KIDNAPPED IN DARBHANGA

Hi There,

This is the frame of a Flash Fiction I hoped to expand on some day.

I have not come back to it for a year now and as some of my friends have shown interest in reading what I write I thought I might as well put it on my blog.

So here comes:

Happy reading and do let me have your comments.

Best regards,

Manoj

Kidnapped in Darbhanga

‘Can I have a glass of water’, Rahul was pleading.
Mr. Burly passed a small cup of water and Rahul finished it in one quick gulp. His captivity in the small room had entered the third day. His Rolex was still working.
‘Oh God, he exclaimed aloud, why am I here’ he asked?
No answer. He did not expect one.

This trip to Darbhanga was planned a month ago. After his final semester in the medical college he had gone home, met his parents, stayed with them for a couple of weeks and then boarded the train.

They had shared the same hostel room for the last three years and Rahul had readily accepted Amit’s invitation to visit his ancestral house. He had heard so much that he felt he had to see it. He was fascinated by the tales of movies at Jyoti Cinema, a place where songs were rerun at the point of a gun. He wanted to taste bhang, cannabis to the dilettante, sold openly at Tower Chowk and visit the ghettos, the place where they used AK- 47’s for target practise. This was a wonderland, one tourist destination Rahul did not want to miss.

‘Come on, get up’, the guard had poked his thighs with the long stick he was carrying.
‘Is there a misunderstanding, did he ask for use of the toilet’? He thought he was loosing his head when they stopped next to it.
‘I don’t need to go there’ he said.
‘Shut up’ Mr. Burly replied.
‘OK, so it is not the toilet, thank God’, he murmured, relaxing at the thought that he could still remember facts.
‘Is it done’? Mr. Burly asked Mr. Long Legs who had joined them.
‘Did they get in touch with Dad’? Rahul thought. ‘Let Dad be here’, he prayed. Dad would readily pay the ransom.

Rahul had been warned. Darbhanga was the kidnapping capital of Bihar. Businessmen, Doctors, girls, kids – anyone could become a victim. Amit had told him this. Rahul had not listened; this was part of the charm.

Mr. Long legs smiled. ‘Thank God’, thought Rahul, he had never seen them smile, ‘a good omen’ he hoped.
‘She agreed’ said Mr. Long Legs as he reached them.
Rahul was now hopeful. His eyes went moist as he thought of his mother. His father was abroad he remembered. He had departed on the same day he took the train to Darbhanga. He felt tears well up as he thought of seeing his mother. He knew he would cry the moment he saw her.

‘Come on’, the command was more forceful.
Rahul started walking again.
They reached the outer courtyard of the house where Mr. Burly pushed him ahead. ‘Take a bath, he said, time you are made ready', they laughed aloud.
‘But I don't need it now. I'll go home and take it there," said Rahul and they laughed again.
By now he was naked, Mr. Long Legs pulling off his clothes.

"We don't want you to smell like an animal".

‘So, the time has come’, he thought. He had tears in his eyes as Mr. Long Legs built up the soap lather. He was dried and made to wear the ‘dhoti’.
‘Why not my clothes’? He asked them.
‘What these? They smell like shit.' they laughed again. Mr. Burly and Long Legs were now in a very cheerful mood.

They were in the main inner courtyard now. An old man sat in the centre doing some kind of ritual. The place was gaudily decorated and women were singing and giggling. Clueless, Rahul looked around searching for his mother in this crowd of strangers.

‘Thank God you are here,’ he cried and rushed to hug him.

Amit, his friend, was there.
‘Welcome to the family’ said Amit. ‘My sister really likes you’.
Kidnapping grooms was an industry in Darbhanga.

Just Like That

Koteshwar was in a very senior position in the government. He was always brilliant in his studies and his father was a senior Judge of the High Court when he retired. The Chief Minister readily agreed to his request to attend the ancient annual cultural function at his ancestral village which he cherished. The vist had to be under high security. Jharkhand is a strife-torn state and militants are everywhere.

The function went off very well. Koteshwar was very pleased and so were the simple villagers. They dance the traditional jig with abandon and spirit even though at the last moment, due to urgent work, the Chief Minister could not come even though he really wanted to. Instead he sent two of his cabinet ministers so that the functions went off well.

Once the ceremonial farewell was done, the two ministers invited Koteshwar to join them in one car for security reasons. Their convoy could become a prized target for any ambush.

"I'll take the front seat, thank you," said Koteshwar as he stepped in beside the driver. The car followed the escort police jeep followed by two more cars packed with alert heavily armed commandos. They took an undisclosed route even though it was a detour which would take longer time.

