Start with Part I. Click here If you have already read it, then read on...
The show must go on.
"Shabir's death is shocking," Shekhar told the reporters when they accosted him at the condolence meeting. "Right at my doorstep, right in front of my eyes, in the most unexpected manner!" he said. "He was so excited about the role I had in mind for him! We were just shaking hands on it when it happened..." he tweaked the truth a bit to add spice.
"Can you tell us about the role, sir? What are you going to do about it?"
"The role, now, is all the more a secret. It is going to be hard to replace him. I will have to give it deep thought," Shekhar said and was gratified to see the media people's curiosity piqued. Shabir's unexpected death had turned into a boon and he had producers knocking on his door. The story writers were also inspired to build the plot and flesh out the characters.
But Shekhar held back the details of the two main characters on whom the story rested - the mother and the son - to gauge the mood of the story and see if he could use the same haveli as the location of the shooting. Everytime he planned a trip to the village, he faced unexpected hurdles. Calls by producers who demanded that he meet them that same day, but cancelled in the last minute. Or his mother calling him up fearing medical emergency, only for it to turn out to be gastritis...
So one day he decided not to take any calls and started the car. But no sooner had he hit the highway, than his car swerved, almost hitting a speeding truck. Luckily, the truck driver had noticed and slowed down to a gentle stop, just avoiding the erratic car. Shekhar got down and saw that the front tyre had got a puncture. With the help of the truck driver, he managed to change the wheel, but now he had to return to the city since it was getting late for an evening meeting.
It was really by chance that he landed in the village a few days later. He had made no plans and his work took him farther away. But on the way back, on an impulse, he turned into the road leading up to the village. On reaching the village, he asked for Manoj and was met with a grim shake by one of the villagers. "He went to the lake for a bath and never returned. Drowned, just like his father..."
"When!?"
"Must be a month... He was last seen near that abandoned haveli. Then he didn't return home. He seems to have slipped and fallen into the lake. He knew swimming... But he drowned..."
Shekhar stopped breathing for a moment. "Oh," the expression came out involuntarily. He mopped his brow. Then he asked the man, "The family in the haveli... Did you know anything about them?"
The man shook his head. "My father used to work in the fields, and later I did so too. But the family was very secretive. Even their son Manik's wedding was a very quiet affair. The bride was rarely seen outside. She always looked sad... But what is it to us? We minded our business. Those who meddled suffered," he added grimly.
Shekhar felt uneasy, as if he was also meddling. Don't... Back off, something told him. But he couldn't. That young, innocent, daughter-in-law, the wronged woman. The protective mother. The tigress... And the cub. The cub... A secret that cannot be revealed. No one who knows the truth can reveal it. No one who reveals it can be alive. Manoj's father died. Manoj died. Shabir... Why Shabir? Was the gate meant to fall on him or on Shekhar, or both? Was the puncture deliberate?
But the family was dead, all killed in a fire. Who was protecting the family name? Who was devising these deaths? Were they accidents? Were they murders?
Shekhar couldn't get away from the place fast enough. He knew that somehow, distance didn't matter. Even with the AC in full blast, sweat streamed down, his hands trembled and he was being constantly honked at for his erratic driving back home. But he felt as if he was being driven away from the village.
When he reached his apartment, his house seemed dark and lonely. He was relieved when his neighbour stepped out of his house and smiled at him. Shekhar smiled back and detained the man in polite conversation as he switched the light in the foyer on.
When he shut the door behind him, his phone rang, startling him. It was one of the writers. "Sir, good evening. I was working on the girl's character and I feel we can have a song there to introduce her. The song can end in the wedding scene. So now I need to know something more about the guy..."
"Vikas," Shekhar said, his hair standing on its ends as he felt somebody was listening in. "Vikas..." Shekhar was in a dilemma. Should he say it or not. Vikas was one of the best scriptwriters who would give him the right suspense if only he could tell the man honestly the real problem. Earlier he had not shared the information because he didn't know how he wanted to project Manik, the son. But now, he feared saying anything. He couldn't risk his life for a movie!
"I'll let you know. I have to think about it..." he evaded a response. He skipped dinner and went to bed. He woke up with a start in the middle of the night as he heard something move in the dining room. He remained lying down, scared to move even an inch and reveal his presence. The sound stopped for sometime and then resumed again. Then there was a thud. He almost fainted, but clung to the bed, praying for dawn as he stared at the door, imagining an apparition entering his room despite the solid wood blocking the way.
He must have fallen asleep at some point. He woke up with the sun streaming into his room. His first emotion was one of relief, of being alive. He opened the room door and found a book lying near the door. He realised that the thud sound he heard must have been of the book falling. But what was the sound before that? It sounded like someone walking... He looked at the peaceful morning sun streaming into his rooms and laughed at his silliness. He put the book on the table and went to the kitchen. A gentle breeze blew around, and he heard the sound again, of friction. He came out of the kitchen in a rush, and felt limp with relief as he saw the pages flipping because of the breeze. He put a paper weight on top of the paperback and shook his head to clear it of these silly thoughts.
He called Vikas, determined to make the movie. He was being silly and reading too much between the lines!
Vikas arrived by around 12. Shekhar briefly told him the story. "I don't want too many details out at this stage. I would like the suspense to build up... Ok?"
Vikas was excited, challenged by the mystery not only in the plot but also of keeping it a secret in real life. "Done," he said and he got up.
The chandelair came crashing down on them, hitting Vikas and Shekhar on the head before shattering on the floor, sending shards in their direction, piercing their skin.
