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The sound of the evening Azaan woke Cyrus up with a start. His shadow had lengthened. From a small window in the dirty wall, he could see the sun bidding adieu to make way for the moon. Last he remembered listening to the morning chirping of birds as he was blind folded and led somewhere by Ahuja’s men. “How did it get so late so soon?” he wondered. The pain in his head was quick to remind him of how eventful the day had been…how he had tried a futile scuffle with one of his captors, and then something had hit his head making everything blank the next moment…
He had been lying unconscious the entire day. He tried to move his limbs, to amass the damage done, there wasn’t much damage though, yet his body cried of pain inflicted by the blows of his captors. He looked around the room - dirty, barren walls, bits of old broken furniture lying here and there. There was hardly anything to indicate if someone lived here. However, a strong smell of spices intrigued Cyrus. “Perhaps this smell can tell me where I am”, he thought and went near the window. There was so much to be done, and with him being stuck, nothing could be done.
With his hands tied, all he could manage was a peep. The evening sky was abundant with white pigeons. Houses covered every square inch of land till the horizon. The sound of azaan was coming from left. As his eyes found the source of the sound, a big smile covered his face. To his left, he could see the famous Jama Masjid. “So I am near Jama Masjid, that should make things easier”, a ray of the evening sun fell on his face, and he knew Allah signaled him there was still hope.
“Mr. Prime Minister, we want to know how can someone of that important a position can go underground for spiritual blessings as the whole nation thought you were kidnapped?” A young female reporter looked adamant. Another reporter supported her, “Sir, it’s not just about us, the reputation of our country globally gets affected. The world media has been in frenzy…the PM of India is nowhere to be found. The gossip mills have been at their speculative best, and there are stories ranging from intervention by Al Qaeda to an internal coup. The nation wants to know the truth, sir!”
The creases on the PM’s forehead appeared more defined this time. With a pause, he said, “We are glad the media is so proactive about saving the nation’s image on the global front. However, you must also understand that considering the current circumstances involving our relations with our neighbors, not every action can be left out in the open. We are working for the public and rest assured, the image of our country at the global front is one of our biggest priorities.
At the couch of a luxurious living room in Mumbai, a curious pair of eyes watched all the action on TV. The sips of the Single Malt got more frequent as the PM showed up on the stage and began his speech.
The spotless white shoes stopped their movement as the reporters began the question.
“Aha, let the fun begin”, he said with a sarcastic smile.
Cyrus looked down from the window. The narrow by lanes of the walled city bustled with activity. Lanes were illuminated and loudspeakers jarred out campaigns in fake friendly tones. It was election time in Delhi. The walled city, being a major minority vote bank was always a lucrative deal for the politicians. Cyrus spotted a PCR van. His vocal chords put together all their might to summon the police to come to his rescue. The next moment, he realized the tragic game destiny had played, nobody would ever hear him now.
Helpless and dejected, he closed his eyes and remembered his father’s face. “Oh dad, give me the strength to fight out this Chakravyuh” he said a silent prayer in his heart. A fighter till the end, his father had taught him never to give up. Cyrus looked around in his room, for any possible tool that could help him. His captors had left him alone, comforted by his inability to call for help. Near the door lay an old couch with something covered by a bedsheet. Curious, Cyrus quickly moved toward it. As he reached the couch, his eyes widened with shock...
Beneath the bedsheet lay a little girl, unconscious…
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