Incident at Heganahalli - Part 3

Author's Note: Read part 1 and part 2 first.

The solution came to me as clear and loud as a KSRTC bus. It was in fact a KSRTC bus parked close by. The driver must have seen the mob, abandoned all hope and run away. The mob would reach the bus in about 30 minutes I calculated. But before that they would probably damage all the shops in the area. I knew what to do to attract them all away from the destruction and pillaging and to satiate the primordial drives that seemed to have hijacked their senses. I hurried into the bus and slowly drove it close to the junction. Then I honked twice.

"Pom Pom."

One by one the rioters stopped their frenzied rampage and walked to the bus. They were like the moths that fly towards the light in my sit out. I had run out the back door to my bike and was ready to flee at the first sign of danger. A plump middle aged lady jerked off a road divider** and smashed a window of the bus. I caught the look on her face during the act. There was pure bliss there. Others quickly followed and then some smarty put a towel in the petrol tank and lit it. The metal giant burst into flames.

Everyone gathered around the burning locomotive as if to pay last respects. Several minutes passed and yet no one moved. They dropped the weapons they held; their yearnings had been quelled, energies spent and it was time to return to their families. The mob was dispersing. I took one last look at the juggernaut that stopped for the common man, the cheap transport of the masses that always inexplicably bore the brunt of their anger, before heading back to the station. On my way I passed a fire engine and an ambulance trying to make its way to the carnage almost one and half hours after the violence had erupted.

By the time I headed back home that day I was despondent. The brush with real danger, the madness of the mob and above all the mistreatment by that wretched inspector had made me feel depressed. The worst part was that I couldn't treat myself with my usual medicine. Top Star was no more. It seems many of Gowda's other bars had also been destroyed that day. I thought I should get used to it and went to a wine shop that was on the way and bought a quarter of RC.

As I entered my house I saw Malathi sitting near the door step. She looked distraught; her eyes were moist with tears. She hugged me and whispered in between sobs, "I was so worried."

"I am OK," I said beginning to feel better already.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**- based on an actual event

Incident at Heganahalli - Part 2

Author's Note: Read part 1 first.

My heart sank. "I am right here," I said as I sheepishly moved forward from behind the HC.

"Right. Go ahead and find out where they are now and how bad the situation is." He then proceeded to yell more orders with so much gusto that I wished for an umbrella to shield me from all the spit that came my way. Anbu Valsan was hurt. He didn't care about the wound. He only cared about the rule of terror. What was the point in being a police man if the low-lifes didn't buckle at their knees on seeing us? How else could ten of us reign over a thousand of them? We all knew that the halo of terror was our best weapon, the scepter with which we subjugated the masses.

I was to go ahead as a scout and do reconnaissance. Meanwhile the rest of them would collect themselves, wake up those who were still sleeping, get the lathis, helmets, cane shields etc., to ready to take on a mob. I guess saar felt that I didn't need any of that extra protection. What a [synonym for cat]. So I left the station not knowing how much danger was on my way, only knowing that I needed to transfer to another station soon.

As I neared the Jaaravanahudi junction I caught the acrid smell of burning tyres. Several of them were stacked in the middle of the road and people holding [ruling party] flags were forcing nearby shops to down shutters. They held aloft banners that read "He ordered wine, he got swine", "Paid for pegs, served like pigs", "Gobi chilli good, piggy chills bad" and so on. But the centerpiece was a huge banner that read, "Justice to Mangappa. Gowda's liquor killed his ticker." In between the mayhem I saw that something else was burning. Top Star Bar.

"Nooooooo." But I couldn't get close. One of the miscreants spotted me and uttered a guttural cry that gave me the shivers. I turned my bike around and raced away with the sound of my rattling heart drowning all else. After traversing a safe distance I called the station.

"Yah we know there is a riot there. We got a complaint a few minutes back."

