A short fiction today, ‘Tale of revenge and flame of sin’, inspiring by The Count of Monte Cristo’ set in Goa.
Tale of Revenge and Flame of Sin
The nameless man, dressed in ragged leather jacket and muddy blue denims, sat on the wooden chair, stomping his boot on the floor. The unkempt beard has made him grow older by thirty years and no one would believe that he is past 40. His wrinkled face echoes the grim reality of his life where he was wrongly jailed as an innocent man. He sadly reflected, “They wrongly accused me of killing my young wife and 2-year-old baby and the judge was a party to this crime. It took me ten years to run away from the jail and amass wealth.”
It was in the 70s when he met Nima in college and they fell in love, heads over heels, a marriage arranged by his best friend, Bheemsingh, whose joy knew no bound. The three of them would attend dinner parties, spending days on the beach and travel together. There was something about Bheemsingh, that escaped his mind, he would be at his place, giving company to Nima and their two-year-old daughter.
One day, he reached home and called for Nima who was nowhere to be seen and rushed to the balcony to see Nima and his doting daughter lying in a pool of blood. Bheemsingh hit him on the back with an iron rod. As he turned around, paralysis and shock engulfed him. Bheemsingh smiled wickedly, “You stole the love of my life right under my nose and I know both of you gonna pay for it. Now, you will languish in jail.”
On judgement day, the judge and police refused to listen to the plea of the innocent man and he knew they were in cahoot with Bheemsingh who testified that he killed his wife and child in a rage because the former had an incestuous relationship with his better half. It was the biggest lie he heard from someone who was a member of his family.
The rugged man who had nothing to lose, exploded a bomb in the court room and dragged the old judge inside the old gypsy van, tying his mouth and legs. He entered the police station, firing on everyone indiscriminately and pulled the cop from the station. He drove speedily to his house, lying in ruins and decrepit, in old Goa. They say the souls of a very beautiful woman and a child live inside the mansion, where nobody dare to tread.
A shadow climbed the wooden stairs in shamble and cracking, shrieked in horror, when he walked on hard masses and seeing cadavers lying in blood. His boots were stained with blood when he heard someone calling him in a hoarse voice coupled with sadistic laughter, “Bheemsingh, my friend, my brother, welcome to this house where we shared laugh and booze.”
Bheemsingh turned around and was horrified to see his best friend, whom he back stabbed and destroyed his life. “You! How come you are still alive? You were in jail and you must have died by now.”
The man took a pregnant pause and smile, “Take a look at your friends, I destroyed them one by one.”
“I will not kill you. Nima and my daughter will take care of you,” he walked out and before leaving, he tied him and gun shots pierced his legs.
The next day, Bheemsingh cold body was lying in the house and died of shock, when he heard the agony voice of Nima, crying in exactly the same at the time he tortured her to death. The baby spoke in a fright voice, “Bheemsingh uncle, you will come with us. Papa has told us to drop you in hell on our way to heavenly abode. You shall burn in the flame of sin.”
The old man, poured one large peg of whisky and rested his body on the arm chair, wearing a smile on his face that he finally fulfilled his promise to Nima and his baby. He rested on the arm chair, oscillating and enjoying the best day of his life. Outside, stood the statue of Abbe Faria, witnessing the perfect tale of revenge.