Utopia page 45: Three stars to separate thought processes

MANUSHI

Kamal Pradhan’s wife had died of TB, a couple of years back. Being very poor; he could not afford the cost of medicine, the high protein food doctors had recommended. Never the less, he tried his best to keep her alive. He took loans from neighbors, from people and also from the Grameen Bank to arrange for money for feeding all the hungry mouths, including his two daughters, Pushpanjali & Manushi. It was a struggle for life; quite a few times he had thought of committing suicide but kept on deferring the same. Looking at the faces of these frail looking women, he often realized that there was no one to feed them??

*****
At this point of time, he was delighted when Naveen Nayak, father of Bhishmadeb Nayak of nearby Badapali village approached him asking for the hand of his eldest daughter Pushpanjali for his son. Kamal was in two minds, on the one hand he thought about Pushpanjali’s changed destiny (she would be the queen in her house!) and on the other hand, he thought what would happen, if Kamal died suddenly leaving the two daughters at the mercy of the wretched world and hungry eyes.
As a staunch devotee of Lord Jagannath, supreme head of the universe (these days, on an empty stomach, he was in no mood to take the name of Lord Jagannath), he looked at the sky and took the name of the Lord. Somehow his nimble & fragile body, decided to get Pushpanjali off in marriage. He nodded in agreement to the proposal of Naveen Nayak.
*****
The day was fixed and in a small function Pushpanjali got married to Bhishmadeb. Kamal could remember the evening when the bullock cart took away half his heart for good against the backdrop of the sunset. Conch shells were blown by Manushi; and though Pushpanjali had hidden her eyes pulling the pallu over her sari, she could see tears rolling down the cheeks of Kamal.
Kamal now realized that there was lesser number of mouths to feed and also felt happy that Pushpanjali would be the reigning queen of the Nayak house. Even on an empty stomach, he looked at the sky and thanked the Lord.
*****

Months passed by after Pushpanjali had left the house, and yet there was no message, no information as to how she was, as to how she had settled in her husband’s house. Was she really the queen or was there something wrong?

Kamal was as usual in a dual state of mind-happy that Pushpanjali had got married but at the same time, quite sad as to how she was. His mind was not settled and he was not getting sleep at night. He thought as to how his ailing wife had died, how he would get his unmarried daughter Manushi married off, the village had received very poor rainfall, how would he then get food for those hungry mouths, where was the money to buy food ?? It suddenly occurred to him that after all Pushpanjali was only miles away from his village. Would he go down to Kanwar village, Bargarh district to find out? But if he went or even sent Manushi, this being the first visit to the married daughter’s/ sister’s house, as a customary, one would need to take clothes, food and other gift items for every member of the groom’s family. Finally Kamal dropped the idea of going to Pushpanjali’s place.
*****
Suddenly, one day, Nityananda, a village farmer came to Kamal’s house and kept mum.
“Khoro Hola” (What happened? Why are you mum?). There was initially no response from Nityananda. The frail looking Manushi stood behind the door, anxiously looking at Nityananda for a response and an answer. Minutes passed by-it seemed days were passing out for Kamal.
Suddenly, Nityananda burst out crying and said “Your Pushpanjali is no more. She committed suicide yesterday by taking rat poison. Everybody in the Nayak house was torturing her for more & more dowry…”
*****
Kamal could realize that Pushpanjali knowing fully well her father’s position, would have taken these blows (both physical as well as mental), until she had reached a point of “no return” and had decided to put an end to her trauma. But how?? Kamal knew rat poison was readily available and she must have consumed the same in one gulp. Now she could rest in peace in heaven, although her life was literally hell over the last five months since marriage. All dreams of a home, children, a loving husband and compassionate in laws were all shattered. Enough was enough to have

relieved the additional stress on her poor father & the yet to be married Manushi.

