Time Guard: The Awakening (21st Century) Page 15

  Tired and bewildered, Arjun returns to Swati’s residence. He roams around the house as his physical self, thinking about the extraordinary events of the past 24 hours.

  28th December 2012 2:00 PM | Swati’s Residence

  Confused, Arjun decides to stick to the initial plan with Swati. After practising with knives for a while, he returns to his bed and steps out as a soul.

  In the bright sunny afternoon, he drifts to Kasur Railway station to see Ankita, who is spending most of her time sitting in one corner of the room. For a while, Arjun does nothing but gaze at her sister. Later, he looks around for public and railway staff movement. No railway employee visits the old compound, observes Arjun.

  Arjun spends hours looking around the Railway check posts and an hour later he decides to return to Delhi. He makes a stoppage at the top of Qutab Minar again hoping to see Howrang, but returns without any success.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 23

  The Aspiring Archaeologist

  28th December 2012 8:10 PM | Indirapuram, Ghaziabad

  In the lane houses of Indirapuram, Ghaziabad, works a young architect in a basement room alongside the underground parking. On a cluttered glass table with a lamp underneath, he traces lines over an existing drawing on a blank A1-sized sheet.

  Bored of copying other’s building plans, Rahul always wanted to create marvels of his own, but his new ruthless boss never let him present his creativity to the client.

  Ever since Rahul graduated from the Architecture College of NIT Jaipur, he had been struggling to earn his living. His repeated mistakes had led him to four job changes in less than two years.

  Ironically, this time as well, Rahul had landed under an aged architect, Mr Tripathi, who wouldn’t let him create anything of his own.

  Rahul’s phone rings.

  “Rahul, are you done with the Khannas’ Residence plan?” Shouts Mr Tripathi.

  “Not yet Sir.” Mumbles Rahul quietly.

  “YOU FOOL! It merely takes an hour to copy three sheets on which you have spent days. I don’t know what the hell keeps you so occupied.”

  “Sir, it’s three different floors with over three thousand square feet each,” replies Rahul.

  “STOP ARGUING young lad! Don’t tell me how much time it takes to finish this. I have been working as an architect since before you were even born!” Exclaims Mr Tripathi and ends the call.

  Disheartened, Rahul throws his phone over the clutter and starts drawing again.

  A few minutes later his phone rings again.

  “Hi, who is this?” Asks Rahul.

  “Hi Rahul, this is Maya, 2011 batch, remember?” Says Maya Shekhawat on phone.

  A college heart throb and a daughter of the affluent Shekhawats. Rahul had always had a crush on Maya, but being a son of a late municipal corporation clerk had kept himself away from hitting on her. As his heart starts to pound strongly in his chest, Rahul buries all signs of anxiety and tries to act ignorant.

  “Maya who?” Asks Rahul, with fake unawareness in his words.

  “Maya Shekhawat! The one who has been tracing your old drawing sheets for five years. I must say thanks a lot for all those drawing sheets. I could have never completed my Bachelor’s without them,” says Maya in a humble voice.

  “Oh, Hi Maya! Glad to hear from you after so long. No need for thanks, tell me how I can help?” Asks Rahul, as he blushes with a smile on his face.

  “Rahul, I need your help?” Requests Maya.

  “For?” Asks Rahul.

  “I need someone who can help me find an ancient relic known as the Black Morsel,” Continues Maya.

  “Black what?? Not sure what that is... Anyways how much time do you think it will take?” Asks Rahul.

  “I can’t say; we may find it in hours or it may take us weeks or even months.”

  “What?” Questions Rahul as he quickly types black morsel into a Google search on a laptop next to him.

  “And I am ready to pay you a hundred thousand for every month you spend in Chopta,” offers Maya

  Thirty-two thousand plus six hundred for mobile phone reimbursement, Rahul wonders how much hike he was getting for this temporary job, but somehow, he was not comfortable leaving his permanent job with Mr Tripathi. In UP, nobody gives his daughter to a temporary employee; he recalls the words of his unmarried uncle.

  “Maya, I don’t think I’ll get that many leave days in my current job,” Rahul finally says.

