouth, my wife blurted out.

“You can spend the night at our place, if you want. I mean, it’s just one night. And it’s not far from here” She finished the statement and looked at me as if she had just shot me in the chest. I was indifferent. I didn’t have the power to resist.

“We will be utmost grateful madam, if you let us spend the night” That was the newcomer. These days people pretend to be grateful for almost nothing.

“Hmm.” That was my only reply. I wanted to argue with my wife. But there was no point in arguing when you were so sure that you would lose the battle, especially when your mouth had run out of saliva and your muscles out of vigor.

Sleepwalking in and out of the car and then into the house i could hear my wife addressing the guest saying “Make yourselves at home” and “you can sleep in the couch” and “the bathroom is to the left” i pushed every one of those excerpts into my mind’s recycle bin, put my senses to sleep mode and just shut down. At some point of time in the night, i could hear small soft thuds beneath me. But my physique was overcome by lethargy. Sheeps were jumping back and forth, that i lost the count.

Dead calm.

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I pulled my eyelids apart with huge effort so as to let in tiny slivers of light. As i lay lazily in my bed my gaze roamed from the slow moving wind chimes to the clock which read 9:00 am. Sheila had gone downstairs. Just as i was repositioning myself on the bed, i loud shriek almost knocked me over. I sprang up and blazed downstairs. Nothing came into my mind till i reached Sheila who was kneeling down at the landing of the stairs. The first thing that crossed my mind was that she fell down the whole 9 steps. But as my eyes came in line with the room, i felt like throwing up. A scream gargled inside my throat.

Our guests were gone. So was everything else in the house.

My 33’’ plasma TV, my prized sofa set, my gigantic home theatre, my expensive trifles everything gone. The room looked like a gigantic indoor stadium. Every piece of electronic gadget as far as the eyes could see was gone. Every piece of mahogany, teak and rosewood, even the mantelpiece was gone. Every piece of silver cutlery was gone. I rushed to my room. The small cupboard which held my safe deposit vault was gone as a whole. Everything from toilet paper to wall clock had been taken. Disappeared, as if my house was stripped off all clothing and the flesh was sucked away. Even the food in the fridge was gone. What remained were only us, two humans and a giant concrete skeleton. I sat on my bed with my hands tied to my head. I felt like crying. But it seemed even my tear glands were sucked clean of tears.

Once again my eyes crawled here and there through the room. There on my bedside lay my wallet.

I took it with both my hands, wondering why the hell those bastards left this with us. It had a small note and some stinking ten rupee currencies. The handwriting was jagged and it took me sometime to steady my trembling hands so as to start reading.

“We took everything. We actually came for the wallet. But since you were smart enough to put us to test, we thought of giving you a surprise. We had a nice stay at your house. The couch was really soft for our backs. Thank you for your co-operation. Last but not least, hearty condolences from my imaginary wife.

Yours sincerely,

Chitharanjan (nice name eh?)