mikhil_rialch
10-22-2013, 06:10 AM
Zorawar Bhatt stumbled along the corridor towards the gate, using the wall for support. His eyes bloodshot, he tried to make out his own car from the dozens of vehicles parked outside. His legs were jelly and he could taste metal in his mouth. He grasped at the gate and used its support to try standing upright but his knees gave away and he collapsed in a heap. He could dimly hear the music and jibber-jabber coming from the house he had just left, although he couldn’t for the life of him remember what he had been doing there. “I’m never drinking again,” he thought to himself, then smiled mirthlessly as he tried counting the number of times he had made this vow earlier. He tried getting up again, but his body didn’t seem to want to cooperate anymore, preferring to lie paralyzed on the dusty ground. He started absent-mindedly fishing about his pockets to find his cigarettes while gazing at the balcony of the house behind him, where some guests from the party were staring at him, transfixed. He gave a guttural laugh and shouted, “Vote for Zorawar Bhatt, Nawab of Jhunjhungarh!”
Just then, he felt a pair of strong hands grabbing him – none too gently – and hauling him towards the parking lot. He considered struggling for a moment, then slumped lifelessly onto the stranger’s shoulders. That’s when the pervading smell of betel leaf reached his nose and he recognized who it was.
“Sham..Shamsher, is that you?” he mumbled.
“Ji Huzoor,” Shamsher said, trying not to reveal the displeasure in his voice. Zorawar Saheb’s behaviour in these social gatherings was not becoming of his stature, nor his lineage.
“You should…should’ve come earlier. Think I bounced against the corridor three times before making it out,” his master rasped, chuckling weakly.
“Huzoor commanded me to stay outside the gates,” Shamsher grunted as he opened the door to the old Buick and carefully deposited Zorawar onto the backseat.
With his master safely inside the car, Shamsher lit a beedi and did a reconnaissance of the area. There was a long, lonely road ahead and he did not want to run into any trouble. Zorawar Saheb had waved off the extra security suggested by Shamsher, so if they were intercepted, it would be up to him and his trusty Webley revolver to get his master out of there, unharmed. He looked across at the serpentine road with the forest on either side; cocking his ears for any unnatural sound and willing himself to look into the darkness for signs of any untoward movement.
Meanwhile, Zorawar had struggled up the seat and was now breathing heavily with closed eyes. Shamsher stubbed the beedi and got inside the car, inwardly debating whether or not to inform Saheb about his misgivings.
Taking a deep breath, Shamsher started, “Huzoor, it might be a good idea to rest with your host for the night. We’re in no state to travel and…”
“…No, no, one evening with my gracious hosts was enough. I shall not be encumbered by the company of Deodhar singh and his festering minions for an entire night,” Zorawar croaked.
“But Saheb, Teni’s men could be on the prowl along the highway,” Shamsher demurred.
“Let me worry about Teni. You just make sure your revolver is loaded and keep your eyes on the road,” Zorawar said, closing the discussion with his characteristic finality.
As the car reversed into the main road and sped along to reach the highway intersection, Zorawar found himself thinking rationally and evaluating the threat that Teni could pose at a time like this. Teni had been one of his father’s right hand men, who had been ousted from the service for cowardice in the face of adversity. He had joined the opposing Thakur family and now commanded an army of bloodthirsty goons bent on uprooting the last surviving member of the Bhatt clan. Zorawar had survived many attacks from Teni’s onslaught, always with Shamsher by his side. His retinue of men, advisors and allies had gradually been eliminated or bought out. However, he still posed a dangerous threat to Teni’s political aspirations, and he knew Teni wouldn’t stop until he was dead.
A thump in the car’s engine jolted Zorawar’s thoughts back to present. As they drove towards the U-curve in the forest road, the engine started roaring and growling intermittently, with dead stops in between. Shamsher had his feet pressed on the accelerator, yet the car seemed to be slowing down. The last of his stupor slapped away with this ominous development, Zorawar exchanged glances with Shamsher, then opened the glove compartment to find his custom-made Desert Eagle automatic. Meanwhile, Shamsher had his cell phone out and was whispering hurried directions to his men at the haveli. They would reach within ten minutes; if trouble arose here, it would be over in a few seconds.
