Time Guard: The Awakening (21st Century) Page 14

  “Arjun, saving Ankita won’t be easy,” warns Howrang “If you think that you need to fight one middle-aged man, that’s not true. Looking into the future can guide you about what will probably happen, but your incorrect actions may end up changing it.”

  “What do you mean by changing the future?” Arjun asks cautiously.

  “The past has already happened; nothing can change it because matter can never travel in the past. However, the future is uncertain and its course can be changed. If you knew that you would be shot dead tomorrow at Qutab Minar, would you come here in person tomorrow?” Asks Howrang.

  “No! But isn’t it that my coming to Qutab Minar would be pre-written in that case?” Asks Arjun

  “Yes, the future is also pre-written but it is the actions of one or more Time bystanders as their physical selves that alters it. Things may not happen the way you saw them. They might be changed by you or another prodigy like you; or even by some rare birds or animals who have the same gift. But the actions of such birds or animals rarely change the course of a human’s future. In other words, the future is written but may be erased and rewritten many times before it actually happens.”

  “The first disciple realised the same problem - that the future can’t be trusted until the date that the other prodigies are alive. So to take the full control of the world he tried killing other prodigies. He spent thirty years killing four out of the six alive on earth, but he couldn’t kill the second apprentice of the Saint and his successor,” says Howrang.

  Arjun carefully listens to every word of Howrang. He has so many questions in his mind but feels short of words to frame them. And for the first time in 15 years, someone is answering all the questions that have been running through his mind.

  “Arjun, I am not asking you to disown your responsibility. I want you to be the Time Guard. I will see you soon,” says Howrang in a calm voice, and then he disappears into the dense fog, leaving a cloud of purple smoke on the balcony of Qutab Minar.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 21

  The Treasure

  27th December 2012 10:00 PM | Jhang Bazaar, Faisalabad, Pakistan

  The dense fog hides the wire mesh shielding the narrow lane of the Jhang Bazaar. A scrawny dog sniffs the rotten food pile alongside the narrow staircase. The next moment, he is shooed away by Zaffar, who reaches the shuttered entrance of the staircase. He briskly pulls the shutter, which lets out a grinding noise, and climbs upstairs.

  Zaffar places the hourglass in a trunk and quickly slides into bed, hoping to further explore his locked memories.

  Within minutes of sleep, he finds himself under a mango tree at his hometown in Farooqabad. The same tall mango tree which had its branches hanging over the Qadirabad Balloki canal and the lush green fields alongside it.

  A young kid with a round face wearing a Taqiyah and a long kurta steps out from behind the tree. He holds a wooden catapult in one hand and a stone in another.

  The bright brown eyes, the long green kurta and a sharp look; it doesn’t take long for Zaffar to recall the boy as his own self. The opportunity to see his own self taking aim at the mango tree delights him. Zaffar feels nostalgic seeing the mango tree and the canal right beside it.

  The younger Zaffar takes a few minutes contemplating the mangoes hanging on the tree. As a child he had always ignored the low hanging fruits, believing that they are often unripe and less sweet in taste.

  With a creaking sound from the catapult, he shoots a stone at a bunch of mangoes hanging on higher branches and knocks the entire bunch of three to the ground.

  A teenage kid comes out of nowhere and taps on young Zaffar’s head.

  “I told you this tree is mine,” growls the teen, bullying Zaffar.

  Zaffar answers back and frowns. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Can’t you read? The tree bears my name!” Shouts the teen, holding Zaffar by his collar.

  “Just because you scratched your name on the trunk, that doesn’t mean it’s yours,” replies Zaffar.

  The teen slaps Zaffar on his face and growls at him again. “SHUT UP!! Or else I’ll break your catapult and your right hand. You will never be able to even throw a stone with your hands after this.”

  Zaffar recalls the teen as Rafiq from his childhood, the one who he has always been scared of.

  “HOW DARE YOU!” Shouts Zaffar from his dream, trying to grab Rafiq by his shoulder.

