The Mystery Of The Ghost Writer And The Wheat- Part 12

Team Name: Blogstirrers

You can read Part 11 (Click Here) which was written by Jaideep Khanduja for Game of Blogs by Blogadda.com.

As the door closed, Tara breathed a sigh of relief. Picking up the intercom, she called for a coffee, and then walked to the window. The ground below flaunted green, as the sky rumbled in the distance, eerie, grey, and scary. The sky was such a contrasting entity; it could be calm at times, and at times, so tormenting; just like her heart.

A month ago, she just had love for Shekhar, but now, she just didn’t know what she felt about him. Was it love, or sympathy, or care, or hate, or anger, or remorse? She just didn’t know it. Where was he right now? And where was Roohi? The questions in her mind just kept increasing, and there were no answers seen. Shaking her head, she walked back to her desk, as Shekhar’s words came back to her.

He had said that he would come back for her, and that Roohi was safe; that he was being framed. But by whom? And why?

“I can’t find a motive behind framing Shekhar, but then if he was being framed, why did he run? And if he’s innocent, then what about the evidence which Cyrus showed me,” thought Tara to herself.

Photos could be tampered with, even videos. Was that the case this time with the clip Cyrus had showed her?

It was all a muddle in her head. The word muddle struck a chord in her head, and she remembered one of Shekhar’s pieces, one which he had written when he was between jobs.

A jungle, this life, dense,

And bushy, with a P, so pushy,

Ways too many, but to few, none,

To depend, to hold onto, to give,

Support, to prop up, someone, no,

It’s a muddle, a bundle, a heap,

Of too much, in too few, disarrayed,

Unarranged, random, this life.

The words played back slowly from the time when he had read the whole composition to her. Her trance was broken by a soft knock on the door which signaled the arrival of her coffee. Slowly sipping her Latte, she reignited her thoughts about the video and images Cyrus had shown her. Most of them had not had Shekhar’s face, but his posture and figure seemed to be there in them. She shook her head, and switched on her laptop.

She went to the news section on the internet, and as she scrolled to the bottom, her face grew grim. It seemed so tough for him to get out. And if those photos found their way to the media, Shekhar was as good as dead. On the side of the article, there was a solo of Shekhar, and its resemblance to the image Cyrus had shown her clipped her attention.

“Maybe I shouldn’t trust anyone. I’ll begin with Jennifer and Cyrus, then move to the top.”

As the search engine unearthed Cyrus, her mind wavered slowly to one of Shekhar’s poems.

Time is present for the believer,

Time is future for the achiever,

A friend, an enemy, both together,

Time is everything, but a healer,

Wounds spurting, and squirting,

The pain of being, human, we are,

Trust we do, especially mistrust,

Belief is good, above all disbelief,

But the worst of the lot is misbelief.

You can read the next part here.

“Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.”

The Mystery Of The Ghost Writer And The Wheat- Part 10

Team Name: Blogstirrers

You can read Part 9 (Click Here) which was written by Jaideep Khanduja for Game of Blogs by Blogadda.com.

The hysterical whimper cracked through the silence and Tara rose from the confines of her soft night abode. Beside her, Shekhar lay snoring, unaffected by the shrill crying of the alarm clock. She looked intently, as her eyes welled up with tears, an aftermath of the past week’s events. It had been pandemonium; a complete catastrophe, something which had taken her life on the edge, and there was no leeway as well. She couldn’t go through this, she would win, or she would die; and she knew this, very well. She was completely entwined in this mystery, and it had taken her life to the extremes- both good and bad.

Today was going to be important; as she would ask for the truth, not a word less or more. As she glanced at the date in the luminous display of the clock beside her, her face lit up in a weak, watery smile, as her eyes began spewing out droplets, slowly, and a trickle soon began down her cheeks. Shifting her pillow into a more comfortable position, she cuddled into a cocoon and held her head in her palms, and the week came back to her.

As the wheels hit the tarmac, Tara was the first one to get across to the door, waiting for the bus which would bring Cyrus out. Cyrus’ message had first puzzled her, but the more she thought about it, the more she felt intrigued about it. She had decided to book the first flight out for him, and now there she was, impatient to hear what he said.

Cyrus had gone on to show her some astonishing pieces of evidence, which she did not believe were genuine at first instance, but when he went into the details, her heart slowed down, and she slumped into a heap. She could not believe what she was seeing, hearing, and getting to know. It couldn’t be him, no.

“It can’t be true Cyrus. He’s always at home, and he’s working or writing; he doesn’t even switch on the television. No, it just doesn’t add up.”

“I’m sure about it, or else I wouldn’t have called you with this. It’s classified, and I’ve obtained it from a high-ranked official under shady circumstances, so…”

“I won’t use it in the news, but still thanks. I think I should head back now, it’s getting late,” saying this, Tara got up from the table.

