VOICE-OVER
The crash echoed like a thunderclap. Metal hitting metal, head on. For a fraction of second everything was suspended still ,in the air. The next second everything came crashing down onto the ground. Sand and smoke bolted out of the vehicles. The car drifted towards the pavement. The motorcycle with its rider shot high up in the air. Smashed windshield, powdered glass and crumpled headlights…
The rider of the motorcycle landed on the road face down. The motorcycle crashed onto the ground a few meters away. A boy in his early twenties. As soon as he touched the ground, his face pressed hard against the road. The road was streaked with red as the sand and gravel kissed his forehead. In another minute he was lying in a pool of crimson, christened in blood. There was not another human being on the road. The front bonnet of the car was severely jagged. But the driver was still alive and aware. He laboured to sit straight up in his seat to have a look, his eyes still trembling due to the impact. Fifty yards from his car lay the motionless body of the Motorcyclist. With a jagged sense of regret he tried to wriggle his toes. Yes he was trying to start his car again, and get the hell out of there, before somebody else shows up. He shifted the gear and the crumpled front of the car growled to life. In another minute he was gone. Glass shards, a wrecked bike, a bleeding boy and a dying sun remained...
***
Hari wiped his face with the evening heat. The sun left tiny droplets of sweat on his forehead on its westward bound. He finished his window shopping for the day and resumed his stroll. There were all kinds of branded mobile phones just inches away from his reach, beyond that glass partition. Ultra-modern touch-screen mobile phones with android and GPS, waiting for him to hold and cuddle them with his fingertips. But alas, there were always an inappropriate number of digits to the price tag, which tore through the heart of his dreams. With a meagre salary of a medical representative, he had to feed a fair number of stomachs. Just when he would have amassed a little money, some need would pop up, be that a disease or a debt, he always had to let go all of his savings to make ends meet. All he could afford now was to look at those handsome mobile phones inside some shop like a hungry horse looks upon a far set haystack.
“Your day will soon arriveBacchu.” He reconciled himself to the bitter truths.
Just as he was crossing the road to turn to his lane, a thunderous sound left him motionless. Startled by the sound he turned around. It was coming from the north, from the park street. Might be an accident, he thought. That lane was famous for its treacherous bends, enough to hide an incoming bike or a car.
He made his way through the sidewalk to the source of the sound. He knew that this was a time of the day when there was little crowd on that part of the street. As soon as a distant mess and a speeding car came into his view, he quickened his pace to the street. But still he was some two hundred feet away from the spot. There barricaded from his view by a crumpled bike lay the biker. Hari rushed to his side, revolving round the pool of blood. There was no movement. Everything was dead calm except for the gyration of the overturned motorcycle wheel. Only after Hari’s sanity getting adjusted to the mishap, did he notice the outstretched left hand of the boy. And firmly clutched in it, was a fairly expensive mobile phone.
***
Hari was walking at an unusual pace. Out into the main road, blending into the thoroughfare and swiftly retreating to a shady corner. He rounded another corner and stood leaning to a wall, panting. Only then he could pull his mind together. Only then he could fathom, what an inhuman deed he had just executed. In his hand, gleaming in the October heat was a blood stained mobile phone. He feared even to have a casual look at it. He didn’t dare to surf through the menu. All he did was to struggle for air.
“Where did the urge come from? Oh Christ. I stole from that man, rather than to help him. What was I thinking? What was I thinking?” Hari’s conscience was maddening his senses. But then the little man spoke. The little man inside him and everybody else, which keeps on saying “I don’t give a damn” or “what’s that to do with me?” and makes us do regrettable things. The little man who is responsible for every murder and robbery and rape and extortion man has ever committed. That Little man which we nurture inside calling “ego”.
That miserable little man told Hari, “Don’t worry. After all who will notice it? That guy is dead anyway. Dispose the SIM card and keep it switched off for the couple of weeks. Eventually the police will give up the chase and the phone will be yours forever. Isn’t that nice?”Hari gave out a sigh of relief. Was it really relief? He would never know.
He held that phone out; as if it was some souvenir he won for bravery. It was a fairly expensive phone. He could feel its weight. And it was not locked by PIN number or password. So with the click of the centre button, he was inside the home screen. The boy’s face appeared. Now fair and handsome, unlike what he saw minutes before drenched in blood. And in the bottom it was written, “Athul’s Pocket Pal”
As soon the screen came to life, a small window popped up.
22 missed calls; three voice mails; 15 SMS. “This guy must be real popular” Hari started to walk home thinking that.
He needed to get rid of the SIM card as soon as possible. But then, he thought. There is no reason to panic. Even if the police find that the mobile is missing, it would take another 24 hours to trace him down. He had the entire world’s time before him to dispose it. As he fidgeted his way into menu, devouring through the icons, an irresistible desire crept into his mind.
There were three voice mails. His hands were facile when he made his way into the voice mail box before playing the first clip; the most recent one. The loudspeaker of the phone sprang to life.
“Hi this is Athul. Sorry, I am not able to pick up the phone. Leave a message after the beep.”
A chilling wave ran through his body. The voice, it was so youthful; so energetic.
