Utopia page 45: Three stars to separate thought processes

“You are supposed to report to Washington.”

Special Agent John Anderson was startled, if not shocked by the words of his superior.
“But why did you open fire?”
“Why would I not?” Anderson’s superior Jeff Looney enquired.
“Because there were innocent kids inside, and in the process of trying to talk Jim and the other bank robbers into surrendering, you ordered your men to open fire as a result of which an innocent kid lost his life.”
“Well, I’m the boss around here, and I give orders, not take them!” Looney angrily retorted.
“Well, I had asked you to hold on for a moment, but you didn’t listen. Jim and his men are dead no doubt, but so are the hostages!”
“Anyway, I’ve seen your files and the medical report says that you have a ‘delusional paranoia of sorts’. I’m afraid you’ll have to report to Washington.”

*****

“So what did Chief Looney say, John?” Special Agent Anderson and his colleague Mike Thornton were sitting down over a cup of coffee.

“I think I shall have to report to D.C.”

“I tell ya’ Man, this ain’t gonna work for you.” “Chief is pretty all crammed up you know.”

“On the other hand, Man I think it is a good break. Why don’t you consider taking some time off?”

Just then, Anderson was called in by his superior.

“Yo buddy, take care…it seems Chief’s got something for you.”

“Sure will.” And Anderson soon arrived at Jeff Looney’s office.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Please sit down, Anderson.”

“I’ve been taking another look at your case files, and you do have plenty of potential. So I’m gonna put you on to something very daunting yet challenging, very much you.” Chief Looney continued.

“I’m sending you to Chicago for an assignment. Remember this is a very important national security concern. Please check your mailbox in the next ten minutes.” The superior added.

*****

At 12:00 pm sharp, the National Security Agency of the United States of America awoke to an unusual phone call. It was from ten-year old Jack McGuire who had seen his parents being lynched through his autistic eyes. However, the gifted child had called up 911 before hiding in a closet in his bedroom upstairs. As the cops arrived, little Jack’s parents’ assassins had fled. The BIG question was: why would a team of assassins pick out a little autistic boy and his equally innocent parents?

The answer lay in the creation of a cryptographic code called “Pluto” that had been created by the National Security Agency; a code so intricate that its creators believed not even the most sophisticated technology on the planet could decode the same. This was part of the US Administration’s test to keep the highest priority secrets under wraps. Jack’s teacher had given him a puzzle book which contained a telephone number unique to ‘Pluto’, something only the creators of the code knew about. Having learnt that the boy had the ability to crack the code, the Program Director, Lt. Colonel Richard Strauss put two government assassins to the task of silencing Jack and his parents, so that the code could remain safe in the hands of the NSA.

*****

“Hey buddy, how did it go?”

“Well, I’ve been asked to check my mailbox within the next ten minutes.”

“You prolific man, you!”

The two dearest buddies had a plate of sandwiches and coffee before Anderson started his computer.

“Hey, the desktop’s not working; can I borrow yours, Brian?”

“Sure, John.” And Special-Officer-on-duty Brian Mulroney stepped aside.

Suddenly, the lights went off. And…

*****

“Call the Paramedics, fast. We need to take John to the hospital.” Special agent Anderson was soon to be admitted to the Holby Medical Center, Cincinnati, Ohio with multiple bullet injuries.

“Someone’s tryin’ to kill John.”

“Well, whoever it was will not go scot-free!” “Wait a minute, is it related to the case I’m about to start investigating?”

“John, you must not worry too much. Otherwise, it’s gonna affect your current medical condition.”

“I don’t care, Mike!” “I simply don’t!!” “Would you do something for me, Mike?”

“Sure!”

“Please check my e-mail, would you?”

“But…?”

“Don’t worry, passwords are case sensitive, but purpose or duty is even more case sensitive.”

“Al right…here I go…!”

“It says something about a ten-year old Autistic child named Jack who has cracked a code by accident a matter of grave national security concern…”

“It seems evidence suggests that the autistic boy went on a killing spree, killing his parents and has now disappeared…” “But you ought not to break your head over all this, John, you’re unwell.”