Without a single look backwards, she walked away, heading back towards home.

That had just been the first turn of the week. As the days passed, the more she was sure that Cyrus’ information was true. She couldn’t believe it, but now, it was high time. She couldn’t stall any more about the information at the news station, and the police would be getting there soon too.

With a sigh, she got up, and slowly walked to Roohi’s bedroom. As she opened the door, the sight of the empty bed made her heart drop. She turned and ran back to where Shekhar lay, supine, in his own delirious dream. As she returned into their room, the door slammed shut behind her, and she felt something cold on her neck.

She turned to face the wrong end of a gun, into the dark void of the barrel, and as her eyes moved upwards, they began flowing.

“How could you?”

“She’s in a better place than here.”

“How could you lie to me,” she asked again, her voice echoing in the small room.

“I haven’t lied. They are all trying to frame me, it’s not true,” Shekhar said, his voice steady.

Wiping sweat from his brow, he went on, “I promise I haven’t lied to you.”

“But why Shekhar?”

Her questions were drowned by approaching sirens, and Shekhar looked around, stunned. Wiping sweat from his brow, he dropped the gun, and walked towards the window.

Turning back, he said to Tara, “This isn’t how I would have wanted this day to be. I’m innocent, and I shall prove it to you. I love you, and I shall come for you again, one day.”

His eyes set, he kissed his wife, and with a tight hug, he walked out, slowly running into the distance.

The next morning’s headlines were, “Renowned writer and his daughter missing. The wheat trail flours on.”

You can read the next part here.

“Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.”

The Mystery Of The Ghost Writer And The Wheat- Part 2

Team Name: Blogstirrers

You can read Part 1 (Click Here) which was written by Jaideep Khanduja for Game of Blogs by Blogadda.com.

“Honey, did you hear me?”

The repeated question struck Shekhar and roused him from his trance.

“Sorry, what did you say? I was a bit…”

“Yeah, your newspapers are more important than your wife, aren’t they Mr. Writer? You go on, I’ll find someone else to talk to,” scorned his wife, Tara, in her sweet voice which was lined with a concoction of anger and mischief.

“I apologize Ma’am; and this humble servant of yours is ready to serve penance in order to get back into his boss’ good books,” said Shekhar, bending into a mock bow.

“One of the benefits of marrying an author- they always know what to say in order to make you fine. And I was talking about what gift you’ll be giving me on our anniversary.”

“Oh, when is our anniversary? Is it today? Oh God, no! I forgot it again!”

Seeing the spurt of anger ready to erupt from Tara, he began laughing and went on, “There’s still time dear. And as always, it will be a surprise for you to remember.”

“Okay fine, don’t tell me. By the way, what were you reading? Anything important in the news?”

“Something which interested me after long- a case filled with a lot of unknowns.”

“Who?”

“Do you remember that photographer we’d met in Kochi? Jennifer Joseph?”

“How can I forget her!”

“She was found in Mumbai with a law student from Delhi, with almost a truckload of drugs, worth around 2 crores. But the thing is that the student and Jennifer have had no previous contact, and there is no way they could have known each other, owing to their backgrounds. But then, they were found together, in a 7-star hotel room, and that’s not cheap, even for someone like Jennifer.”

“Anything else? I fear you’ve left the best for last.”

“Both of them have not got even an ounce of the drug in their body. They have no previous records of drug abuse and even possession; nor do they have an idea how they reached there. It’s like they were framed or something.”

As Shekhar’s voice trailed off, Tara’s phone rang.

“Yeah, something important come up,” she asked into the phone. Listening intently for a couple of minutes, she began barking orders, “I’ll be there in an hour. Get the team ready, I want to be able to leave for the crime spot by noon.”

Keeping the table, Tara deftly tied her hair in a bun, and to Shekhar she said, “Another journalist and freelance photographer has just been found dead in her hotel. Suicide is the initial take, but there has to be something more. And the catch is that even here, a large quantity of Wheat has been found. The police is still working on the facts, but it’s said that there is a connection between this murder and the Jennifer Joseph case. This matter is inflating quite fast, and it’s going to be a media circus. I can’t skip this case, it’s too important. You sure that you will handle everything fine here?”

“Of course, my love. Come back in time for that surprise, and don’t forget my gift.”

“Yeah darling, now let me rush,” said Tara as she vanished into her room.

Shekhar’s eyes followed his wife, and as she slipped away from his sight, he pulled out his mobile phone.

The last message read, “Mission Accomplished”.

To that, he just replied, “Just received confirmation. Proceed with the next part of the mission, all the best.”

You can read the next part here.

“Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.”

Dead Truth

The dark road stretched with the twin beams boring holes in the black of the night. The raucous groan of the horn cracked through the silence and punctuated the steady purr of the engine. All off a sudden there was a crunch, and the car tumbled like a domino. The screech of metal on the concrete followed, and then…a flash of light, and a boom.