Kamal could not control his nerves. He took out his old shirt and started walking while putting on the shirt on his frail body and galloping to the next village. He could not believe that Pushpanjali had committed suicide, since she was a strong girl not expected to take such a drastic step. She must have been killed….Kamal was so wild in rage that even the fiercest thunderstorm wouldn’t cool him down.
He reached the Nayak house. The door was locked. ‘Everyone must have gone to the cremation ground,’ Kamal thought. He shouted at the top of his voice “Pushpanjali cannot commit suicide. She must have been killed. She must have been killed. ..”
He went close to the funeral pyre. The heat was intense. Kamal cried and cried and cried…
All was over in the next hour. Kamal on the way back found a goat tied to the pole in front of the Nayak house. He could not control his anger. He took out his “gamcha” and tied the same against the throat of the goat & pulled from both the sides. The goat was killed instantly of asphyxia. What remained were its bloated eyes. Possibly Kamal’s rage had slightly dampened down. He was not aware that a small boy had been a mute spectator to the heinous act.
*****
Kamal came back with a shattered heart. How could he then think of Manushi’s marriage, if the bubbling life of Pushpanjali got ended like this in no time, a similar fate could perhaps confront Manushi? If she were killed after marriage, the way he killed the goat, how would he manage to live?
*****
There was a somber atmosphere in the house. The hearth was not burning. The neighbors had started pouring in. There was a volley of questions about Pushpanjali but Kamal was almost dead like a stone and murmured “… She must have been killed. She must have been killed. She must have been killed….” And kept on crying like a child.

It was almost sunset. Kamal’s neighbors had left. Kamal was sitting on the verandah, sobbing. Manushi was inside, Kamal did not know (or care about) what she was doing.

A jeep arrived & stopped in front of Kamal’s house with a cracking noise. It was Naveen Nayak, father of Bhishmadeb Nayak along with four/five sturdy rogues with lathis in hand.
“Ladki Ko Utha Lao” (get the girl at any cost) was the order by Naveen Nayak to the rogues. Instructions were followed. Before Kamal could even understand as to what was happening, the rogues barged into the house and forcibly picked up Manushi & threw her in the jeep. No amount of screaming from Manushi had any effect anywhere.
The jeep moved away from sight in the darkness at a zooming speed. In the early hours of the morning, the dead body of Manushi was dropped near the house of Kamal .She had been brutally gang raped by Naveen’s rogues, until she fell dead as a log.

BOLLYWOOD GIRL

Many girls dream. But only a few achieve their dreams. This is the story of a girl from a remote village in Uttar Pradesh who achieved her dreams only to…

*****

“Are O Banno, Uth Ja, Soti Hi Rahegi Kya?” (Get up Banno, would you keep on sleeping?)

“Dekh Banno, Bhor Hui Gawa!” (See, Banno, it’s already dawn!)

“Lekin…?” (But…?)

“Koi Lekin Wekin Nahi…Ja Muh Hath Dho Ley.” (No ifs and buts, go wash you face and hands)

“Accha Ma!” (Yes, mother) And the 19 year old emerged from her dreams...to reality.

“Nashta Tayaar Hai…!” (Morning meal is ready…!) Banno could hear her mother’s voice from across the courtyard.

“Main Aa Rahi Hoon, Ma!” (I am coming, mother!)

“Aji Sunte Ho?” (Do you hear me, the mother referred to Banno’s father…in the villages, women are not supposed to call out their husbands by name, this is the traditional way)

“Kya Hai?” (What is it?)

“Nashta Tayaar Hai, Ji!” (Morning meal is ready!)

And the family of four (including Banno, her parents and her little brother) had a quiet meal of Paranthas and Acchar (pickles)…

“Hamaari Banno Kitni Sundar Lag Rahi Hai!” (Our daughter looks so pretty!)

“Hahn, Hahn…Tumne To Apni Laadli Ko Sar Pe Chara Rakha Hai…Kahin Nazar Na Lag Jaye!” (Yes, Yes…you have spoilt your darling daughter…I hope she doesn’t fall into evil eyes!)

“Are Hamaari Banno To Afsar Banegi, Dekhna…Phir Main Sare Gaon Ko Mataji Ka Prasad Khilaoonga.” (See how our Banno becomes an Officer…then I will take the Goddesses’ Prasad to the entire village)

“Jawaan Ladki Ghar Pe Pari Hai, Zara Iske Hath To Pile Kar Dete…Aajkal Zamana Utna Theek Nahi Hai Ji.” (We have a grown up girl at home, can we get her married off…the times are not good, you see)

“Theek Hai, Banno Ki Maa…Samay Aane Par Woh Bhi Dekh Lenge, Pehle Koi Dhang Ka Ladka To Mile!” (OK, referring to his wife…we will get her married when the time comes; first let’s look for a good match for her!)