  Zaffar’s hand passes right through Rafiq. Soon, he realises that none of the characters before him are able to hear him.

  Threatened and disheartened, the younger Zaffar remains silent. He watches Rafiq take away all three mangoes from him.

  Zaffar can now recall this horrible past. The most frequent event of his life – watching Rafiq take away his catch. The unpleasant memories now brought him sadness and pain.

  “You know, Rafiq still lives in Farooqabad and once you have activated the Hourglass Warren, he will be all yours to command, even if he doesn’t wish to,” asserts the younger Zaffar, looking straight at Zaffar.

  Zaffar eyes still reflect pain and he asks his younger self, “What next?”

  “The hourglass warren also needs an instrument called the sundial which is buried in central London,” explains younger Zaffar. “It is hidden behind a bank building at Bishopsgate. The British have been conserving the ruins well and you can easily find them well-preserved under a glass flooring near Spitalfield’s market. The place is called St. Mary Spital, Charnel House. The sundial is lodged into one of the bricks that was used in building the Charnel house.”

  “The three pillars surrounding the hourglass chamber have screw grooves on both sides and the sundial has screws to mount it on either side of the hourglass. Take the two instruments and deploy them on the tip of the Chandrashilla in India. To activate the hourglass warren, you would need to mount it on the side containing the purple sand. The combination will also need the black morsel to activate the hourglass warren placed in the sundial’s head” continues younger Zaffar.

  “My Passport was confiscated in India. Even if I apply for a new one, it will take months for me to get it and then a UK visa will be next to impossible,” says Zaffar

  With a mysterious smile, the kid looks back at Zaffar and says, “You will have your passport along with a visa delivered to you by tomorrow. Meanwhile, visit Farooqabad again. Dig up this place a metre from where you are standing right now.”

  “What do we have here?” Asks Zaffar curiously.

  “Rafiq’s great grandfather use to take bribes in gold during the British era. He hid gold coins under this tree at the time of partition. Rafiq’s forefathers knew about the gold but never knew its location. Sadly, neither Rafiq nor his forefathers had a clue, even when the government acquired their land for building this canal,” says younger Zaffar, pointing towards Zaffar’s feet.

  With every meeting he had drawn more trust in his past memories and believed in them more than his own self. Finding something extremely valuable that belonged to Rafiq was more gratifying than the value of the treasure itself.

  The sun sets behind the bridge over the canal. Zaffar gazes at it peacefully; “When should I fly to London?” He asks, without looking at his younger self.

  “The day after tomorrow!” Replies the young-Zaffar.

  Zaffar opens his eyes and wakes up again in his room. He quickly gets out of bed and pulls out the hourglass from the trunk.

  The scratch-free glass is filled with purple sand and has grooves on both sides above the pillars. Not surprised by his view, he quickly puts it back in his trunk and slides it under the bed again.

  28th December 2012 1:00 AM | Jhang Bazaar, Faisalabad, Pakistan

  In the middle of the night, Zaffar takes a bus to Lahore. Two hours later, he gets off at Farooqabad and reaches the same mango tree. With a small shovel, he digs under it only to find a small metal box with rusted carvings on top of it. The chest box is locked with a small brass lock, which he breaks with a mere stri
ke of the shovel. Zaffar gently opens the box. Its hinges create a noise, breaking the silence of the night. Zaffar flashes his hand torch and finds some shiny objects inside. Lustrous coins, each the size of a bottle crown, with some text written in Hindi.

  “Gold,” he concludes.

  “47… 48... 49... 50,” he counts quickly and closes the box with a feeling of satisfaction on his face.

  Zaffar always felt a strong connection to his parental home, which had now been confiscated by the bank. Tired, he decides to visit his parental home at Malad Chowk Bazar, which was just adjoining the canal. He quickly slides the chest box into his bag and walks towards his residence.

  It’s morning - 5:00 AM. Zaffar reaches his home. Painted in yellow, the house had mold all over its front wall with cement patches that resembled an Archipelago in a yellow sea. The rusted gate had a huge lock and board hanging just above it.