“Any addresses mentioned, Mike?”

“Yes!” “Gifted Minds”, a school cum neuro-psychiatric learning center in the heart of Chicago, Illinois.” As Mike Thornton uttered these words, he winced in pain as a splinter passed through his heart. Mike collapsed on the spot.

“Who’s it…I said who’s it?” Another round of shots was fired at John Anderson until he took out his pistol.

As the man in the white garb walked in to the room, Anderson grabbed him from behind hitting him hard on the head. The man soon fell unconscious.

“Why would someone be trying to kill me?” “I’ll have to get to little Jack as soon as is possible.”

Special Agent John Anderson managed to get away disguised as a medical practitioner. He was soon on a train to Chicago.

*****

“Mommy…Mommy…Mommy; daddy…daddy…daddy…daddy!”

“Mommy…Mommy…Mommy; daddy…daddy…daddy…daddy!”

Anderson, after consulting with Jack’s school authorities, had reached the boy’s house.

“Mommy…Mommy…Mommy; daddy…daddy…daddy…daddy!”

While investigating the scene, Special Agent Anderson was soon to find Jack hiding in a cache of his bedroom closet and more as a matter of conscience, and less of duty, he took the boy under his wing. With Jack being autistic, it became extremely difficult for Anderson to protect, let alone question the boy, for the boy had always been taught that he must only trust his friends and not talk to strangers. And no matter what, Anderson was a complete stranger to Jack…

The Chicago Police Department was however to go ahead with Jack’s protection.

*****

The situation was further complicated by the fact that nobody at the FBI believed that Jack was in any danger, and Anderson was soon painted by the NSA as an abductor. With only his late (murdered) friend and once fellow agent Mike Thornton aware that he did not commit the crime, NSA Project Director Richard Strauss was happy that the case files could be shut…

*****

Special Agent Anderson was however determined to solve the case and more importantly, protect the boy who was by now terribly shaken and in a state of complete paranoia. Anderson still took his pills while the boy threw temper tantrums. But the former promised himself once and for all that he would discontinue his pills as they were interfering with the task of protecting the boy.

Since Anderson had been in contact with his buddy Mike Thornton before the latter was murdered, he decided to visit Mike’s wife, Sheila, now a young widow and consoled her following which he took his late friend’s car taking Jack to Jack’s house where his parents were murdered a few days earlier.

The boy got even more paranoid but Anderson employed his skills and the two soon become friends…

*****

Mean while when Strauss discovered that Cantrell and Duchovny, the creators of the code were communicating with the boy with Anderson’s help, he got the former (Cantrell) murdered by a hit-man. This caused further confusion and disagreement with the NSA.

By now, on the other hand, Anderson, Jack and a young lady named Nancy (Basing) were best of friends. Together, they escaped to a secluded farm house on the outskirts of Chicago…

“Hello, is this Special Agent John Anderson?” Anderson was woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of the phone ringing. Jack and Anderson’s friend, Nancy were in the midst of a deep slumber.

“Who’s speaking?”

“This is Kenneth Duchovny…please help me, John!”

“The NSA Project Director, Richard Strauss is trying to kill me!”

“And why, if I may?”

“Because I was the one who along with Gordon Cantrell created the code in the first place…and because he suspects that I will reveal every secret to you…you see all the case files are on me at the moment!”

“Where are you located at the moment?”

“In downtown Chicago, I’m calling from a phone booth just outside Hartley Gas Station…”

“I’ll be there with you in a…” And the line went dead.

The special Agent (or, Lt. Col.) as he was better known grabbed his jacket and rushed out. It was pretty much chilly and there was a cold wind blowing.

*****

As Anderson arrived on the spot, he found Ken Duchovny lying in a pool of blood.

“My Gawd, all this bloodshed for a stinking piece of national security!” Anderson was pretty much nauseated.