“Hmmm!” “Aapne To Ise Bigaar Ke Rakhaa Hai.” (Hmmm! You have spoilt her) And Banno’s mother, wife of one Bhigu Yadav left the premises.

*****

“Lights, Camera, Action.”

“Cut….cut…cut…cut…cut!” The director appeared to be not to be too pleased with his leading actress who was playing the spirited village belle type character.

“I want you to expose your navel this time…and drop your Aanchal a bit, like this.” The director walked up from his chair to demonstrate.

“I want more masala…let me see the script, next we have a rape scene.” “Are you ready, Bob?”

“OK, pack up boys. Enough for the day!”

It had started pouring, and leading actress Shefali Sharan was safely escorted into her white Mercedes.

*****

India lives in her villages. Agriculture here is dependent on the monsoons. As a desperately poor nation, very often farmers commit suicide when their crops fail. There is or are no other alternatives to survival. The poor are also often forced to sell off their children, especially their daughters to ensure for their families one square meal a day. It was different this time…

*****

“Mere Paas Aao, Shefali.” (Come to me, Shefali) It was the film producer who had noticed this pretty village belle while shooting a film on the outskirts of Delhi.

The hero, Salim Khan and the producer were driving to a film location outside Film City, Noida, and had decided to stop over for a drink at a five-star motel at the location. The entire team, including the spot-boys, the production assistants and the director as well as assistant director was all there. Shooting had started as scheduled.

“Mera Naam Shefali Nahin, Banno Hai!” (My name is Banno, not Shefali!) Banno angrily retorted.

“Kya Farq Parta Hai, Banno; Tumhe To Hum Ek Nayaa Naam Denge…Ek Nayee Zindagi Denge!” (What difference does it make, Banno; we will give you a new name…a new identity…a new life!) It was the director this time.

“Filmo Mein Kaam Karna Chahegi?” (Do you wish to work in films?)

Now the young village belle had always loved watching Bollywood films, and from day one she knew she wanted to be an actress. This was like a God-send opportunity for her.

“Mujhe Kya Karna Hoga?” (What would I be supposed to do?)

“Kuch Nahin, Thoda Expose Karna Hoga, Kuch Rape Scenes…Bas!” (O nothing, you have to expose a bit, and a few rape scenes…that’s all!) They all knew they could take advantage of her innocence.

“Expose?”

“Main Samjhata Hoon, Aise!” (I’ll explain, like this!) And the unsuspecting girl had her blouse tugged at by one of the directors as everyone else; including the spot boys looked on.

“Chalo Yahan Se, Banno!” “Mujhe To Ein Logon Ke Laxan Theek Nahin Lagte!!” (Come on; let’s go from here, Banno! These men don’t look good to me!!) Anjali, Banno’s best friend cautiously advised.

“Soch Lo, Yeh Karoron Ka Sawal Hai!” “Tum Mumbai Chali Aao, Aur Hum Tumhe Filim Star Banaa Denge!” (Think about it, this is a question of Crores of Rupees! Come to Mumbai, and we will turn your fortunes around!)

“Mera Number Hai 09124876439.” “Aur Ghar Ka Address Producer Saab Tumhe De Denge!” (My number is 09124876439. And my Producer will give you my residential address in Mumbai!)

Having said this, the film director and his team departed.

*****

“Uth Banno, Nashta…Are Banno Kahan Gayee?” “Anjali Ki Maa, Tumne Banno Ko Kahin Dekha Hai?” (Get up, Banno; morning meal…Where is Banno? Anjali’s mother, have you seen Banno anywhere?)

“Nahin!” (No)

“Anjali Ghar Par Hai?” (Is Anjali at home?)

