Skip to main content



read the previous chapter here


And now I emerge from the generator room, having disabled the power in the building.  I am the one in control here.  It’s a heady feeling.  I push the buttons, I make the decisions. For now, for this moment, I am God. In a way.  In a small, momentary way.  Just for now.  As the few souls who people the building stumble about helplessly, I know exactly what I have to do.  Whoever said he that does evil hates the light said rightly.  Under the cover of darkness, much can be accomplished discreetly. 

The watchman, in confusion, doesn’t even notice when I move in behind him. Rendering him unconscious with a blow is easily done.  Tied up, gagged and helpless within minutes, he’ll be no threat to me now.  The building, a recently constructed one, with only a few occupants as yet, provides the ideal venue for my final act of revenge – the helpless victim striking back, the victim, in fact, becoming the victor.

My princess, my dragonfly, the joy of my very existence remains lost to me forever.  No one even cares.  Oh, there was rhetoric in abundance when it happened, mere lip service.  They film documentaries, speak in conferences, drum up emotions at election time.  But it’s all an eyewash, mere hypocrisy.  When I was running from pillar to post, trying to rescue my beloved child from the clutches of evil, what I got was mere, meaningless, rhetoric.  Everyone told me how sorry they were and then carried on with their own lives, leaving me alone with my tears, my memories, my loneliness.  I am fully convinced that the human trafficking activist, the fair boy who is held for the minister’s murder, is using the anguish and loss of people like me to enhance his prestige and further his career.  Such hypocrisy.

They are all liars, every last one of them.  How they lie!  They tell you how sorry they are for your trouble.  But they don’t know the first thing about what it feels like to lose the one thing, the one person who meant everything in life to you, who gave mere human existence meaning and joy.  She is gone forever and they may quote figures and verbalize sympathy and even occasionally rescue a bunch of trafficked children from a beggar’s ring, but more, many more remain lost forever, unrescued, unsung.  Where is my beautiful dragonfly?  Is she a dancing girl in a brothel somewhere, being drooled over by licentious wolves?  Is she forced to yield her body nightly to lecherous hypocrites who pose as respectable citizens by day?  My dragonfly must surely have been selected for one of the five star institutions of that industry, for her beauty was uncommon.  I feel deep down that she was not sold for her ability to provide kidneys or a heart to someone who had the wherewithal to pay for new organs, as some pay for new prosthetic knees and elbows.  No, my princess was targeted and taken because she stood out from the rest.  Just like that dragonfly tattoo she had emblazoned on her wrist just days before she disappeared. She was someone unique and not a girl easily forgotten by anyone.  And not by me.  Never by me.

I realize that my days are numbered.  That photographer woman from Kochi has already trailed me here and has befriended the Dattas.  No!  Although it grieves me deeply that an innocent may have to suffer, I can't stand by helplessly and wait to be caught. Now society at large must bear the consequences for the pain it has inflicted upon me.

I got no closure from the minister’s death.  I now understand that he was not the author of my misfortunes.  It was that evil fox, that Chandy.  I befriended him, got close to him, in order to accomplish my mission.  It was easy, too easy. Chandy let me know when the fair boy had his audience with the minister, without the benefit of security.  I’d told him I needed to have a personal word with the minister about my case.  Chandy must have known that I really meant to do the minister harm, because he gave me access so readily on the basis of a flimsy acquaintance.  I now realize I was merely a pawn in his hands.  At first it seemed like Chandy had set me up with an alibi but in all probability Chandy is the real murderer, as he knew the minister was bound to find out about his misdeeds sooner or later.  I was like a pawn in his hands.

 Now, as my moment of destiny draws near, the memory of my dragonfly, my beloved one, inspires me.  

Although bereft and left alone
Your memory remains with me
Grief has turned my heart to stone
As I, I stumble helplessly
And every single step I take
And every single thing I do
And every single move I make
Empowered by only thoughts of you
And thoughts of you will spur me on
Until my fearsome deed is done

You are always in my heart and will be forever no matter what happens and no matter whether we never, ever meet again.

Love never dies.  But oh, God how it hurts. And hurts……oh, Priya……my Anupriya……


The next chapter is here.....

 “Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at #CelebrateBlogging with 
The team Bards of the Blogosphere comprises of DivsiPRBPeeVeeArpitaDatta Nupur,SulekhaMaria and Roshan.

Our Facebook page is here


  1. A father's anguish depicted so brilliantly! How helpless one is when no one cares for your loss, very beautifully written.

  2. It is my first time i visit here. I found so many entertaining stuff in your blog, especially its discussion. From the tons of comments on your articles, I guess I am not the only one having all the leisure here! Keep up the excellent work.
    Tobacco Machines


Post a Comment

Thanks for visiting me. Please let me know you were here

Popular posts from this blog

Good Intentions

I had great intentions for this week.  I'd write a thousand words every day, review six books, get my Loose Bloggers Consortium (LBC) post up well in advance.  And did I?  No, no, no.  I wrote about two hundred words per day and have been trying to read and review two books and still not finished reading.  My target of 19,000 words until today by now is around 15,000 on my 100kWords in 100 Days Challenge.  It seems I'm just not cutting the mustard.

I have the intentions.  I just don't seem to have the mojo to carry out the things I want to do. So many intentions, not enough time.  I've not been sleeping well lately.  Probably very tired.

So - my intention now is to try to get more sleep.  Then carry out the original intentions.That' what I intend to do.  As of now.  Meanwhile, my post is up one day late.

I had to go out to the bank this morning to get some pending work finished.  I clicked the above picture en route.  It seems that after a three week winter, we're…

Global Peace - Is It Possible? LBC Post

I can't believe it's Friday already and time for another LBC post.  The Loose Blogger's Consortium (LBC) is a blogging group consisting of about half a dozen of us who blog together every Friday on the same topic.  We are indebted to Ramana (aka blogger Rummuser) for this week's topic.  Instead of just giving a straightforward topic like anyone else would, he posed a question instead.  Is global peace possible? he asked.  I decided to answer his question in a Tweet sized sentence.

Is global peace possible?  Of course it is. If everyone gets in harmony with each other.   But will it happen?  How on earth would I know?

As we say in Ireland (well, as they used to say when I lived there two decades ago), that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Thanks to All-Free-Download for the photo.  Thanks to Lettercount for their character counting facilities.  And thanks to my LBC group for being there every Friday in blogging solidarity.

The Curse of Poverty - Short Story

As the dawn light spread its fingers across the early morning, Rajji stirred uneasily.  She tended to sleep like a street dog - ever alert, with one ear open.  But she'd been tired the previous night and as a consequence had slept rather heavily. Her life was a constant struggle, filled with tasks and responsibilities. If she hadn't been careful, she might have been robbed!  She sprang into alert mode and clutched about her person.  No, everything was in place, the precious money was undisturbed.  Thanks to her employment with the bank, cleaning for one hour every morning, six days a week, she even had a bank account which one of the bank employees had helped her to set up.  What little money she had saved up was safe.....

She looked over her children.  Babu, her son lay sleeping still.  Muniya, her daughter, stirred, close to waking up.  But where was Gudiya, her youngest child?  Might have woken up early and gone to wander around.  Gudiya knew everyone around here and every…