  ‘Property of Bank Al Falah,’ he reads.

  Zaffar throws his bag containing the chest box over the gate, into the house’s front yard. Next, he jumps over the gate.

  Covered in dust, papers and wet envelopes, the floor is barely visible. Electricity bills, bank notices; just by looking at the floor, Zaffar could make out what all the worn-out papers and envelopes had inside, except for one envelope with the Pakistani government logo on it.

  Zaffar picks it up and to his surprise it is marked with his name instead of his father’s. He quickly tears the edge and opens it.

  “A new passport and British visa,” observes Zaffar while looking through the pages of the passport.

  “How come someone deep inside me is able to do all this?” He wonders.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 22

  Something Undisclosed

  27th December 2012 10:00 PM | Swati’s Residence

  Arjun is sitting alongside Swati at the dining table with a plate of rice, garnished with beans. He absentmindedly plays with the rice and beans, pushing them around with a steel spoon as he recalls his conversation with Howrang.

  “Saving Ankita won’t be easy. If you think that you only need to fight one middle aged man, that’s not true.” Arjun recalls the statement as Howrang’s voice echoes in his head. He is less worried about what Howrang wants, but more about Ankita.

  “You know, cold rice is not good for your stomach,” suggests Swati, looking at Arjun’s lost face. “I know it is slightly undercooked. You can take pickle along with it if you do not like it.”

  Arjun dips a spoon in and stuffs a serving in his mouth, gesturing to Swati that everything is fine.

  Fifteen minutes pass by. Swati picks her plate up and places it in the kitchen. Back at the dining table she sees Arjun, still lost, sitting with his empty plate in front of him. She goes closer to him and picks it up. Completely ignorant of Swati moving away the plate, he continues to stare at the wall.

  Clueless, Swati gingerly pats Arjun in an attempt to gather his attention, presuming that he is still thinking about Ankita’s rescue.

  In a reassuring voice she tells Arjun, “I have the axe and I have also bought some sharp pointed knives. And... I have also deposited the visa forms.”

  Arjun doesn’t respond.

  “Arjun, is everything ok with Ankita?” Asks Swati.

  Arjun is now stuck with another dilemma; “Should I tell Swati about Howrang or not?” He thinks to himself.

  In a slow voice, he replies, “Ankita is fine.”

  Swati is not convinced by Arjun’s reply yet she decides to take the conversation in a productive direction.

  “So, shall we plan how to invade that place? I still need to understand what Kasur railway station looks like,” replies Swati in an anxious tone.

  Arjun decides not to tell Swati about Howrang and tries to act normally. With wide-open eyes he looks back at Swati and replies, “Sure, I’ll just get some plain white paper and a pencil.”

  Arjun returns to the dining table with a few pieces of white paper and a clutch pencil. His stable hands precisely draw a top-down view of the Kasur railway station along with the railway crossing. He gently strokes each and every line on to the sheet and shades the building areas.

  After ten minutes of drawing, Arjun puts the sheet flat on the dining table and points the pencil at one of the shaded areas. “Ankita is being kept in this abandoned building which has scrapped railway parts. The store house has a double door; with the inner door made of wood and the outer one crafted with heavy iron strips latched with a lock. The windows are covered with wooden planks running horizontally. They also have metal bars. The front of the building faces railway lines and the rear end faces a thick belt of trees adjoining a busy road.”

  Swati carefully listens to him, thinks for a moment and then questions, “And how frequently do people visit Ankita?”

  “No one visits her except Jamal. He is just a hired caretaker visiting her three times a day,” answers Arjun.

  “Hmm... Sounds easy but we can’t presume that Altaf or Omar won’t be visiting her again,” asserts Swati.

  Arjun and Swati spend an hour planning the rescue attempt.

  “You can look into the future a few hours before the attack to ensure we are through,” Swati says to Arjun in a determined voice.

  Hearing her words, Arjun recalls Diachi’s Statements. “The future is also pre-written but it is the actions of one or more Time bystanders, as it is the physical self that alters it.”