  “OK! Let’s raise it to two hundred thousand,” offers Maya in a convincing tone.

  “Sorry Maya; I can’t leave my permanent job. Mr Tripathi gave me this job only because my last name is the same as his,” declines Rahul.

  “Five hundred thousand!” Offers Maya with a determination in her voice.

  “Maya! That’s really generous of you… But honestly, I can’t”, refuses Rahul once more.

  “Alright Rahul, at least get me a reference. I mean I need someone with a good understanding of archaeology like you,” says Maya, sadness now splintering her voice on.

  “Sure!” Replies Rahul and disconnects the phone.

  Thirty minutes pass by; Rahul has nearly finished the drawings when the phone rings again. The vibration is strong enough to topple the Pepsi bottle that is balanced on the cluttered table. Rahul marks the last stroke on the drawing sheet when the half-filled bottle falls on the entire glass table, splashing pepsin on the finished drawing sheet. With a fizzing sound, the soft drink is quickly absorbed by the original sheet signed by the Gazetted officer, placed right beneath the copied one.

  Rahul shudders in fear, his face taking on an expression of sadness and distress. He quickly grabs his phone, which is ringing with the standard Nokia tone.

  ‘Mr Calling: Mr. Tripathi..” he reads on the phone.

  “RAHUL, is it done??” Shouts Mr Tripathi.

  “Sir, there has been a minor incident...I mean... I can explain…the pepsi bottle being spilled...” mumbles the terrified Rahul, nervously.

  “You spilled it on the sheet?” Interrupts Mr Tripathi, and then starts to rant; “AGHHH!! YOU STUPID FOOL..You know you are a disgrace to all Tripathis.. I should have fired you the last time you missed a deadline. YOU LOSER! FORGET about being an archaeologist when you can’t be any good at copying drawing sheets.”

  “Sir, I Quit” Says Rahul humbly.

  “QUIT... Quit what??” Says Mr.Tripathi, his tone rapidly diminishing.

  “Sir, I am no good as an architect. I…” admits Rahul humbly.

  “Look Son! I understand...” interrupts Mr Tripathi again, but in a convincing voice which suppresses his anger.

  Rahul disconnects the call and quickly dials a number from his received calls list.

  “Hi Maya, can you get me fifty thousand in advance,” asks Rahul.

  “Sure. Message me your account number along with the IFSC Code. I’ll ask Tejas to get you tickets to Haridwar,” replies Maya eagerly.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 24

  The Charnel House

  30th December 2012 2:00 PM | Liverpool Street Station, London

  ‘The next station is Liverpool Street. Change for the central and Hammersmith lines and National Rail services.’ The announcement plays over the speaker as the circle line train departs Aldgate station.

  Sitting on a velvet seat on the train, Zaffar looks into the yellow pillared corridor, which contains a few people waiting for their station. A girl with multi-coloured hair, wearing a double-breasted trench coat, tries to make eye contact with Zaffar, who is looking at his own unclear reflection in the glass window.

  Zaffar has changed his attire completely and is now dressed like a high-profile corporate businessman. He has partially sold the gold for over a million Pakistani rupees; enough to afford him a sophisticated look. Zaffar had already started to feel rich. He is aware of the girl eying him and he occasionally looks at her out of the corner of his eye, but avoids completely locking eyes. The attention of a British girl add
s to his delight.

  ‘This is Liverpool Street. Change here…’ the native British sound from the speaker is overshadowed by the dragging of shoes on to the train.

  Zaffar takes the escalator with a sign hanging above that reads, ‘Way Out’. The escalators take him into a huge hall. A magnificent lobby sheltered by a giant iron grid, crafted from translucent glass. The frame is supported by ancient looking brick walls painted in red and white. The crowd and the shops running along the walls remind him of the ‘Mall of Lahore’ which always attracts foreign tourists and affluent Pakistanis.

  From a distance, Zaffar can see long stairs underneath a giant LED screen. He walks upstairs, exiting Liverpool Street station. Tall buildings with huge archway entrances surround a narrow lane with fancy cars and double-decker buses running in both directions. Women with golden hair carrying fashionable bags and wearing high heels, and middle-aged white men in hats; for Zaffar, the view was no different than a Hollywood set.

