THE EARBUD CHRONICLES
1. VANISHED
Once famed for
its quaint beauty, the unsolved deaths have shrouded this town in despair. For
three consecutive times in the past two months, like clockwork on new moon
nights, first one little girl then two young boys, vanished from their beds. Morning
always found the intact body lying inside the ruins of the deserted hospital
complex.
1. VANISHED
Dainagri: Police and government officials admit their miserable
failure to dispense justice. Angry protesters, waving placards and demanding
answers, have besieged the Town Hall through the week. Our elected leaders hang
their heads in shame. They have no answers, only empty promises. Meanwhile,
there is no relief in sight for the parents of the dead children.
During the day, the town plods through the motions of life; at
night, folks shutter their doors and windows tight and remain indoors. It
hadn’t always been like this. Residents tearfully recall laughter, music and
the aroma of delicious food wafting into the streets. The houses, clustered
together, had had an aura of friendliness, ever ready to lend a helping hand at
a low call. Well-swept narrow lanes weaved through the community. Colourful
bougainvillea, fragrant jasmine, and a multitude of flowering trees blissfully
shaded travellers from the scorching Indian sun. Birdcalls and shrieks of
laughing children were the norm around any corner.
These days the houses seem to be huddling, almost cowering
in fear. The cool shady lanes are gloomy and sinister. Flowers wither before
blooming and even the leaves, the small patches of grass, are yellow and
shrivelled. Birds have deserted the town completely. Cows are emaciated,
producing little milk. Street dogs look starved and feral. Even the ochre sun
looks jaundiced, moving across a bilious sky.
To pacify
public outrage and prevent pandemic fear, politicians are working overtime -- at
their speeches. Promising instant action, they haven’t even been able to demolish
the derelict hospital building. After the police investigated it high and low,
desperately and fruitlessly searching for clues, orders arrived to flatten and
clear the lot. The demolishers stormed in but were halted in their tracks when
the ground crumbled and sank beneath the bulldozers. Geologist and surveyors, appearing
at the scene, suddenly discovered evidence of seismic activity underground. They
have demarcated the area as protected zone.
Cause of death
remains a complete mystery. How can three perfectly healthy children’s heart
suddenly stop beating? Who took them out of their homes? The police claim that
the only clues existing are some earbuds -- found on the pillow of each child
who died. Highly placed sources inform us that the detectives have wracked
their brains until they are pulling out their own hair in great tufts. The
ear-bud clue seems to lead no-where…
*
“Ha, at last!
They’ve got back the report from the DNA testing on the earbuds,” exclaimed Laxmi,
her thin body almost hidden deep under the newspaper.
“These rookie
journalists! All they care for is sensationalism.” Alka shook her head at the
lurid headlines on her spread. She reached for her pad and pencil, itching to
draw the scene described in the newspaper article. “Well, have they got any
leads?” Bold strokes appeared under her clever fingers, depicting police
officers pulling out tufts of their own hair in frustration. She smirked.
“Only that the
earbuds were produced from reused cotton. They are questioning all street
vendors who sell earbuds!” Laxmi put away the newspaper with disgust. Her
hands were soon busy with the innards of a CPU. These parallel resistors connect to those transistors, condenser here
and..., she muttered. She was building a computer to help humans and ghosts
communicate.
Ali was the
oldest child in the room. Inordinately proud of his thick hair, he had
fashioned it like Mahender Singh Dhoni’s long locks. He loved the cricketer and
wouldn’t cut his hair despite all the teasing the style invited. He tidied the
room, waiting...
Gopal came in
with a tray piled high with finger-chips and bowls of dipping sauce. “Hot
crispy fries and sauce that’s just right. Tickle your taste buds guys, dig in.”
He presented the dishes with great flair and briskly took his seat. Everybody immediately
brought their chairs to the table.
“Yummy, I love
these.” Rotund Naveen grabbed a fistful. He was the youngest; the others fondly
watched him eat first. They followed, grimly determined on their course of
action. Swirling the fries in the drippy sauce, they made quick work of it and
sat back ready for the next step of the ritual.
Time was ripe.
The moonless night allied with a thick fog, to envelope the town in darkness.
Residents slumbered as if comatose. A weird mist swirled around the watchful
police and news-telecasting crews. Infrared cameras recorded them nodding off
right where they stood. Not even an earthquake could have woken them.
Indicating they
should join hands, Ali led the chanting. Their clasped hands resting on the
table, the five children closed their eyes, concentrating on the name they had
chosen. Verses flowed from cold lips; the rhythmic chanting rose and fell, echoed
off white walls and ceiling then dropped to a hushed whisper. A chill spread
along the room, frosting the steel surgical table where they sat. Broken panes
on the medicine cabinet glazed and cracked. The tiled walls chilled, droplets
of moisture bedewing them, streaming down in rivulets of tears. Silvery wetness
streaked the children’s faces as they lost themselves in the power of thought.
A single blue ear-bud rose from the centre of the table and wafted out through
the shattered window.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Join the conversation! What is your reaction to the post?