"Why didn't you call me?" my voice broke like that of a pubescent boy. Apparently none of those [hen drinker (drink like with a straw)] thought about me. I felt like tearing my uniform apart and joining the rioters. Just then two jeeps zoomed past me with sirens blaring. The cavalry had arrived. Normally when the ruling party instigates a riot we keep a distance. But this time it was personal; at least for the psychopath who ran the show.

My colleagues jumped off their jeeps with lathi's held high and the dozen and a half of them beat into pulp the lone rioter who had strayed too far away from the rest. Soon the other rioters saw this and attacked the police men with their sticks, tube lights, cycle chains etc. A bloody battle ensued and within minutes the men in khakhi were lying prostrate on the ground groveling and groaning. Some of them were trying to escape by crawling on all fours.

To my surprise one of the jeeps turned around and came towards me. It was him, my enemy. While his men were getting pulverised, the inspector had stayed back in his jeep. "He is probably worried about spoiling his complexion," I guessed.

"Stay here and make sure it doesn't get out of hand." And then he sped away leaving me gaping in disbelief.

The mob was getting bigger. It was no longer just party gundas. People had been intimidated by incessant news reports about the swine flu for months. They were desperate, but impotent. They would have grabbed any chance to get even with the invisible enemy, no matter how incredulous it was. The time was ripe for a riot. As more people gathered at the junction shouting slogans and blocking vehicles, Top Star Bar burned away in the background.

Then it got ugly. They pelted stones at a Maruthi car that was passing by and then pushed a middle aged man off his scooter and burned it. They were getting angrier and hungry for more violence. I knew I was in terrible danger. They had to be pacified somehow, I had to quell their rage or at least get out of their way.

continued in part 3....

Incident at Heganahalli - Part 1

Author's Note: Three points. Firstly although the actual dialogues were in Kanada and Desi Englees all of them have been translated to English here for the ease of the reader. Please call your local police station for the original version. Secondly all swear words have been edited out and replaced with 'family audience' friendly words. Call your local police station for more details about the actual swear words. Thirdly, the story is set in Bangalore as homage to my friends there. But it might have been any other Indian city as well.

I woke up that day to the sound of my wife's gargles.

"I haf pacd Bisi Bele Bhad fo yor lunh," she said before spitting out through our window.

"Today is already turning out great," I mumbled and staggered to our bathroom.

"Goodbye kano," she said and smiled at me as she stepped out of the house.

With a grunt I dismissed her. I hated that she had to work. "If only her [popular four letter verb/noun/..]-er father had given more when I married her."

My daily morning routine consists of a 4 km jog, several sit ups, push ups and chin ups before elaborate weight lifting exercises followed by a bath and breakfast. But today I was already too late, so I skipped a few steps and went directly to an elaborate breakfast. Don't think this happened everyday, sometimes I did take a bath.

I hurriedly changed into my uniform and rushed to the station. It was OK that I was almost 45 minutes late, but any more and it would have been less than one hour before my tea break and that would have made me feel guilty. After signing the attendance register, I went to the station entrace and stood guard like I did every other day. I don't know why the Heganahalli police station needed a guard at the entrance. Only a militant would dare attack the station and in case of any sign of such an attack I would definitely drop my rifle and run screaming into the station. "Hmm, may be that is what they want me to do. To warn the others so that they can also run."

These same thoughts occur to me everyday, I thought. They usually precede very warm thoughts about saar, Inspector Anbu Valsan, my greatest enemy. That [question parentage] was the reason I was on guard duty . The [the popular four letter word]-er put me here instead of Manjunath, just because he is his wife's cousin. That cheap [very subtle hint at oedipus complex]. I was sweating profusely and was trembling with rage. I just needed to hold on for a few more minutes till the boy brought hot tea and masala vada to cool me down. Then the cycle would repeat till lunch.

It was a public secret that the son of a [question mother's species] kept a tube of Fair and Lovely and a Sandalwood scented 'scent' in his desk drawer. The latter would be used whenever anybody from the fairer sex made the mistake of coming alone to the station. After being intimidated by the lecherous glares of the constables outside they inevitably ended up in the inspector's office hoping for a serving of justice. Instead they got served a full meal of spicy smooth talk from the philandering son of a [question mother's species again].