However, Ken Duchovny had managed to leave behind crucial evidence of Strauss’s crimes, which his girlfriend Kim Bradshaw had brought to the FBI. After the meeting with Ms Bradshaw, John tried calling Nancy to tell her not to call the police but straight he (that is, John) in case of an emergency, but the phone kept ringing…

“I wonder where they are…I hope they are not in trouble!” And Lt. Anderson rushed back home only to find that Jack and Nancy had been taken captive by Strauss’s men…

*****

Anderson now tried to convince his boss that he had never kidnapped Jack in the first place and that the boy needed Witness Protection.

Strauss however was busy manipulating the situation especially with both Jack and Nancy under his control; he tried to convince the FBI director to hand over Anderson. However, things soon happened the way Anderson would have wanted them to happen when it was confirmed that the fingerprint markings on the evidence belonged to Duchovny.

This then fully validated the evidence against Strauss. Lt. Col. (Special Agent) Anderson now enlisted a small FBI task force's help, set a trap for Strauss and his men in which they killed both Strauss’s hit man and then Strauss himself, just as Strauss grabbed the screaming Jack in a last-ditched effort to take him to the helicopter, and saved the boy as well as Nancy.

*****

“Hello, Jack!”

Jack emerged from behind the doorway, as his newly found parents (nee foster parents), Maggie and Peter Spencer looked on.

“Helllo!” Jack had now (finally) realized that Anderson was a welcome friend, having finally accepted him as a person of his trust.

Anderson took Jack in his loving arms…

MADE IN INDIA

Nothing pains a man more than being a helpless witness to the degeneration of an entire species of peoples. And these were his own peoples. He was ‘Made in India’. This was his story.