  Zaffar walks a few steps ahead along the busy lane and finds a building on the opposite side of the road with a pillar near the entrance that reads “RBS”. He quickly crosses over and walks adjacent to the building wall. He walks further through the corridor between the two buildings and reaches Spitalfields market.

  Zaffar spends an hour looking around the area. Sadly, he can’t recall the exact name of the place but he still remembers it as some archaeological ruins. He looks around in each corner but can’t find anything.

  Tired, he walks towards an Indian takeaway restaurant and starts looking at the items that are kept on display in the wide showcase fridge with see-through glass.

  At the counter stands an Indian who smiles back at him. Sudarshan Zariwala, a native Gujrati who had migrated to London along with his wife Shefalica and daughter Apra a few years back. Sudarshan has always been passionate about his homeland food. It’s been 8 years since he started the restaurant. Though his hairline has receded in recent years, he has remained self-motivated. Today it was no different.

  “Namaste!” Greets Sudarshan with a heart-warming smile.

  Zaffar smiles back. The welcoming greeting was enough to tell him that the man was from India. He answers in the same friendly voice. “Namaste!”

  “One mutton rice bowl please,” asks Zaffar.

  “That will be seven pounds fifty. Anything else you would like to have along with it?” Asks Sudarshan from the counter.

  “No,” says Zaffar, and waits at the counter for his food.

  “Which Country?” Asks Mr Zariwala.

  “Afghanistan,” lies Zaffar.

  “That’s a nice place!” Replies the Sudarshan.

  A minute of awkward silence, in two minds, Zaffar decides to question the restaurant owner, who was still beaming at him.

  “I am quite interested in monuments and archeological ruins; I heard this area has a lot of them,” states Zaffar.

  “You can visit Tower Bridge just a station away on the Circle line. It’s over 100 years old. Or you can visit St. Paul’s Cathedral, which was built in the 17th Century,” guides Mr Sudarshan, pointing in different directions with his hand.

  Zaffar could now understand that he needs to be more discreet. “I was more interested in archeological ruins,” reasserts Zaffar in a blunt voice.

  “I’m not sure of many…you can find them near Tower Hill station... I believe. It’s closer to Tower Bridge,” replies Mr. Sudarshan with a bewildered expression.

  “No, No! I was looking around this area. Spitalfields market, Bishopsgate, around the RBS Building,” specifies Zaffar.

  Sudarshan finds himself becoming suspicious about the Afghan, his attire and body language resembled a Pakistani rather than someone from Afghanistan. It was rare that an Afghan understood Namaste at the first try. His attire, which was not even close to an archeologist’s or a tourist’s, further adds to his distrust.

  But, being unsure, he decides to guide him further. “There are a few ruins in Charnel house in Bishop’s Square; it’s behind the bank building,” points the man.

  At that moment, from the kitchen steps Shefalica, and places a plastic bowl with a disposable spoon on the counter. “One Mutton Rice Bowl” she shouts, looking at people sitting on the benches.

  Zaffar picks it up and steps away from the counter.

  31st December 2012 12:30 AM | Bishop’s Square, London

  An iron lamppost with an amber light glows above a dark-coloured signboard that reads, ‘Bishopsgate Library’.

  From a distance, Zaffar could see the reflection of bright yellow street lights on the wet road. Mild snowfall had left small lumps of snow gathered along the pavements. Zaffar pants as he walks towards Bishop’s Square wearing a long, thick overcoat.

  Zaffar reaches the Charnel House ruins. He steps over the glass floor, supported by iron beams, and flashes his torch over the ruins. The thick glass barely lets any light pass through it. Alongside the glass chamber ran a staircase, offering a side-on view of the remains. Zaffar quickly steps downstairs. He gets closer to the glass wall and keeps his torch pressed against the glass flashing light inside it.

  He gently pulls out a glass cutter and cuts a circle in the transparent glass. He cautiously steps over the brick rubble. He initially pulls out a hammer but then decides on using a shovel to dig through the loose bricks to avoid making any loud noises.