“Hahn, Mein Bulati Hoon.” (Yes, let me call her)

“Anjali, Tumne Banno Ko Kahin Deka Hai?” (Anjali, have you seen your friend anywhere?)

“Woh To…” (She…) Anjali had an expression of guilt on her face.

“Woh To Kya?” (What about her?)

Anjali remained silent.

“Usne Mumbai Ki Train Pakar Li!” (She has boaarded a train to Mumbai!)

“Hey Bhagwan…Itne Bade Shahar Mein Akeli Ladki!” (Oh God…in a city like Mumbai my Banno is all alone!)

And Banno’s mother felt faiint…

*****

At Victoria Terminus, Mumbai’s primary train terminal for outstation trains, starry-eyed young girls arrive daily from distant small towns and villages with hopes of becoming movie stars. They come from all over India- with their destination being Film City and other locations in and around Mumbai, the hub of Indian (primarily Hindi) cinema and also known as Bollywood. This is where popular studios are located and several actors, directors, and producers reside.

To most cinema hopefuls, Mumbai is a dreamland that has made superstars of ordinary men and divas of village belles. It is these studios that have transformed the fortunes of several ordinary men and women who would

come to Mumbai to find “work” land up in “chawls” and spend time waiting outside the gates to be simply able to attract the attention of the ‘crème-de-la-crème’ among the producers and directors, indeed many of them like Sahir Khan, Niharika Bhasin, Priyanka Chawla and in the ‘Golden Era’, Tara, Yusuf Ansari and Nammo spent most of their early years under the arc lights before entering politics. Their stories are part of the Bollywood folklore and add to its mythical aura.

However, the untold, inside story of Bollywood is the plight of hundreds of women who fail to get their big break and settle for petty roles as extras – or junior artistes, in Bollywood parlance. Theirs is a wretched life, one that remains forever on the fringes of glamour and luxury. As the camera zooms in on the hero and the heroine, they are the blurred faces in the background – the vegetable vendor with his pushcart or the silent spectator in a gang rape scene.

*****

“I was forced to sleep with them…” Shefali Sharan told the media in broken English.

“When I first arrived in Mumbai, there was a car waiting for me at the station. I had thought they were going to treat me with respect, but I was wrong…” The leading Bollywood actress broke down in front of the media.

“Who were they?” “Can you name the men?” It was a press reporter this time.

“I don’t know…my life has been a sordid tale of sexual abuse, sometimes to the point of prostitution.” “But please do not reveal my identity.” “For one thing, I could lose my membership to the Bollywood Film Artistes’ Association (BFAA) if it becomes known that I have given an interview to the press, and for another, it could endanger my life!”

“I promise you that your identity will be kept secret!” Said the press reporter.

“When I arrived at the producer’s house…it was a grand villa, I could not have imagined in my wildest of dreams that one day, I would be allowed to step into a villa in the heart of Mumbai…the servant picked up the luggage for me after which I had a brief conversation with…him over a cup of coffee.”

“Please go on, Ms Sharan.”

“Following my conversation with my producer, I was driven to a tall building in Juhu and told that I had been given a luxury apartment on the 10^th Floor. It all seemed like a dream-come-true for me…until…”

“Until, one evening…my Producer came to visit me in my apartment. I had just taken a hot shower. My producer looked me up and down and…”

“And?”

“I’m sorry I cannot continue beyond this.”

“But you can tell us what happened?”

“We had a candlelight dinner following which I requested him to leave but he refused saying things like he wanted to…”

“Did he?”

“Yes!” “I mean he just said that he wanted me to have sex with him.”

“I refused, but he tried to force me. In the interim, the director had also arrived and finding the door open, he forced his way inside and then…”

“I was raped by the two of them.” She said in halting English.

“Most of us from poor families fall into our male colleagues’ ‘sex-trap’ in order to get ‘signed’.”

“In the beginning, I had to work mostly with male counterparts, we put up with the groping hands of make-up men and costumers. Their hands felt every imaginable part of our body. Freshers needed to please them first if they wanted to get regular assignments. The only good thing in all this is that there is no free sex in the industry. Even your coworker pays for your service,” Shefali added.

“I have slept with assistant directors and some well-known actors, but nothing has been for fun. It’s always been for the money,” said Shefali.

