THE EARBUD CHRONICLES (cont.)
Far across town,
in the Inspector General’s house, little Bela got out of bed, leaving behind a
blue ear-bud on her pillow. As the clock tower, in the central square, tolled
the midnight hour, she slipped latches and unlocked bolts fixed by her cautious
father on their front door. She moved down the street silently, her feet
apparently gliding a few inches above the dusty road, white nightgown trailing
behind like a ghostly train in the pitch-blackness. She soon reached the ruins
of the deserted hospital.
At her approach,
the gates hanging lopsidedly shut, suddenly creaked, and tried to part. The
large sealed lock that the police had optimistically placed, trembled,
shattered, and joined the shards of its brethren on the barren earth. The
rusted chain binding the gates, slithering like a live snake, unravelled. The
gates swung open on creaking hinges. In a flash, she was across the littered yard
and inside the crumbling ruin. Past corridors -- dusty, dead-leaves strewn, its walls
pockmarked, mildewed, sagging, and in places completely collapsed -- she moved
with regal calmness until she came to the door of the Operation Theatre, where
the five children waited. The door opened. She woke up.
Her face
scrunched in a rictus of fear; she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound
emerged. She barely saw the five children rising to welcome her. Petrified, her
gaze locked on the horrific sight of men and women hanging from the wall in
chains. Tattered remnants of uniforms -- doctors and nurses -- hung in shreds
from their emaciated bodies. They were bleeding, covered with putrid sores; their
ripped open abdominal cavities showed missing organs. They writhed in their
restrains, screamed and shrieked, cursed and cried out their endless pain to a
deaf world.
Bela’s eyes
closed in a dead faint. The five ran to her, embraced her, tried to explain, to
comfort, but to no avail. At their touch, her body shuddered and her innocent
soul left the Earth to ascend to a heavenly abode.
“We must not
touch them. We can’t touch them. I told you we should not touch them,” Ali
reiterated in despair.
“Not another
child. Oh Bela, don’t die, come back to us. We need you,” cried Naveen
disconsolate.
“Oh Bela, Bela.
We are so sorry we called you, but what are we to do?” wailed Laxmi, rocking
the fragile little body in her arms. Gopal and Alka chaffed her hands, but it
was far too late.
*
A fortnight
later, on the subsequent new moon night, the five doggedly arrayed themselves around
the surgical table again. Crunching the doctors’ fried fingers dipped in the
nurses’ blood -- a diet sourced from those who had caused their own deaths --
enabled them to gather the strength to summon a live human being. As children
themselves, and incomplete at that, their powers were severely limited. It
would have been so much easier if they could have informed an adult human. These
doctors, abetted by their nurses, had kidnapped them from their villages, and killed
them to sell their organs to the highest bidder. They had to be exposed. People
needed to learn that eternal agony awaited such villains.
Indeed, such a crime,
perpetrated by people trusted and respected above all in society, deserved a
fate beyond the scope of mortals. The children’s heartbroken parents still
waited and hoped their child would one-day return home. They were poor; no one
had helped them trace their lost child. They did not know their child was
already dead -- slaughtered by unscrupulous human monsters for monetary gain.
However, the
children had avenged their own deaths. They had brought the hospital crumbling
to its knees and the heinous murderers, to fitting justice. Once people
understood retribution lasts endlessly beyond death, the five could ascend to
heaven.
They had tried
to lead the police, through the clue of the earbuds, to the garbage dump behind
the hospital. The rag pickers collected the cotton from there, washed and
reused them in the earbuds -- a dangerously unhealthy practice that needed to
stop.
Incriminating
evidence was in that dump, but the detectives were yet to solve the mystery of
the earbuds. Although they had searched the interiors and grounds of the
hospital for clues, they had avoided the garbage dump that lay just beyond the
walls. Fear of malignant germs festering from hospital-waste, had kept them
away. There, covered under heaps of rubbish, lay buried the looted bodies of
Ali, Laxmi, Gopal, Alka and little Naveen.
Only an
innocent child can witness the vision of the after world on new moon nights.
The determined five have no other option but to keep on trying – until they find
someone brave enough to witness the misery in that room and not die of fright. One
who will be able to describe everything they see, direct the authorities to the
gruesome evidence, and bring closure for their parents. Only then will the
children’s ghosts be free to move on; only then will the town regain its
health.
Now, gutsy reader,
you are ready to hear the complete truth. This story tested your mettle. You have
proved your valour by reading through to the very end. You are the one who can
help these children. You will courageously venture forth when a blue earbud lands
on your pillow tonight.
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