Shamsher stowed the cell phone back inside his pocket and fixed his master with his clear gaze.
“Huzoor, the car appears to have been tampered with. They must have broken the fuel pipe when I went to help you…” Shamsher faltered.
“Yes, yes, where do you think they’ll strike?” Zorawar asked, loading a fresh clip into his handgun even as the car trudged on, losing speed.
“I think they’ll be waiting right along the oak tree overlooking the U-bend. That’s a perfect spot for ambush. I also think they’ll have a roadblock in place, just in case.” Shamsher spoke with practiced calm.
The car was now ten metres from the U-bend. Zorawar braced himself for the fell stroke of his would-be assassins. He had been in such situations before and like his bodyguard in front of him, his mind felt surgically clear and devoid of any emotions. The car reached the bend and finally shuddered to a halt.
There was a movement to the right. A man, crouching beside his motorbike, stood up and made as if to draw something from his pocket. Shamsher drew his pistol and fired a shot. Zorawar leaned back against the opposite window and fired three more. The man reeled back, with a wide look of shock on his face, then collapsed over his bike, which fell to its side.
After a few seconds, Zorawar made to get out of the car but Shamsher grabbed his arm.
“No master! Let me…there might be more of them around,” Shamsher cautioned as he got out of the car.
Shamsher looked around carefully before approaching the bike in a panther-like prowl. The body was still writhing and the man was gasping wildly in his final throes. Shamsher knelt down and searched the man’s right pocket, where his hand had been going to when they first saw him. He discovered a cellphone He looked at the front wheel of the fallen bike and gave a small moan.
“Was it Teni’s man?” Shamsher whirled around to find Zorawar Saheb standing and looking at the fallen man with keen interest.
“No…he was not Teni’s man,” he said, almost in a whisper.
“Then who was it?”
“Just another man, going back home. His motorcycle had a flat tyre along the bend. When he saw us stop, he had been meaning to take out his cell phone to show us that it was out of battery. He just wanted to make a call home,” completed Shamsher, his brow furrowed.
His master stood rooted to the spot, speechless.
“He just wanted to make a call home,” repeated Shamsher.
(From www.wanderinggiraffe.wordpress.com)
Just then, he felt a pair of strong hands grabbing him – none too gently – and hauling him towards the parking lot. He considered struggling for a moment, then slumped lifelessly onto the stranger’s shoulders. That’s when the pervading smell of betel leaf reached his nose and he recognized who it was.
“Sham..Shamsher, is that you?” he mumbled.
“Ji Huzoor,” Shamsher said, trying not to reveal the displeasure in his voice. Zorawar Saheb’s behaviour in these social gatherings was not becoming of his stature, nor his lineage.
“You should…should’ve come earlier. Think I bounced against the corridor three times before making it out,” his master rasped, chuckling weakly.
“Huzoor commanded me to stay outside the gates,” Shamsher grunted as he opened the door to the old Buick and carefully deposited Zorawar onto the backseat.
With his master safely inside the car, Shamsher lit a beedi and did a reconnaissance of the area. There was a long, lonely road ahead and he did not want to run into any trouble. Zorawar Saheb had waved off the extra security suggested by Shamsher, so if they were intercepted, it would be up to him and his trusty Webley revolver to get his master out of there, unharmed. He looked across at the serpentine road with the forest on either side; cocking his ears for any unnatural sound and willing himself to look into the darkness for signs of any untoward movement.
Meanwhile, Zorawar had struggled up the seat and was now breathing heavily with closed eyes. Shamsher stubbed the beedi and got inside the car, inwardly debating whether or not to inform Saheb about his misgivings.