*****

A Mumbai sexologist who wished to remain anonymous admitted that people from the film and television industry consulted him whenever they needed to make difficult choices involving sexual compromises at work, but refused to elaborate. Actress Niharika was quoted in an interview saying the

industry might have to strongly address the issue of alleged sexual harassment of junior artistes. “There should be a counseling cell for women to register their complaints,” she said.

*****

A few weeks back, the Hindi film industry and the Mumbai media locked horns over a report in the Hindi daily, “Aaina”. The report claimed that leading film actress Shefali Sharan alias Banno, had jumped off the balcony of her 10^th Floor Apartment while it was alleged at the same time that she had been murdered. “Aaina’s” News Editor Raghuveer Tank however denied that he had published the report disclosing the names of those involved...

But the question remained: Was the Hindi film industry really squeaky clean?

I guess not…

QUARANTINE

There will be great earthquakes, famines and pestilences in various places.

Luke 21:11
Imagine a world where human beings cease to be human…
*****
WHO Headquarters, Geneva, December 2020…
World Health Organization officials were concerned. As the bio weapon virus spread in Switzerland, a red alert had been sounded as one patient carrying an “Alien Virus” had escaped from Quarantine…carrying the deadly virus…
It was last reported that someone had seen the patient going by the name of Francois DeCarte boarding a train from Geneva to Zurich.
*****

“Another case of the ‘flu’ reported in Switzerland…” It was the WHO Director-General Dr. Tanaka Mabuchi.

“Sir!” Dr. Mabuchi had opened a fourth ‘flu’ page to watch when one of his office assistants, Ivan Borzoi interrupted.
“Yes, Ivan.”
“Sir, there has been a report coming in of another victim of this disease outbreak.”
“Shall we start the aerial spraying, Sir?”
“No, not as yet.” “Have any more been reported?”
“Sir, that way we can prevent a catastrophe from happening…besides we don’t even know where he is.”
“Ivan, we must be patient.” “Besides, we have to be careful lest we should provoke him to cross the border.”
“But sir, this might have adverse consequences, including ‘viral homicide’.”

“O.K.!” “Let’s see the Flu Tracker Map first.”

*****

It was late at night…

Ivan Borzoi was working on his laptop.
“Hmmm!” “Let’s see…” (The office assistant was thinking aloud to himself)
“Year 1918: a pandemic in Ukraine and Norway…” “Sequences from the 1918 pandemic are being found now as well.”
“Let me see, Ukraine quarantined was misinformation.”
“Ukraine was quarantined?” (Once again, he thought aloud to himself)
“Misinformation - There was a complete news blackout.”
“The entire nation of Ukraine is under quarantine. No one is allowed to enter or leave the nation. All transportation in or out has been grounded. All border crossings are closed and heavily guarded. All schools in the country are closed. Most businesses are shut down. No large gatherings of people are permitted. Only medically necessary and government vehicles are permitted on the streets. People are generally confined to their homes. People are dying by the hundreds every day. Most bodies are being burned. We in Ukraine face a horrible excruciating painful death.”
“Hmmm!” “I see!”
“Now let’s see the reports from the UK pandemic of 1918…” Ivan Borzoi was determined to protect his beloved motherland from destruction.
“Dozens of birds dropped dead from their perches during a North Wales country show. Birds have highly-sensitive respiratory systems and were once used down mines to detect gas leaks. The birds dropped off perches like dominoes. An autopsy on two casualties revealed they died from congestion and hemorrhaging of the lungs. Was any aerial spraying observed in this area on or prior to November 1918?”
“Now let’s move on to Wales…” Borzoi took a bit of the sandwich and sipped the coffee.
“Tami flu-resistant flu spreads in UK Wales. It is NOT SWINE FLU! Health officials say a Tami flu-resistant strain of swine flu has spread between hospital patients. 5 patients at the University Hospital of Wales, Cardiff were infected. 3 appear to have acquired the infection in hospital, 2 recovered. There have been several dozen reports around the world of people developing resistance to Tami flu while taking the drug.”
“Well, if it’s Tami flu, it’s dangerous!” Borzoi took another sip.
“Phew!”
The coffee partially spilled as the office assistant rushed to pick up the phone.
“Sir!”
“I’ll be there in a moment, Sir!”
And the patriotic hero got dressed and rushed out in that bitter cold…
*****
It was Christmas Eve of 2020.
“Your ticket please?”
“Thank you Mademoiselle!”
“Ticket please, Monsieur?”
“Your name is Francis Duarte?”
“Yes!” “Yes!” “I mean yes!”
“You’re traveling to Zurich?”
“Yes?”

