The mob moved in on him with ferocious venom. All they wanted to do was set precedence. Their mind had already been preoccupied with thousands of thoughts. But the most popular one was "Teach this b*st*rd a lesson!" He was standing on a rectangular stage, which was atleast 3 feet from the ground. The vantage point was more than enough to spot the deluge of people shouting something and approaching his stage. He had no place to escape. He knew the end was inevitable. The approaching crowd stopped in front of his stage. One angry young man, "Vinayakrao" holding an axe, came on to the stage.
Vinayakrao turned to the crowd and shouted "SILENCE".
Like obedient children, there was stunned silence. "How should this traitorous b*st*rd be killed?"
"Let’s lynch him right here" came an instant reply from the second row.
"Let’s cut him to pieces and serve his meat to all his monsters!" came another retort from somewhere in the fifth or sixth row.
Vinayakrao then gazed in his direction and smiled. The smile gave away the intent.
"Ok! Let’s hang him"
Two comrades of Vinayakrao stepped onto the stage. They lashed at him from behind. The force behind the shot instantly knocked him forward and he fell on his face. They carried him to a corner where the stakes and rope were already in place for his execution. They placed the rope around his neck and tightened the noose.
During all this the crowd was shouting some sort of slogans. Initially he couldn't understand the slogan but once the noose tightened, the slogans increased to a fever pitch. Now he understood everything.
Vinayakrao gave his signal. The entire crowd was shouting "Bharat m..."
Kamal woke with a jolt. There was sweat dripping from his temples. He looked around the room. There was no mob, no stakes and no lynching. This dream seems to be incessant, occurring every night. He looked at his wife sleeping peacefully. He couldn't tell her about this dream. He doesn't want to undergo her interrogation. He thought of the man, who was coordinating his execution. He was surprised that he could still feel that man's anger. There was something familiar about that man's name. He tried to remember it but he couldn't. But the familiarity still nagged him.
He looked at the bedside clock. It was 2:30 AM. He got up from the bed and walked to the refrigerator. He could hear his wife and daughter screaming at him for drinking ice cold water. His throat and especially the tonsils have this remarkable quality to make him suffer. They always make sure that severe cold and high fever attack him. The worst part is the mucus, which turns into an awful green. But that was least of his worries at the moment.
He gulped down the water and sat on the dining chair next to the fridge. Again his thoughts turned to the mystery man from the dreams. "I've to talk to someone about this. Sham...or....hmmmm.... Sid....But will they take this seriously? What about a psychiatrist? He might also mock me. But that's a bit secure".
Life is not heaven for political leaders. It becomes hell when that party has a religious ideology. People on the outside have a different perception about the lives of political leaders. Kamal never bothers about those perceptions. He believes in his religion and the welfare of his people takes precedence over any other thing. Anyone who commits blasphemy, or tries to be sacrilegious, deserves according to him decapitation or castration. His party men have been striving hard to prove that they are a better class of "Fanatics" than him. He loves that term "Fanatic". "This is the age of identity, brothers! Good or bad, every individual wants that" he used to say to his fellow comrades. He does have that identity. Good or bad is another question. That identity was bestowed upon him by the corporate media, who loves such characters. People might also use the word "Fanatic", when they refer to him but deep down in their heart, they do love him because he has got what many lack. An Identity.
Kamal went back to his bed with a relief that a visit to the doctor would solve his problem. This time too, the dreams repeated in the same sequence but with an alternate ending. Instead of hanging, they immolated him.
The next morning he dialed his childhood friend, Karamchand, now a popular psychiatrist. The appointment was booked at 2 PM that same day. Finally if there is one man who'll understand what he's going through, then that's Karamchand.
Karamchand's hospital was located in one of the affluent places in the city. Kamal went inside the building which seemed have its roots in the Indo-Islamic architecture. A pishtaq similar to the one in Taj Mahal welcomed him. Kamal did doubt karamchand's religious allegiance. Kamal was pointed to a seat in the waiting area by the beautiful receptionist. The walls in the waiting area were adorned with the pictures of Mahatma Gandhi, Sigmund Freud, Martin Luther King Jr. and Karl Marx.
After 15 minutes, he was asked by that receptionist to follow her to the hospital's inner sanctum. The building was constructed in such a way that there were 2 separate pathways for entry and exit. This enables the much needed privacy of the patients. A door with a leaf-like nameplate greeted him. The area above the midrib contained the doctor's name and the portion below contained this quote.
"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark. The real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."
The door opened to reveal the mid 40 man with a face that Amul would be happy to have in their adverts. "His face hasn't changed at all" thought Kamal.
"Hello My friend. How great to see you. Please sit down"
"Hey Whitey. I'm very good". Whitey was the epithet used by all his friends. Indians have this strange habbit of
associating fair and white in the same context.
After the pleasantries had been exchanged, kamal explained his problem.
"I'm unable to sleep at night. I'm getting all sorts of dreams"
"What sort of dream?" implored Karamchand.
"I'm... hmmmmm....I end up in a place.......some kind of ground...... its familiar though.... There are people...
hmmmm... shouting some slogans...... then.... Kill me". He finished the sentence with a kind of stammering that he hadn't felt before.
"Ok. Calm down buddy. How often do you get these Nightmares?"
"Every day for the past 6 months!"
"hmmmm ok. Are you sure it’s just during these last 6 months?"
"Yes"
Karamchand thought for a moment and said "See kamal, these nightmares are believed to be manifestations of our mind. It’s the recollection of events that could have happened some time in your life. You don't have to worry too much about it. We'll start the treatment next week"
"Thank you. But everything was familiar, the place, the crowd and.... hmmmmm... even the executioner." The sweat has again started dripping. "I'm really afraid" he said with a slight tremor in his voice.
"Hey come on. Do not give up. It’s normal in case of almost all human beings. Some accept it and some don't. Your mind is just recollecting something you saw somewhere in your life. It could be real or something you saw in a film.” He paused and said “In the worst case it could be guilt". His face became very serious when he uttered the last sentence.
He continued "Let’s say you did something wrong and the consequence would have been severe to some. You start feeling bad for it and your mind gives the same punishment to you." He paused like a tiger ready to pounce on its prey and laughed aloud "But that's not possible because I know you. I can't imagine you killing someone" and he laughed again.
After that kamal did not comprehend whatever Karamchand said. No one can imagine Kamal killing someone but he knows that’s not true. But how can he admit it?
While walking out of the hospital, he couldn't help but think about the people they had murdered. He usually called it as "Politico religious killings". He tried hard to recollect the name of his executioner. But he couldn't.
He took out his mobile to check the messages and missed calls. There were 2 missed calls from his subordinate. There was a single message from an unknown number. He opened the message and it read:
"We urge you all to celebrate the son of the soil Nathuram 'Vinayakrao' Godse. The man who slayed the Mahatma 'double agent' Gandhi. Today, Jan 30 is the day to celebrate this unsung hero. Jai Hind"
“Stupids. Even in today’s world such morons exist, who doesn't understand the sacrifices of Gandhi” thought Kamal. But something rang in his mind. Something was trying hard to come out of his mind.
Yes.
Yes.
The name is familiar.
Yes. It’s the same name.
He quickly dialed his subordinate.
"I remember a journalist was killed by an unknown group. What's the name of the journalist?" He dare not ask it directly owing to the love and affection of government to put him behind bars. That would be a confession.
After hearing the name, the sweating just increased on his temples.
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