When the tea boy finally came I went to the head constable's desk for an extra vada. He was chatting with another constable. "You know about the spat between Bageerappa and Madheya Gowda? Bageerappa has vowed to ruin Gowda it seems."

"Yah, I heard saar. Gowda was stupid to help [opposition party name] during the election."

"Yah, right. And there is also a rumor going around that Gowda's bars are selling food and liquor contaminated with swine flu. "

"Is it?", I exclaimed. I had met many of my closest friends at Gowda's Top Star Bar; Kalyani, Kingfisher, McDowells, RC and several others. Infact I had gone there to renew our friendship just the previous night. Did I have the deadly flu? Was it possible? How did it get in the liquor? I was scared.

"Shambu you didn't go to Top Star did you?" Seeing the expression on my face he laughed, a wholehearted unconstrained laugh that shook his giant pot belly and by contact his table. The tremors caused his tea glass to topple and spill on his table.

I barely heard all the profanities spewed by the HC while I walked back to my post.

[23 yawns later]

Constable Manjunath was running to the station screaming, "They attacked Anbu saar. They attacked Anbu saar." On seeing no change in my countenence he proceeded into the station and repeated his chant. He said some party workers had stopped the inspector's jeep when he was returning from Jyothi Nivas college and threw stones at him. I couldnt care less, why did he have to go to that college anyway? It was almost 15 kms away and he went there everyday.

Then the jeep arrived and Anbu ran into his office to look in the mirror he kept at his desk. He was furious when he saw a small bloody swelling on his forehead. The wound he had on his shoulder from which he bled all over his uniform didn't seem to bother him.

"Get me constable Shambu," he growled.

continued in part 2.....

Mighty Roark

Prologue: I have obliged your appeals for a new story. Please stop bombarding me with requests and enquiries about my hiatus from creative writing.

Roark was perched on a shiny precipice when suddenly it was not dark anymore. He scrambled to the nearest shade and took a peek. Though it was blindingly bright he could make out that one of the giants was out there. The shadow of the creature seemed to stretch over the entire horizon. Then it moved towards him. Roark could feel his heart skip a few beats. As it neared him the stench was overwhelmingly nauseating. Fear creeped up over him and it took him all his will power to be still. He knew what would happen if the creature saw any sign of life down here.

It was on a similar day that he had witnessed the massacre of his entire family. One of the younglings who didn't know about the giants was playing outside when one of them appeared along with the blinding light. The youngling panicked and ran back towards the family. He didn't know that the giant's gaze had followed him. In less than a moment they were all mercilessly crushed.

"May be the same would happen to me now," Roark thought rather placidly.

The giant stopped. Something had slipped from his limbs and large yellow globules bounced off the earth making such a ruckus that Roark thought his head would explode. The giant for some reason quickly ran away. Roark felt his fear pass. He was emboldened by the fact that he anyway did not have much to loose. He cautiously walked towards the globules and climbed over one of them. There were many of these wonderful globules scattered over the earth. He seemed to be enthralled by them more and more every minute. Then he took a bite out of it. It felt good, refreshing in fact. He took many more bites of the globule. He gorged on it like he did not care about anything else in this world. He feasted till he knew there was no place left in his stomach for any more. Then he ate some more. The only thought he had before he passed out was that for the first time he took something from them, the giants. He had had his revenge. He was glad.

Next to Roark lay a translucent object with jagged edges on which was a pattern he had not been able to discern. That pattern was "ITAMIN TABL".

"AAHHHHHH." Roark had woken up to terrible pain. There was a storm trying to burst every vein and sinew in his body. In between the violent outbursts of pain he could see that he was growing, with terrible speed. He was transforming or even metamorphosising. He was several times taller and his muscles were at least a hundred times bigger. His wings were a magnificent orange and his antennae were needles of steel. Thus was born the MIGHTY ROACH - protector of the cockroach realm.