The ticket collector could make out that something was fishy about this man.

“Do you have a passport on you?”
“Y…yes!” “Here.”
“Francis Duarte.” “Sorry for the inconvenience, Monsieur Duarte!”
“Next…your ticket please?”
*****
“Bonjour!”
“Bonjour, Monsieur Duarte!” “My name is Lily Carter.”
“Are you Swiss?”
“No, I’m a Welsh national.” “What about you?”
“I’m Swiss.”
“You’re from Geneva?”
“Ah, yes!” Francois DeCarte aka Monsieur Francis Duarte was traveling on a fake passport with the intention of entering Vienna, Austria.
“I’m originally from Basel, settled in Cardiff, Wales.”
“Basel…interesting?” The two were beginning to gel.
“Well, my mother is Swiss while my father is Welsh.”
“Ah, care for a drink?”
“That would be lovely…and wine would be great!”
And then he poured her a drink.
“I’m feeling sleepy…I need to go to the…need to wash my face.”
“Please, this way.”

“It’s O.K. Monsieur; I’ll find my way to the washroom.”

But he remained awake…and followed her.
As the train rolled out of Geneva, the couple spent its time making love inside the washroom.
Then he bit her ferociously…and drank up the oozing liquid.
Following this, he switched over from the ‘Werewolf’ like beast that he had been transformed to into Monsieur Francis Duarte…and calmly walked back to his seat as if nothing ever had happened.
*****
Meanwhile, the badly mutilated body of a woman was lying undiscovered aboard the “Golden Alps Express” when the train pulled into Brig Junction.

During the next phase of the journey from Brig to Spiez, Francois made sure he remained awake. While the rest of the passengers slept, one passenger was wide awake throughout the night waiting…to choose his next victim.

*****
“Bonjour!” It was a middle-aged colored woman this time.
“You are not asleep?”
“You fascinate me, Monsieur.” “That’s all I can say.” “Call me Camille.”
And the unsuspecting woman beckoned the beast to follow her to her coupe.
They shut the door from the inside.
He was just about to undress her when she said she wanted to visit the washroom.
“This way…” Duarte remarked pointing in the direction opposite to the washroom his first victim lay in.
“I’ll be right back…”

“Sure, Madame!”

However, there was someone inside. Unable to hold on any further, the unsuspecting lady opened the door to the washroom in the opposite direction and entered…
Only to find a badly mutilated body lying in a pool of blood.
“Help, someone please help…!” And Camille felt faint. She soon lost consciousness.
As the train pulled out of Spiez to traverse the next leg of the journey to Thun and from Thun to Basel via Bern, all female passengers traveling aboard the “Golden Alps Express” were cautioned from interacting with strangers, especially with the discovery of both a badly mutilated body of a woman as well as the body of a semi-conscious middle-aged woman inside the left washroom.
The question was: who would be the next victim?
*****
“It’s called ADEM.” Dr. Mabuchi had flown in a special task force from the United States to probe into the matter. The team was headed by Prof. Tim Holman and had a special adviser on its rolls, Dr. Kathy Anderson.
“Ivan, please show our visitors around the lab.”
“Sir!”
“An emergency call for you, Dr. Mabuchi?”
“From?”
“From one of the staff aboard the “Golden Alps Express.”
“Regarding?”
“A couple of badly mutilated bodies have been found aboard the train. No one has any clues as to who was responsible for these multiple murders.

Perhaps the only person who knows is the pantry man who has seen the same man moving around with several female passengers.”