Sania jumped up in her bed, her forehead bathed in sweat. Her chest heaved as her breaths sounded above the noise of the fan running at full speed.

“It’s been 12 whole years, yet the dream doesn’t go. Dad, why did you go like this? Damn,” she muttered to herself as she dabbed at her face with the sleeve of her t-shirt.

She looked at the clock on the wall beside her, and continued, “It’s 5 anyways. I’ll get back to reading dad’s journal. I must uncover the nature of his death soon, and maybe there’s a clue in this somewhere.”

The last week had been particularly eventful, what with her having to steal a book from the archives of the national library, then going without reason to meet a prisoner, and then finally breaking into the office of a high-placed professional. But she did get what she wanted; she got the journal, his journal, the one in which he wrote about all his meetings. He wrote about all his deals as well, then there would be the last one too.

With that thought, she got up and retrieved the book from her closet. Switching on the lights, she continued reading from where she had left it last night.

It isn’t easy to be a minister. Tiring, and boring, yet so important. My work will need to be impeccable and extremely transparent. I cannot make the mistakes our opponents made, or we’ll end the way they did.

I had to make a choice between the family and the problems going on in the national circuit. But then as a minister I had to visit the rape victims’ families, rather than going home to visit Sania. I must go tomorrow first thing in the morning. Poor child, having to face such high fever at such a tender age.

I miss her so much, and even her mother. Wish they could have accompanied me here to the capital.

On the flight, I worked on a plan to ensure the steady development of the troubled states. I must work on the numbers tomorrow, and then I shall ask for an audience with the prime minister to see if my plan would be fine.

Now, I’ll call up Sakshi and Sania, and then I’ll head to bed.

She remembered the day very clearly in her mind. She had been 13 and she had suddenly fallen ill. Her body ached, her head throbbed and her skin could be used literally to cook dinner that day. He hadn’t visited here even. Mother had explained the reasons to her, and she had reluctantly agreed. With a twinkle of a smile lining her face, she turned the page.

I spent the whole day with Sakshi and Sania. I had thought they would be extremely angry on me, but they weren’t. It’s good when the family helps in this way. I then went to the temple to pray for Sania’s quick recovery. The doctors have said that the worst part is done, but I can’t bear to see my little angel like that, in such pain.

I have worked on the numbers, but then the work must be done by my way, or else we’ll end up spending from the nation’s pockets. I have already asked for an audience with the PM tomorrow, and I shall tell him about my plan. Let’s see what he says.

She knew this was it. This plan could be the one which caused her dad to be killed. It was around a month after his visit that the call about his road accident had come.

The PM loved my idea, and is sure that this could be the best thing to happen to the nation. Though he went on to say that he will forward the idea only if the contract is given to his relatives. I cannot do such a thing, or the nation’s wallet will be hurt. The firms he is suggesting have been notoriously involved in skimming money and for not doing the desired work. I’ll decide what to do in a couple of days.

Sania has become better, the doctors were right about the worst phase being over. The days are getting longer, and the nights shorter; wish Sakshi and Sania were here. I miss them…

Sania kept skimming the pages till she saw something of interest.

The party President has now threatened to kick me out of the cabinet, mid-term that too. And only because I decided to not award the contracts to their relatives. It’s like I’m the only one working for the nation.

I must go public if this continues. I have to work for the nation, and not for them. They may have forgotten their purpose, but I have not.

Her father had called for a press conference the night before he died. He had called mother up and said that it would all be fine; and that nothing would happen to him, her and to me. The next call which came in was from the police.

A tear fell dangled on her eyelash and slipped down her cheek. With a heavy heart, she turned the page, only to find them torn off. As she looked around, a voice spoke.

“He did not listen to what we had told him then. He could have gone on and enjoyed the money but he chose otherwise. There is one thing you should always remember- family, duty and honor. That’s the order it must be in, and that’s what we were doing.  Your father did have the sense of duty and honor, but he didn’t care about his family. But we did…”

“He cared for family. More than you did. It was just that he was matured enough to realize that the whole nation was his family, and not just mother and I,” Sania replied in a strong voice, her eyes searching desperately for an escape route.

“Did anything come of his love? He ended up burning in the flames, his body crushed in the car by the truck we sent to dispose him off.”

“He didn’t die in our hearts. And you won’t get anything by killing me. The cat is already out of the bag. I already sent a copy of the journal to the head of the CBI Chief 2 days ago. He would have received it yesterday, and today, all your heads shall hang.”

“No. You didn’t tell anyone about the book, let alone the CBI Chief. He hasn’t received any post about a book,” the man said as he pulled off his mask.

“Oh my God, even you,” she exclaimed as he pulled out a silenced gun.

Her scream hid the already muted sound of the gunshot as she tumbled back onto the bed, a rivulet of red flowing from her forehead and onto the open book.