Yeesh..... Rubbish. I don't feel like writing today. Sorry readers I am stuck with cockroaches. As compensation I give you this, a story I wrote for a creative writing contest in my old office. Topic was 'Creating our future'. Reproduced with all errors intact.

Creating our future

It was a creepy night... Jark's severed head was rolling down the hill. His wife Julie was singing maniacally "Jark and Julie went up the hill....... Jark is now rolling down the hill". And then she started trembling and cried "Jark come back, come back Jark".

::Flash back: 2 months ago::
Captain Zork was adamant. He wanted his son Jark to join the intergalactic flight school. He always told him "Son this is for your future.... I just want you to be happy". Jark wanted to run away from home to join the circus as a clown. But his love for Julie stayed him. Julie was his childhood sweetheart.

The next morning he went to see Julie. "I cannot live like this. You know how much I want to be a clown, but if I become a clown I might not be able to support you. Oh! What should I do?"

With tears in her eyes Julie said "Your father cannot decide your destiny. We create our future. My destiny is to be with you. So I will join you in the circus and become your partner clown."

Suddenly it started to rain heavily and Jark and Julie were dancing.........

::Flash back: 2 minutes ago::
Two clowns where running up a hill one behind the other. Jark was running for his life. Julie was behind him with a laser gun. They reach the summit. Jark stops. Panting heavily he says "Have you gone crazy?".

Julie aims for his head and fires. The heat ray slices his neck in two. Julie starts singing maniacally......

::NOW::
Julie runs to the well and calls out to Jark. Jark shouts back "I am chained to the well. Shoot at the chains with your laser."

ZAP....ZAP....

{Yes dear readers the real Jark is alive and well. His father had sent an imposter wearing a rubber mask to kill Julie, but she proved to be smart.}

Jark looks at the azure sky and then at his beautiful sweetheart and asks "How did you know it was not me?".

"I didn't."

ZAP....ZAP....

Julie repeated her chant as Jarks head (the real Jarks head) was rolling down the hill "Jark and Julie went up the hill....... Jark is now rolling down the hill. I am no longer a clown. HA HA HA"

We make our future the way we want it, especially if we have a laser gun.

Epilogue: Don't be shocked . I took it as a chance to feed them back all the shit they shoved at me. I e-mailed the work to our HR as follows:

Hi Shurpanaka (name changed to not cause offence),

Attached is my entry for creative writing. I give more importance to participation than winning, but if you want give me a prize for this (??) I will reluctantly accept.
Regards,
Manu

Zombies in Shanti Nagar - part 1

Author's note: This one is a comedy that most people should be able to enjoy. It was the first story of mine that I let other people read (showing others my older creations would have got me locked up in a mental asylum). BTW I didn't draw this picture.



Every writer goes through a rough patch in life when he starts off with his career. It is usually a time when he is an unsociable ogre desperately trying to socialize in the hope of finding inspiration. Unfortunately his overdrawn monologues induce even his friends to run for their lives at the sight of him. Of course anybody would scatter when confronted by a pauper who wants to drink with him. Before my first best seller was published I was almost labeled an antisocial drunk.

You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it. *

We, the accomplished writers, have certain patented techniques to help rookies through this exasperating period. I was employing one of these to scout for new ideas. I wanted to be inspired enough to write volumes incessantly. I would visit new places, listen to strangers’ conversations and even stare at interesting faces in the hope of finding a muse. I used to go to Corner House and join lively groups (of strangers) at their tables. I did that until the security kept a look out for me. The official term for this technique is ‘snooping around’.

The evening before I started writing my first magnum opus I had gone alone to my favorite restaurant. My roommate, who bathes so rarely that the plumbing clogs when he does, had raced to the bathroom when I asked him to accompany me. It seems he wanted a leisurely bath that evening and that he planned to remain under the shower until late at night. It did sound suspicious to me, but since he has done stranger things I did not force him further. Also the prospect of a roommate who didn’t stink intrigued me. I went to my neighbor to check if he was free. My neighbor is a very jolly fellow and we are good buddies. I knocked on his door. He opened the door and I could just make out his petrified face before he slammed it shut.