For Part III
The show must go on.
"Shabir's death is shocking," Shekhar told the reporters when they accosted him at the condolence meeting. "Right at my doorstep, right in front of my eyes, in the most unexpected manner!" he said. "He was so excited about the role I had in mind for him! We were just shaking hands on it when it happened..." he tweaked the truth a bit to add spice.
"Can you tell us about the role, sir? What are you going to do about it?"
"The role, now, is all the more a secret. It is going to be hard to replace him. I will have to give it deep thought," Shekhar said and was gratified to see the media people's curiosity piqued. Shabir's unexpected death had turned into a boon and he had producers knocking on his door. The story writers were also inspired to build the plot and flesh out the characters.
But Shekhar held back the details of the two main characters on whom the story rested - the mother and the son - to gauge the mood of the story and see if he could use the same haveli as the location of the shooting. Everytime he planned a trip to the village, he faced unexpected hurdles. Calls by producers who demanded that he meet them that same day, but cancelled in the last minute. Or his mother calling him up fearing medical emergency, only for it to turn out to be gastritis...
So one day he decided not to take any calls and started the car. But no sooner had he hit the highway, than his car swerved, almost hitting a speeding truck. Luckily, the truck driver had noticed and slowed down to a gentle stop, just avoiding the erratic car. Shekhar got down and saw that the front tyre had got a puncture. With the help of the truck driver, he managed to change the wheel, but now he had to return to the city since it was getting late for an evening meeting.
It was really by chance that he landed in the village a few days later. He had made no plans and his work took him farther away. But on the way back, on an impulse, he turned into the road leading up to the village. On reaching the village, he asked for Manoj and was met with a grim shake by one of the villagers. "He went to the lake for a bath and never returned. Drowned, just like his father..."
"When!?"
"Must be a month... He was last seen near that abandoned haveli. Then he didn't return home. He seems to have slipped and fallen into the lake. He knew swimming... But he drowned..."
Shekhar stopped breathing for a moment. "Oh," the expression came out involuntarily. He mopped his brow. Then he asked the man, "The family in the haveli... Did you know anything about them?"
The man shook his head. "My father used to work in the fields, and later I did so too. But the family was very secretive. Even their son Manik's wedding was a very quiet affair. The bride was rarely seen outside. She always looked sad... But what is it to us? We minded our business. Those who meddled suffered," he added grimly.
Shekhar felt uneasy, as if he was also meddling. Don't... Back off, something told him. But he couldn't. That young, innocent, daughter-in-law, the wronged woman. The protective mother. The tigress... And the cub. The cub... A secret that cannot be revealed. No one who knows the truth can reveal it. No one who reveals it can be alive. Manoj's father died. Manoj died. Shabir... Why Shabir? Was the gate meant to fall on him or on Shekhar, or both? Was the puncture deliberate?
But the family was dead, all killed in a fire. Who was protecting the family name? Who was devising these deaths? Were they accidents? Were they murders?
Shekhar couldn't get away from the place fast enough. He knew that somehow, distance didn't matter. Even with the AC in full blast, sweat streamed down, his hands trembled and he was being constantly honked at for his erratic driving back home. But he felt as if he was being driven away from the village.
When he reached his apartment, his house seemed dark and lonely. He was relieved when his neighbour stepped out of his house and smiled at him. Shekhar smiled back and detained the man in polite conversation as he switched the light in the foyer on.
When he shut the door behind him, his phone rang, startling him. It was one of the writers. "Sir, good evening. I was working on the girl's character and I feel we can have a song there to introduce her. The song can end in the wedding scene. So now I need to know something more about the guy..."
"Vikas," Shekhar said, his hair standing on its ends as he felt somebody was listening in. "Vikas..." Shekhar was in a dilemma. Should he say it or not. Vikas was one of the best scriptwriters who would give him the right suspense if only he could tell the man honestly the real problem. Earlier he had not shared the information because he didn't know how he wanted to project Manik, the son. But now, he feared saying anything. He couldn't risk his life for a movie!
"I'll let you know. I have to think about it..." he evaded a response. He skipped dinner and went to bed. He woke up with a start in the middle of the night as he heard something move in the dining room. He remained lying down, scared to move even an inch and reveal his presence. The sound stopped for sometime and then resumed again. Then there was a thud. He almost fainted, but clung to the bed, praying for dawn as he stared at the door, imagining an apparition entering his room despite the solid wood blocking the way.
He must have fallen asleep at some point. He woke up with the sun streaming into his room. His first emotion was one of relief, of being alive. He opened the room door and found a book lying near the door. He realised that the thud sound he heard must have been of the book falling. But what was the sound before that? It sounded like someone walking... He looked at the peaceful morning sun streaming into his rooms and laughed at his silliness. He put the book on the table and went to the kitchen. A gentle breeze blew around, and he heard the sound again, of friction. He came out of the kitchen in a rush, and felt limp with relief as he saw the pages flipping because of the breeze. He put a paper weight on top of the paperback and shook his head to clear it of these silly thoughts.
He called Vikas, determined to make the movie. He was being silly and reading too much between the lines!
Vikas arrived by around 12. Shekhar briefly told him the story. "I don't want too many details out at this stage. I would like the suspense to build up... Ok?"
Vikas was excited, challenged by the mystery not only in the plot but also of keeping it a secret in real life. "Done," he said and he got up.
The chandelair came crashing down on them, hitting Vikas and Shekhar on the head before shattering on the floor, sending shards in their direction, piercing their skin.
For Part III
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