“Track the precise location of the train. Seal all exits. No one should escape. It’s him, it’s our man!”
“Yes, Sir!”
“And we need a few copters to follow the train. Call up Special Agent Michael Bordeaux.”
“Sir!”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, Sir…the ticket collector has reported that he found something fishy about one man, by the name of Francis Duarte…it seems he is traveling on a fake passport and trying to cross over to Vienna.”
“Quick, I want more information about this man.”
“Sir, there are reports coming in from Basel Junction that one of the passengers, Ms Lily Carter and who was our man’s traveling companion on the train did NOT alight from the train at Basel. The train was held up and the Swiss police dogs could sniff their way up to her badly mutilated body that was lying inside the washroom.”
“The pantry man also reported that he had seen this man with the victim prior to the murder and with a middle aged colored woman who was also found unconscious in the same washroom.”
“Where is she now?”
“St. Patrick’s outpatient clinic, Basel.” “She is in complete trauma.”
“Oh, my God!” “Ivan, the virus could be spreading already, besides he could have alighted from the train in all this confusion.” Dr. Mabuchi looked extremely nervous.
“Ivan, quick alert Zurich and Basel immediately. We are almost on the verge of a pandemic!” The D-G continued.

“Sir, Michael on the phone, Sir!”

“Yes, Michael?”
“I’m on the task, Sir.” “I’m inside the train. Can you SMS me a photograph of the man please?”
“Maria, can you SMS Francois DeCarte’s photo to Michael. And put me on to Interpol!”
“Sir!”
“Yes, Prof. Holman?” “What do you think?”
“Well, it cannot be H1NI. It could be a different virus al together. However, it is certain that whatever the illness is, it will spread not only in Switzerland but to neighboring countries as well.”
“It cannot be the Marburg virus either, which is similar to EBOLA.”
“I think this is a bio-weapon, it was never swine flu.” “Could you describe some of his symptoms, that’s before he escaped from Quarantine?”
“He always used to keep awake. We thought it was genetic and tried to isolate the gene strains…and yes, no amount of MRI or PET Scanning would work on him…this was completely alien to us…very often he would cease to be human!”
“Like?”
“He used to sleep very little.” “And would often attack the person who reached him food or water in his cell.”
“We did try to isolate the vaccine but failed.”
“Well, I think it is ADEM…Dr. Mabuchi.” “From the symptoms you just described, ADEM is a disease wherein if you sleep you are immune; this explains why he used to keep awake.”

“Acute disseminated encephalomyelitis (ADEM) is a neurological disorder characterized by inflammation of the brain and spinal cord caused by damage to the myelin sheath. ADEM may occur in association with a viral

or bacterial infection, as a complication of inoculation or vaccination, or without a preceding cause. Onset of the disorder is sudden.” Dr. Anderson continued.

“There are also likely to be more behavioral problems in the early onset group, although there is some suggestion that this may be due, at least in part, to the stress of hospitalization at a young age.” She added.

“Michael on the line, Sir!”
“Yes, Michael?”
“Sir, we have nabbed him.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“Basel Junction, Sir.” “With Interpol having being alerted, there was strict checking everywhere. Our suspicions about the man in the photograph were confirmed when one of the people alighting started feigning unconsciousness and started vomiting at the station itself.”
“I rushed along with my co-officers. The description including the photo Maria had SMS’d to me matched perfectly.”
“After the hospital authorities had given him a sedative, we accompanied the Swiss police to his hospital cabin only to find him resorting to aggression against the doctors and other staff. It seems he had NOT actually taken the sedative and we caught him trying to escape from the hospital.”
“C’mon, let’s go!” Dr. Mabuchi, Ivan Borzoi, Prof. Holman and Dr. Anderson rushed. It wasn’t long before Francois DeCarte was handed over to them.
But that was not the end of the story…after all institutionalization can mean politically incorrect policy.
*****
Francois DeCarte is now a changed man. He has been released from Quarantine and is now being encouraged to live with other patients who had had also been Quarantined in the past. They now live a community life, some of them have occupations and most of them go to Church. There is a

full-time team of doctors and clinical and cognitive-behavioral therapists also residing in the same community.

But off course, there is constant vigil. After all…Christmas Eve has got to be safe, for everyone…