  After two hours of scratching and scraping, Zaffar steps back. Tired and clueless, he looks around the pile of broken bricks. He occasionally comes across a few pieces of bone. The closest he can find is rusted iron hooks, but nothing remotely close to a sundial.

  Zaffar takes a step back and soon realises that there won’t be a second chance at this excavation, as the locals will surely report the damage tomorrow morning. He takes off his coat, rolls up his sleeves and starts digging again.

  31st December 2012 4:45 AM | Bishop’s Square, London

  It has been 4 hours since Zaffar started digging in the chilling winter. He had dismantled all the bricks but couldn’t find anything close to brass.

  Tired he rests against a wall and presses his mind to recall younger Zaffar’s words; ‘The sundial is lodged in one of the bricks that was used to build the Charnel house,’ he recollects.

  Zaffar flashes the torch to get a clear view of all the bricks he had shovelled in the past few hours. “68 Bricks”, he counts.

  Foreseeing time constraints, he brings a bag from his motel room nearby and starts putting bricks into it. It takes another hour for Zaffar to take all the bricks to his room. The hotel receptionist gawps at him every time he makes a trip across the entrance, carrying a heavy bag.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 25

  A Friend in Pakistan

  31th December 2012 12:10 PM | Swati’s Residence

  2 days pass by. Arjun improves on his knife throwing skills even though he still can’t throw 3 knives directly at the dart board. Every evening that goes by, Arjun had made a stoppage on Qutab Minar rooftop hoping to see Howrang, but had returned home empty-handed.

  A foggy afternoon at Kasur Railway station and the railway barrier drops down on the checkpoint adjoining the scrap house where Ankita is being kept hostage. Bicycles, cars and motorcycles wait for the train to pass by. The checkpoint along the barrier has windows on three sides with tall glass and metal grilles covering them. Behind the windows stands an elderly railway employee who seems to control the barrier. He frequently looks sideways towards the road and then back on to the railway track, keeping an eye out for tailgating.

  Arjun is watching all this from the roof of the railway scrap house, observing the movement of the commuters in the area. The sound of a passing train on the track grabs Arjun’s attention and he looks across it.

  The side opposite to the scrap house met with the edge of the platform. The cemented edge adjoined with the grassy land alongside the railway track. On the lonely platform, he could see the same Asian man smiling back at him.

  Arjun feels reli
eved to see him and he immediately flies closer to Diachi, who is beaming back at him.

  “Good to see you, Mr. Howrang,” Arjun says with delight and eagerness.

  “Good to see you too Time Guard,” murmurs Howrang.

  Arjun smiles, and both walk together down the platform.

  “I have two questions for you,” Arjun says.

  “I already know what you have in mind, but it would be good for you to try and articulate it,” says Howrang with a mysterious smile.

  Arjun thinks for a moment and then asks in a steady voice, “Why can’t I see either you or myself when I go back in to the past?”

  “Good question! But do you think you can travel across time?”

  Surprised Arjun thinks for a moment and then replies hesitantly, “I think so. Yes, I have travelled back in time and also to the future.”

  “Think again! If you use a periscope to look above a wall, does that make you physically present above the wall?” Howrang questions.

  Arjun doesn’t reply and continues to look confused.

  “If I use a terrestrial telescope, it will make a faraway object feel closer to me but does it actually take me physically closer to it?” Howrang continues.

  “No but I still don’t get it. How is it related to us travelling through time?” Questions Arjun, as both pass through the crowd.

  “Your ability to look across time doesn’t mean you actually travel in time. You can simply look into the past or future. Tell me, you often travel to the same place multiple times as a soul, which technically means that two instances of your soul are present at the same moment and at the same place. But have you ever seen yourself as a soul?” Asks Diachi calmly.

  “No, but...” Arjun replies.

  Diachi interrupts, “But you can see me. Isn’t that right?”

  A pigeon flies right through the conversation, without realising the presence of the two spirits. The bird lands on a truss supporting the roof shed above the platform.