*****
There was a big crowd outside the courtroom.
Here was the first time that a Maoist rebel had been captured alive by CRPF Jawans. This was in Barwadih block of Latehar district in Jharkhand state of India. Maoists had hijacked a train carrying 600 passengers on board deep in the forests by exploding a landmine. 10 CRPF personnel and a driver and helper of the train had been killed. Six rebels were killed in retaliatory fire. Of the four that remained, three (including a woman) had managed to escape. The last one had been captured.
This was the life of dignity the government had promised these people. Branded as rebels, putting enough on the table for their wives and children was a distant dream.
To Raj Manchanda, this was a shame.
To him, living in the world’s largest democracy meant a system in which sufficient provisions were made for low income groups. Instead, they were busy ‘branding’ people without realizing that there was yet another world crying for attention.
These were according to him the hungry, desperate eyes of millions of children across India. A nation losing yet another child to hunger.
His analogy was simple: that if we did not address the gruesome problem of child poverty and child hunger per se, we would give birth to more insurgents, indeed more ‘desperate warriors’ likely to be vent on avenging themselves on a system that had denied them in the first place.
If we were to carry on a war against insurgency, we would have to begin with children.
Investing in Human development was investing in Human dignity.
Could India call herself a tolerant, humane and compassionate nation?
*****
They (the crowds) were waiting to hang him to death. Ready to kill him. To send him to the gallows. As the temperatures soared, people waiting outside the Tis Hazari court gates grew impatient to catch a glimpse of the ‘killer’…
At long last, ‘he’ emerged. It was a woman!
There she was, in long pants, a khaki shirt and a bandanna. As the public moved closer to catch a glimpse of this ‘alien from outer space’, the police tightened the security cordon around her.
By now, she was giving a statement to the press.
It seems her children had gone without food for days… Some of those Jawans had come to their village. They killed the men and took the women…She hid her face as she described what they had put her through…
This was another India speaking. An India of landless laborers and poor farmers…An India that found it difficult to put just enough on the table for the children to eat.
Raj Manchanda for once felt he was being drawn to her. As he made his way through the crowd, suddenly all eyes were on him!
By the time he reached her, he could sense that there was an overwhelming sense of happiness about her. She knew there was someone for her in this big, bad world.
She looked back at him once. Then the cops took her away.
It was only later that he learnt that she had been housed in Hiram jail, infamous for the subhuman conditions under which its inmates lived.
All he knew he wanted was to give her a better life. Like something she deserved.
*****
And she certainly didn’t deserve this.
As she pleaded with him, he pulled down his pants. Then he forced himself on her.
It continued throughout the night and into the wee hours of the morning. They were all cheering him on as he did it.
One by one they all came and did it on her. The jailor, his accomplices and… By the end of it all, she looked up to see the female warden…
She lost consciousness…
*****
They were calling her the ‘mistress’ of the prison.
They dragged her into the jailor’s chamber. She was unstable from the night before.
Then they told her that Dal and Roti was what she would get for lunch. She could barely speak.
Then she was ruthlessly told that she would join the other inmates in working on the construction site. The jailor it seems had forgotten that they could not afford to remove her from high security.
So the poor girl was assigned to full-time cleaning and washing duties.
Raj Manchanda had come to meet the girl he loved. And knew at once he had to rescue her from this dungeon.
The last thing he knew he wanted was her to live in this hell. So, with help from some influential friends (who were averse to the idea) he got her out on parole after a month in that dungeon and brought her home.
*****
It was the happiest day of his life. And the happiest day of hers.
They were getting married. Raj Manchanda was getting married to the girl he had loved the first time he had seen her. For her, it was a new beginning, turning over a new leaf, so as to say.
The son of an influential member of the Planning Commission in New Delhi and the daughter of a…well, in the villages, women are not human beings.
They had decided to have a quiet wedding ceremony, his family members had refused to attend the wedding (everyone knew the background of the girl) and there were no representatives from her side either (naturally). It was a clandestine wedding and they had succeeded in keeping the media out.
There was off course heavy security at the gates (and even around the bungalow) planned well in advance. Savitri was precious to him. He did not want to lose her.
*****
She looked beautiful in that magenta silk sari. Savitri was beautiful. She had lovely dark complexion. And curious brown eyes. That sparkled of innocence.
She leaned forward as he applied ‘sindoor’ on her ‘maang’. Then they looked at each other and smiled.
Next was the exchange of garlands. The betrothal ceremony was now over. They were now man and wife.
*****
It was raining heavily. Suddenly, the lights went off.
She was now in his arms. She was scared. For them. Something inside her, like an intuition, told her that things would not be very easy for them.
This was more than a year and a half following their wedding. Savitri was now pregnant with their first child. As the labor grew more intense, she could sense there were intruders at the gate.
As she looked out the bedroom window, she could see the security guards lying in a pool of blood. Raj had meanwhile come to the front door.
He whipped out his pocket gun. It was dark outside. Then, some one hit him on the head and he fell unconscious.
They entered into the bedroom window through the rear door. Savitri was stabbed in the belly several times. She died on the spot.
Who these people were and what was the motive behind the murder was a mystery that remained shrouded in Raj Manchanda’s mind.
To him, she was gone for ever.
*****
One by one, the accused were produced in court.
Justice Shyam Kumar Hegde was renowned in the district for his impartial rendition of justice.
As the men were produced one by one, Raj Manchanda could not control himself.
The men were led by Aman Singh, the son of Anirudh Kumar Singh, the local MLA. Aman Singh had once tried to misbehave with Savitri while she was on her way to the market. His attempts had however been foiled by the police.
Desperate to avenge himself on the vulnerable girl, he had secretly filmed their (Raj and Savitri) bedroom experiences and converted the same into a pornographic video.
This porn video was now selling like hot cakes in the district.
As Justice Hegde pronounced the order, Raj took one last look at a picture of her which he carried in his wallet.
The six accused, except for Aman Singh, were sentenced to life imprisonment.
Aman Singh was transferred to a 1^st-class prison in New Delhi. His influential father had arranged for all amenities and facilities for him.
*****
It came out in the newspapers the next day that the only son of an influential member of the Planning Commission in New Delhi had jumped off the verandah of the VIP Block of the Tis Hazari court buildings when the court was in session.
Readers read and heard and listened. The story of ‘Made in India’ and his brave wife was soon forgotten.

CHILD

Laxmi looked outside the window. This was something like she had never seen before.