After a brief pause a static crack brought him to reality.
“Athul…..I…..I am sorry, Athul. It was my mistake. I should have been a little more reasonable. Please answer the phone Athul… Please”. There was a stroke of melancholy in that voice. As if the words were soaked wet in tears.Hari slackened his pace so as to pay more attention.
“I was making an early judgement. I should have been a little more understanding. Just give me one more chance, Athul. Please forgive me. Please answer your phone…”
The voice broke off into a bleak moan which surfaced as a cry with another “please”
The recording was over. Hari halted and took a closer look at the thumbnail of the file he just played. A pretty face with two locks of hair lying lazily on the sides. This must be his girlfriend. Or his lover.Maybe his fiancé. What could be the reason for her being so sad? Did they get into a fight? Did she despise him? Or did she break his trust? Hari would never know.
He dismissed further thoughts before going into the second file. By this time, he found a nice seating place, a bench near the town park. The boy’s voice again gave him tremors. After which another male voice started playing.
“Hey bro….Chillax man. Your gal, Shewas was having a petty misunderstanding. That’s all. She is convinced now, man. When I told her that you haven’t even bothered to show up at house for the past two days, she started crying…..i know it’s hard for you to go through all this. But hey, I’m with you in this, remember? After all, what are friends for…Just don’t worry…now that things are alright…Now take the phone man…Aunty also started calling me…Time to drop the fight yaar…Just take your phone, and we can straighten things up…..Call me as soon as you hear this message…See you later alligator…” The voice wore off. A perpetual stillness encircled Hari.
“This must be his friend. Best friend maybe. Well it’s a dog eat dog world. If somebody has to come handy, it can only be your friend…I guess this friend was really helping Athul out. Only if…”
His thought went numb. Only if that boy could have reached some hospital…And his life be saved. Now his guilt was overshadowing his ego. Hari pulled himself together, pumping in more ruthlessness into his windpipe. But it could not prevent two drops of tears that trickled down his eye.
The third voice mail. “Mom” it read.
With trembling hands, Hari touched the play button. The third time when he heard Athul’s voice, he felt a lump in his throat. Another female voice started playing.
“Athul….son…come back home….How long will you stay away from your Amma. Come back. I made your father understand how you felt. Now he too is anxious to see you. He hadn’t taken a gulp of water since you left. Don’t leave your parents in grief, son. After all, how many days can you stay away from home? At least pick up the phone son….” She too was crying. A moan, unlike what he heard before, having the warmth of a motherly embrace. It dug rather a large void into Hari’s heart.
“…Come back to us son. Please…” There was an indistinct male voice loitering somewhere from the infinity appearing in the background.
“Vimala. Don’t cry. Our boy isn’t that spoilt, that he doesn’t know his way back home, due to such a small matter. Just give him time. He will come back. Tell him I am not angry with him..” A gentle but strong voice it was. Must be the boy’s father.
Hari couldn’t hold it. He stopped the playback, breaking into tears. Burying his face in his arms he cried. These voices, how could he ever answer to these innocent testimonials? How could he be so ruthless? So mean. His ego was slaughtered by a devastating heartache and self-pity.
“Oh god. What have I done? What have I done? I no longer have the right to live. Oh god, please forgive me. Please” His voice was loud enough to attract some onlookers.
Hari weighed his options, if he really had any. He can’t hold it any longer. He must go back. He must get that boy to the hospital. He looked around. The dusk was fast approaching. Yellow beams of sun were dancing on tree tops.
Hari stood up, and walked back, his pace briskly reaching that of a sprint.
“My greed…All because of my greed…If only I haven’t fallen for that mobile phone. Oh god…” Hari’s thoughts were overrun by his guilt. He seriously wanted to take this all back. Live it once again, only this time being righteous and human enough to save an innocent life.
Even the wind was whiplashing him on his face, whispering on his ears “Murderer!” and “Thief!”
He never knew how many minutes passed since he was there on the park street. He couldn’t recall how much time he left that poor soul to die. But he certainly knew that if he had any chance of salvation, it was there, by rendering all the help he could provide.
He could make out what was happening in the street from a distance. There were a few people. Mostly policemen and onlookers moving round the place. A silhouette in the making, it seemed.
Hari was taken back by the scene of crowd there, as he knew he was attracting more and more attention by barging into the scene, just like that. All odds were against him.
I must not turn back. I must never turn back. I am responsible for his life. Oh, lord…if only I had a second chance. Things would never have been like this.
He approached the crash site. There through those yellow lines of “Do not Cross” he could still see the pool of blood, now reduced into a massive red blot on the road. His eyes wandered around the place. Still he couldn’t find it.
There was no sign of the boy. He was gone; taken away to some hospital. Or morgue?
Hari came close to the yellow line, his eyes red with tears. In his ears rang those voices again. Those voices of hope and companionship and love, were sucking all life out of his body. He would never see Athul again. He would never know whether he died or survived. All he knew was that the guilt will haunt him for the rest of his life. The guilt of turning blind when the eyes were most needed.
Hari stood there in the emptiness populated only by his remorse.
Who are the ones who really deserve a second chance?