“Man……. I am on an important call now. Come later.”
“Hey! I didn’t see a phone in your hand.”
“I am using hands-free.”
“No you are not. I have your hands-free kit. OH! You bought a new one? I'll keep the old one then?”
“Keep it. Keep it. Just leave now.” It almost sounded like he was crying. Was he upset with me? Did he want back his iPOD and DVDs and the books and magazines and the trekking shoes, sports socks and ....? (that was all I could remember then). I never found out.

Time is money

I had to dash the final 100 m. The board with ‘Sea Shells’ embossed in blue neon allured me. I was panting by the time I reached the place. I scampered to the bar counter and in between gasps for breath ordered four drinks. I had just about made it. Happy hours get over at 8:30 p.m. and it was already 8:25 p.m. Content with myself for having valiantly saved some money I started ‘snooping around’ while leisurely sipping my drinks.

There was a young couple in the table next to mine. The pretty girl was wearing a bright red top and jeans and had the face of an angel. She was chatting excitedly with exaggerated expressions and gesticulations and the guy er.... the guy......er... I just remember that there was a guy. I had tried to listen to their conversation. She was talking about her friend's marriage and it started getting interesting as their conversation went into more controversial topics like soul mates, true love, live-ins etc. I thought I was about to get an interesting story when her mobile rang. And that was the end of it. She was on the phone for god knows how long, whispering and giggling like only girls can do. I got bored and decided to wait for other people to come. In the meanwhile I concentrated on my food and drinks.

“We are slivers of melting ice adrift in a gilded sea. Navigate through treacherous bubbling whirlpools and torpid froth to not sink into mediocrity. Eventually all fade into the sea without any trace of this journey called life so wade through all the muck and get to the lemons. Yeah, the sweet sour lemons.” I was almost philosophical while sucking the lemon slice in my long island iced tea.

Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen

I was rudely interrupted from my reverie by some commotion in the adjoining table. One guy was screaming profanities at a waiter. Something about not getting ice cubes for his drink. His companions were trying to mollify him but he didn’t budge and kept up his tirade. It was apparent that he was an idiot. Not all the ice in the world will get him to the lemons I thought and a bout of hysterical laughter took over me. Again I was rudely interrupted by him, but this time he muttered only one sentence. But the filth and grime contained in that one line will never wash off me. “YUCK.”

I quietly turned to the opposite side and searched for newcomers at the restaurant. It seems there was a cricket match that night and all the regular patrons were at home with asses glued on their couches and their eyes stuck to their TV sets. All the other tables except for one were empty. That table was strewn with a lot of empty glasses and was occupied by a shabbily dressed man with unkempt hair, an unshaven face and blood shot eyes. He was looking at me with keen interest like he was studying me. I realized that I was giving him the same look. As realization turned into recognition I abruptly diverted my gaze to the ceiling (surprisingly it seemed like he did the same). He was doing the same thing as me i.e. scouting for a muse in the guise of a desperately hopeless drunk and it even looked like we were in the same mental state. It felt very eerie right then, as if I had met a doppelganger.

“Will I explode if I touched him, like when a particle meets its anti-particle?” as I pondered this a waiter told me, as obsequiously as possible, that the bar was about to close. It was time to leave. Anyway there was no one there who could inspire me. Also I had only enough money for the return auto fare, one and a half of course. “May be the person who can make me write is not born yet”, I lamented.

* - Statistics show that many enterprising readers** in this country prefer 'self-help' books that profess time management and confidence building skills. The lines in bold are for their comfort and interest

** - Statistics also show that these readers are morons.

Zombies in Shanti Nagar - part 2

When life gives you a lemon, make lemonade

On the way back home my auto driver noticed the disappointment in my face.

“Love failurah?” he asked.
“Huh? Airport Road”, I hadn’t heard him properly at first.