Taking a deep breath, Shamsher started, “Huzoor, it might be a good idea to rest with your host for the night. We’re in no state to travel and…”
“…No, no, one evening with my gracious hosts was enough. I shall not be encumbered by the company of Deodhar singh and his festering minions for an entire night,” Zorawar croaked.
“But Saheb, Teni’s men could be on the prowl along the highway,” Shamsher demurred.
“Let me worry about Teni. You just make sure your revolver is loaded and keep your eyes on the road,” Zorawar said, closing the discussion with his characteristic finality.
As the car reversed into the main road and sped along to reach the highway intersection, Zorawar found himself thinking rationally and evaluating the threat that Teni could pose at a time like this. Teni had been one of his father’s right hand men, who had been ousted from the service for cowardice in the face of adversity. He had joined the opposing Thakur family and now commanded an army of bloodthirsty goons bent on uprooting the last surviving member of the Bhatt clan. Zorawar had survived many attacks from Teni’s onslaught, always with Shamsher by his side. His retinue of men, advisors and allies had gradually been eliminated or bought out. However, he still posed a dangerous threat to Teni’s political aspirations, and he knew Teni wouldn’t stop until he was dead.
A thump in the car’s engine jolted Zorawar’s thoughts back to present. As they drove towards the U-curve in the forest road, the engine started roaring and growling intermittently, with dead stops in between. Shamsher had his feet pressed on the accelerator, yet the car seemed to be slowing down. The last of his stupor slapped away with this ominous development, Zorawar exchanged glances with Shamsher, then opened the glove compartment to find his custom-made Desert Eagle automatic. Meanwhile, Shamsher had his cell phone out and was whispering hurried directions to his men at the haveli. They would reach within ten minutes; if trouble arose here, it would be over in a few seconds.
Shamsher stowed the cell phone back inside his pocket and fixed his master with his clear gaze.
“Huzoor, the car appears to have been tampered with. They must have broken the fuel pipe when I went to help you…” Shamsher faltered.
“Yes, yes, where do you think they’ll strike?” Zorawar asked, loading a fresh clip into his handgun even as the car trudged on, losing speed.
“I think they’ll be waiting right along the oak tree overlooking the U-bend. That’s a perfect spot for ambush. I also think they’ll have a roadblock in place, just in case.” Shamsher spoke with practiced calm.
The car was now ten metres from the U-bend. Zorawar braced himself for the fell stroke of his would-be assassins. He had been in such situations before and like his bodyguard in front of him, his mind felt surgically clear and devoid of any emotions. The car reached the bend and finally shuddered to a halt.
There was a movement to the right. A man, crouching beside his motorbike, stood up and made as if to draw something from his pocket. Shamsher drew his pistol and fired a shot. Zorawar leaned back against the opposite window and fired three more. The man reeled back, with a wide look of shock on his face, then collapsed over his bike, which fell to its side.
After a few seconds, Zorawar made to get out of the car but Shamsher grabbed his arm.
“No master! Let me…there might be more of them around,” Shamsher cautioned as he got out of the car.
Shamsher looked around carefully before approaching the bike in a panther-like prowl. The body was still writhing and the man was gasping wildly in his final throes. Shamsher knelt down and searched the man’s right pocket, where his hand had been going to when they first saw him. He discovered a cellphone He looked at the front wheel of the fallen bike and gave a small moan.
“Was it Teni’s man?” Shamsher whirled around to find Zorawar Saheb standing and looking at the fallen man with keen interest.
“No…he was not Teni’s man,” he said, almost in a whisper.
“Then who was it?”
“Just another man, going back home. His motorcycle had a flat tyre along the bend. When he saw us stop, he had been meaning to take out his cell phone to show us that it was out of battery. He just wanted to make a call home,” completed Shamsher, his brow furrowed.
His master stood rooted to the spot, speechless.
“He just wanted to make a call home,” repeated Shamsher.
(From www.wanderinggiraffe.wordpress.com)