"Its really uncomfortable with your pistol in the hip belt when you have to seat in the car," said one of the ministers in the back seat, slanting awkardly to pull out the firearm from his behind. Actually it was somewhat congested with so many in one car and they had been travelling for an hour now.

"Oh, what a lovely thing," said the other minister, taking the pistol lovingly into his hands. He removed the magazine, waved the pistol appreciatingly and pulled the trigger just like that not knowing that a bullet was already cocked in to be fired.

The gunfire shot sent the convoy into immediate action well drilled and well experienced in this part of the country. Was there an ambush ? Most probably yes. The journalists in their cars not far behind made quick approach to get their stories.

But the police escort knows, whatever happens, if the road is clear, you never stop. So move, move, keep going. Soon it is realised, there is no more firing, it looks over. "What happened," the journalists ask. The convoy moves on.

The bullet has gone through his right arm and into Koteshwar's rib-cage. Inside the city, their car breaks off from the convoy and heads straight to the Medical College Hospital. VIP emergency. Koteshwar is operated upon. The bullet has fragmented into two pieces, both are eventually removed. Still in danger, but stable, Koteshwar will live.

Suffocating Darkness

Why should anybody do it ? But she did it. Its in the local newspapers today.

Usha now of 50 years of age, lived with her husband Ramesh, alone in their sprawling house. Their son lived in the USA and daughter was married and settled in Mumbai. So Usha would everyday go to the Jain Mandir for so many years now.

It was hot in the afternoon. She took an autorickshaw. When she offered Rs.50 for the round trip, the driver thought he was having a lucky day.

Usha alighted at the Mandir entrance and asked the driver to wait. Soon the driver fell asleep in the back seat of the auto. He was snapped out of the reverie of the dancing Rs.50 note, with Ramesh shaking him by the shoulder. "Have seen a middle-aged woman come to the Mandir", Ramesh was asking him. It was late, dark and the street lights were on.

"Yes, of course, I brought her," said the driver, alarmed.

"Well, I've looked for her everywhere and she is nowhere to be seen", said Ramesh. "I've even asked the caretaker's family and they have no clue." Except, yes except, thought Ramesh, for the pair of slippers like Usha's by the 13-inch open and abandoned borewell in the Mandir courtyard. "Oh my God!"

The administration took some time to swing into action. But in a couple of hours the police procured and lowered a camera with light down the borewell. There she was. Quick, lower the oxygen supply tube. She was motionless. Bringing her up was only technical frivolity.

CARLOS SLIM HELU - WHO IS HE?

Carlos Slim Helu is presently the richest man in the world.

His worth has been quantified at US$ 53.5 billion which takes him above Bill Gates at US$ 53 Billion.

So is he an American?

No. Carlos Slim is not an American.

So does he belong to one of the developed countries like UK, Germany, France, Japan?

No, none of these.

The country he belongs to has a per capita income of $14,500 a year, and nearly 17% of the population lives in poverty. To put his achievement in the right perspective it will not be out of place to add that his wealth is the equivalent of roughly 2% of his country's annual economic output.

Yes we are talking Mexico.

But more important than that is the fact that he is an immigrant. How's that for enterprise?

Great is it not?

So from where does he actually come?

LEBANON - Surprise, Surprise.

In 1902, Julián Slim Haddad, father of Carlos Slim Helú, arrived in Mexico from Lebanon, all alone at 14 years of age, speaking no Spanish. Carlos Slim's mother, Doña Linda Helú was also Lebanese. These immigrants who arrived in Mexico at the end of the 19th century, brought the first Arabic printing press to Mexico and founded one of the first magazines for the Lebanese community in the country. Carlos was the youngest boy of six children.

Carlos Slim studied engineering but his entrepreneul skills were evident as by the time he was 26 years old, his net worth was $40 million.

He married Soumaya Domit Gemayel, also a Lebanese-Mexican, in 1967; they had six children and were married for 32 years until Domit died of a kidney ailment in 1999.

The youngest daughter, Johanna, is married to Arturo Elías Ayub, a Syrian Lebanese and a board member of some of Slim's companies.

If you have been a student of history you will understand the link with Lebanon and the aggressive and smart trading. Yes, Lebanon was the starting point for the Phoenicians who were the first to explore the Mediterranean Sea route for trade. They were so good that even the Romans envied them.

Jumping Genes???

Reminds me of Carl Lewis! it's a very long jump.

Best regards,

Manoj

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