*****
For Thakur Suraj Prasad Singh, the Zamindar of Sonarpur and his wife Gouri Singh, it was not a very welcome arrangement. Their only son, Rahul Singh had brought home a ‘phoren’ bride from New York (he was studying at Columbia University; that is where they met) and they were planning to adopt a child.
*****
There was plenty of turmoil in the family. But the couple had its reasons. Brigitte was unable to conceive. The couple found Laxmi in the observatory room of the local Government hospital. It seems an unwed mother had abandoned her at the hospital doorstep. To Brigitte, it was an achievement just being able to give life to someone who would ordinarily not have lived a good life.
*****
Life was an ordeal for Laxmi. She was not a normal girl. But rather clumsy. For her daily mundane chores like washing, she needed a helper. When she spoke, they never understood a word. No one at home could make sense of either her words or her actions.
No matter how hard they tried, the family, including the parents was unsuccessful in getting the little girl to say even a word. It was extremely painful. That the family had all the wealth in the world and was yet unable to understand the only child at home.
They found a nanny for her. It didn’t work. The child would often end up throwing temper tantrums.
*****
Brigitte was an extremely patient mother. She did everything she could for Laxmi. The special child had just started responding to her love. But she knew there was something missing. She had no clue what it was!
*****

The Thakur household was in need of a housekeeper. The previous housekeeper, Ram Singh had been dismissed. The family was now calling for fresh applications.

There were about half a dozen applications. Of them, Brigitte liked the ‘little dark lady’.
She was warned however that in the kind of social milieu existing in Sonarpur, a Dalit woman would be the last chance for housekeeper so far as the Thakur family was concerned. Rahul however supported her decision. There were enough problems on their head. The Thakur and his wife didn’t want another problem. So Meerabai was hired.
*****
It was a miracle. Laxmi was now opening up. And she loved being with Meerabai. They were almost always seen together. Much to the strong dislike of the Thakur and his wife.
Meerabai would often go up to Laxmi’s room. Days passed by.
*****
One day, Brigitte found Meerabai missing from her daily household chores. As she approached Laxmi’s room, she could hear voices. Laxmi was talking! Brigitte crept stealthily into the room. Meerabai was taken aback. She was now trembling in fear. Laxmi looked at her, then at Brigitte. One could hear her saying… ‘Maa’!
She was pointing at Meerabai!
*****
That evening, Meerabai was badly beaten up by The Thakur and his wife. Brigitte and Rahul Singh were not at home. Then she was tied to a pole and pelted with stones.
Little Laxmi witnessed the humiliation of her mother all the way.
*****
Meerabai was now critically injured. Brigitte got her admitted to hospital on her return.
And that was the last day the special child, Laxmi ever responded to anyone.
*****
Rahul Singh and his wife Brigitte have now taken Laxmi and with her (following recovery) Meerabai with them back to New York. The entire family is under therapy.
Laxmi has been admitted to a special school. They will probably never go back to Sonarpur.

CON-MAN

Then she jumped off the edge of the terrace. They were now united for ever.

*****
That was a day of mourning for the residents of Khanavi, one of Mumbai’s largest ‘jhuggi’ sprawls. In what was clearly politically motivated, they set fire to the bustees overnight as the residents slept. As many as 600 people were lynched.
The next day, they brought bulldozers with them. An entire species of sprawl was razed to the ground.
This was not the life they had dreamt of. For Amir Hussein and his wife Fatima, there were children desperately crying for attention. The family had gone without food for days.
Fatima sold off her valuables. They were soon on their way to Bangkok.
*****
Meanwhile, the Thai police were on the lookout for Salim Khan Alias Fakir. Fakir had made it to Bangkok on a fake passport, and was wanted on several charges of robbery, murder and small felonies. He was also wanted in connection with forging official documents.
*****
They met at a wedding. Fakir was disguised as a Sheikh and Fatima happened to be related to the bride.
“Fatima, it’s me…Salim.”
“Salim, what are you doing here. It’s been years. I still remember the times we spent together…”
“Fatima, Fatima…who are you talking to?”
“Oh, no one…Amir!”
It was too late by then.
“Oh! I forgot! This is Salim and he is related to my mother.”

“You never told me you had a maternal brother, Fatima.”