  With pursed lips, Arjun says, “Hmm...”

  The Answer doesn’t convince Swati. Now, she can clearly sense that Arjun is hiding something, but she decides not to confront him. Inside she continuously presumes that it is Ankita’s anguish bothering him, so she smiles back at Arjun and says, “You need rest.”

  Arjun replies in a tired voice as he yawns, “I agree.”

  He lies down on his bed and closes his eyes. Soon his thoughts are again interrupted by Swati’s loud voice coming from the dining room. “You need to practise with the axe and knife tomorrow morning.”

  Arjun closes his eyes. He tries to sleep but is unable to shut down his mind. He lays awake for an hour and recalls his interaction with Howrang, and his appearance.

  Two Hours pass by. Restless Arjun, decides to visit Qutab Minar again. He quickly drifts to Qutab Minar as a soul and anxiously looks around for Howrang, but all his efforts are in vain. After wasting hours at Mehrauli Archaeological Park, Arjun decides to return to his body.

  28th December 2012 6:00 AM | Swati’s Residence

  After drifting into an uneasy sleep for three hours, Arjun is awakened by his cellphone alarm. He presses the snooze button and with tired, half-open eyes, and finds Swati standing next to his bed, looking at him irritably.

  “Get up, Time Guard,” she demands.

  Arjun yawns and blinks.

  “Come upstairs, on to the roof top. I have something good for you,” Swati continues, with a smile on her face.

  Arjun follows her upstairs wearing Pajamas with a nada hanging from his waist.

  Swati’s house is a double-storey duplex with two parallel boundary walls shared with adjoining three -storey houses. The two sides had walls that were almost ten feet high facing her terrace, creating a closed nook which had been her playground ever since her childhood. The terrace has brick flooring tiled with cement skirting across the four edges of the terrace. The shared wall still has dusty impressions of wet tennis balls from the times of her childhood.

  On the shared wall, Swati had hooked a circular wooden dart board.

  Arjun looks at the board and gives a sideways look at Swati, who gently smiles back at him. The next moment, Swati throws a knife towards the dart board but misses it by a few centimetres.

  Arjun quivers hearing the sound of metal striking the ground.

  “Your turn.” Swati offers him a bunch of small metal knives.

  Arjun flips the knife over, inspecting it in detail. A few inches long, made of thick metal with a plastic handgrip until halfway down, and a sharp p
ointed tip on the other end. The next moment, he takes an aim and throws the knife towards the board.

  “Seems like, you need a lot more time to practise,” Swati chuckles

  Arjun smiles back, throws another knife and again misses the dartboard completely.

  “I’ll be heading to the office today. I hope you aren’t planning any long-distance air travel today?” Asks Swati in a calm voice.

  Arjun smiles back and shakes his head.

  With every shot he recalls Diachi and his words. Arjun continues to practise and after a few hours, he manages to hit the dartboard a few times. A sudden train of thought stops him in his tracks. “Let me go back in time to that moment and see Howrang again.”

  Arjun rushes downstairs, drifts out as a soul and goes back in time by 12 hours. The next moment, he quickly flies up in the sky and heads towards Qutab Minar.

  It is the same time on the same ghostly evening. The Qutab Minar looks no different in the foggy evening, with the same thick rubble walls engraved with Urdu words and an empty balcony. Realising the absence of Diachi, Arjun decides to look around. He recedes through the walls only to find a dark spiral staircase mounted with lights at different levels. He flies up and down but can’t find Howrang. After flying through the tower, he eventually decides to wait at the same place where he met Howrang for the first time.

  “Did I miscalculate the time of our meeting?” Arjun wonders.

  Thirty Minutes pass by. Arjun waits patiently at the tower. A plane passes over his head which reminds him of the same instance during his conversation. He takes a look around the balcony, only to find emptiness and silence. For a minute, he wonders if the meeting happened a little before or after and then he suspects Diachi is playing some magic on him.

  Arjun spends only an hour remaining confused and clueless about why he can’t see his soul or Diachi on the Qutab Minar rooftop.