Fiction: The devil casting its shadow


It poured heavily that night. Thunderstorm rocked the city like a time bomb. The crowded streets felt like a desert and everyone flocked to the confines of their four walls. The whole country watched in horror as the news unfurled live on the idiot box. The politician who indulges in rhetoric about patriotism has been nabbed to be in cahoots with terrorists and was conspiring for a terror attack to struck the country. The people were in a state of shocked and yelled betrayal in front of their TV set. It feels like the hand of the devil casting its shadow on the life of the average commoners.

After all, such kind of traitors always take the people and their followers for a ride, fooling them by using emotional gimmick while they ride on crores of gold. The country is slowly recovering from demonetization and the sudden death of a revered iconic woman politician in the south when it was struck with another sharp blow on the face.

The bomb has been diffused. The Indian army, NCG commanders, and the entire police force have barricaded the sea and port declaring curfew till the politician is not arrested. Helicopters are hovering below the sky and above the tall buildings in the city to ensure that no mayhem happen till this terrorist is not dragged out and handcuffed, to a secret location. The TV crew and journalists are having a field day, stationed in front of the sprawling bungalow of the neta-turned-villain airing live update. The entire country is on tenterhooks. It is the day when the commoners are winning against celebrities with shows like Big Boss and Kaun Banega Crorepati registering abysmally low TRP not exceeding two points. It’s judgment Day.

 

Cigarettes were stubbed in the ashtray inside the studio apartment. The wooden door was wide open that gave an aerial view of the city from the balcony. The television channels were flipped to get the latest news and, in particular, some bizarre news that would rage and boil inside his crazy mind. He confined himself inside his studio, not daring to move his feet past the door. After all, he was engulfed in fear.

The power of imagination halted after being a self-made prisoner for 360 days of writing his novel. Politician arrested for terror act, rain, thunder, and fall in TRP…the thread was missing. The author banged his head on the table with pen in hand after writing 359 pages for he couldn’t arrive at a breath-taking climax. After all, what will happen when the cop arrest the politician involved in terrorism! He suddenly went blank.

Loud fists were heard on his door and he turned around to see cops waiting for him. They thrust him with force on the floor and handcuffed his hands. The CBI officer winked, “Game over, son. You planted a false video in the house of the Minister and played a smart game to convince us that he is a terrorist.  We found out everything and how you’ve brought the whole country down, in chasing this man, barricade his house and bringing the city down.” The officer ordered to his junior, “Take his whole manuscript. After all, he will write the climax in jail.”

Love

V

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