“I’m sorry for all this. Actually, I live in Bangkok. I deal in ancient antiques. Anyway, it was nice meeting you both. I shall take your leave now.”
*****
“Ancient antiques, quite an interesting story. I must check his whereabouts and his antecedents.” Amir reminiscenced over a cup of tea.
“Fatima!”
“Yes, Amir!”
“Your relative, Salim, what did he say he does?”
“He said he does ancient antiques.”
“That reminds me, we need something for the walls of our living room. Maybe we could talk to him.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
“O/K, we’ll call him tomorrow to fix up an appointment.”
“Inshallah (if God wills), Salim Bhai can and I’m sure will surely add color to our life in this alien land.”
“Let’s see!”
*****
But Amir had his suspicions. How had Fatima dared speak so freely to a complete stranger? How was she so confident about him?
And then he (Amir) remembered her words: “He said he does ancient antiques” NOT “He does ancient antiques.”
“I must…I must not trust this man.” Amir was soon calling up Thai police.
*****
“Royal Thai Police.” It was a gruff manly voice at the other end.
“I wanted some information about one Mr. Salim Khan, an Indian immigrant in Bangkok and dealer in ancient antiques.”
“Who’s speaking?” It was the same gruff voice.
“This is Mr. Amir Hussein, a poor Indian immigrant in Bangkok.”
“I’m afraid, Mr. Hussein, that we cannot pursue the matter over phone. Would you please come to the Royal Thai Police Headquarters? The Royal Thai Police Department is located near Bts Sukhumvit Line; near Rama 1 Road.”

Next day, dressed in his best attire (and deciding to conceal the matter from Fatima), Amir Hussein made his way to the RTPD.

Although a complete stranger (and moreover an immigrant), not yet well-versed in the local language, Amir Hussein was received with warmth and compassion and they also arranged for an interpreter.
“So where shall we begin, Mr. Hussein?”
“Anywhere…!” Came the curt reply.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Hussein?”
“Actually, nothing. We are poor immigrants from India. I’m still looking for a job to support my wife and children.”
“If I may, Mr. Hussein, how do you refer to your wife?”
“Is this question in any way relevant to the information I’m looking for?”
“Sometimes the most irrelevant things assume greater relevance in due course, Mr. Hussein.”
Amir Hussein looked perplexed.
“Maybe, we’ll leave it at that. What we might wish to know from you, Mr. Hussein is where you met this Salim Khan or whatever?”
“At a wedding, Sir.”
“Would you be able to describe him as in physically?”
“Oh sure!”
“Is this the man you just described, Mr. Hussein?” The police department artist had just completed a detailed sketch.
By then, most of the officers were conversing (between themselves) in what could easily have been Latin, Greek and Esperanto.
*****
“Mr. Hussein, Salim Khan, ‘Fakir’ to the Bangkok and International police, had made it to Bangkok on a fake passport, and was wanted on several charges of robbery, murder and small felonies. He was also wanted in connection with forging official documents.”
“Worse still, he was in Mumbai earlier where he and your wife, Fatima were lovers. After Fatima got married to you, Fakir left Mumbai for Bangkok (in search of greener pastures). But he is still unmarried…”
That thought scared the wits out of Amir Hussein. Following the official ‘Nikaah’, Amir and Fatima were now man and wife. And he could not risk losing his beloved wife to another man.
“Mr. Hussein…Mr. Hussein!” Amir was lost deep in thought.
“We need your cooperation, Sir!” “You are the only one who can lead us to Salim Khan, alias Fakir.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Just be on the lookout, and yes, it would help us arrest him along with other members of the underworld. We suggest that you personally take the initiative in laying out a plan to enable us nab him.”
*****
That night, Amir Hussein coaxed and cajoled his unsuspecting wife into inviting Salim Khan for dinner the following night.
They were just sitting down for dinner when there was a knock on the door.
“Who could it be at this late hour?”
The door opened to COPS!
“We have an arrest warrant for Mr. Salim Khan, alias Fakir.”
As Salim Khan surrendered, Fatima lost consciousness and had to be rushed to hospital. She remained unstable throughout the night.
*****
It came out in the newspapers the following day that Salim Khan or Fakir had been executed.
*****
Fatima’s life was shattered. When they were not watching over her, she made her way to the terrace. The rest is all History.