His not so restrained chuckles made me feel uneasy. I was reminded of my own doings with the hot shot at Sea Shells. I realized that we are all the same, that we just had different ways of doing things. Couldn’t we all just get along? An idea was budding in my mind. I thought about my melting ice and lemons analogy and about the doppelganger. Ideas were piling up in my mind. I knew I was about to hit orbit and that a grand theory was taking shape, sort of like a unified theory of life. The rush of the exhilarating cerebral activity was awesome and it made me high. The fact that I was already high helped.

I had found my story. Only it was so profound that its ramifications would be felt for centuries to come. I was feeling very light and free. “May be this is what enlightenment feels like. This auto is to me like the tree was to Buddha.” I placed a hand on the auto driver’s shoulder and told him that he was very lucky. It was his turn to feel uneasy.

In the end, dear friend, it is always between us and God *

Zombies were coming down the stairs in my grandma's house. Few of my relatives where screaming with terror while others were whimpering and groveling on the floor. This new reality, where zombies invade homes, was beyond their comprehension. There was only one who could maintain his composure, me (did u doubt that?). They say that circumstances make heroes; well this was when I turned into one. I knew we had to fight them and as the bravest of the lot the responsibility fell on me. Orders were given and executed. Barricades were made to block the staircase, but I knew it wouldn't hold them back forever **. I would have to fight the zombies and protect those innocent relatives of mine (under normal circumstances we are mortal enemies, but when confronted by creatures from the nether world I realized that blood is thicker than .......eh whatever ooze flows through zombie's veins).

The barricades were interspersed with items from the pooja room, in the hope that the holy objects would repel the zombies. This kept the monsters at bay for a short while but then their numbers were too high. The barricades were breached. It was time for confrontation. The elite corps chosen by me was already in formation at the battle front waiting for my command.

“Go back to hell you creatures from ......eh........... hell. GO TO HELL I SAY. THEY MIGHT TAKE OUR LIVES BUT THEY WILL NEVER TAKE OUR....... our...........take us?”, I almost sounded like Mel Gibson when I said that.

Then I signaled the elite corps, comprised of my aunts and uncles, to begin their battle maneuvers. And one by one, all at different times, they started singing “Krishna ne beganne baro...” The raging cacophony horrified the zombies. Their pathetic screams goaded us on and we sang the bhajan with more conviction.

“Religion is the reason......” that was me. I only knew the words from the colonial cousin's song. Everyone stopped singing. Then all as one pointed fingers at me and laughed like there was no tomorrow. Even the zombies had stopped their howling to guffaw at me. But a very loud rumbling was masking all the other sounds. It was overwhelming and demanded immediate attention. Who or what was making that noise? And then I woke up.

The rumbling was from my tummy, massive hangover you see. When I had got home the previous night I was too tired to write anything. So I had decided to have a good night's sleep and write down my unified theory of life in the morning after getting fresh. But then while sitting on the toilet trying to recollect the previous nights events I could not remember the theory at all. I could remember everything else but the theory seemed to have vanished from my mind.

“My chance for success ruined.... It was just a dream anyway”, and then it came back to me - the dream, the zombie nightmare. I thought that it was actually an interesting story and that with sufficient embellishments it could be turned into an unputdownable thriller. And so I started with my first novel “Zombies in Shanti Nagar.”

* - Statistics show that .... er......I think that most readers prefer stories with a twist at the end. Get ready for a very twisted ending

** - No matter how strong the barricades are the zombies will always break in somehow................ as has been proved through the dime a dozen zombie movies.

Tales from Azeroth: The Betrayal

Author's note: This one is set in the WoW mythos, but has a lot of deviations from it. Anyway it is self contained and so it doesn't matter if you are thinking wtf is WoW (but shame on you).

Through the nether world his spirit had wandered, reckless with vengeance and madness. The gleaming specks of his miasmic spirit bled through a portal ablaze in lightning fire and surged onto his decaying body. The blind half – demon, half - elven warrior had been resurrected. The twin blades that lay on his chest seemed to throb with electric energy. He slid his fingers into its hand grips like they had done countless times before. The betrayer had awoken.

“Who dares awaken me?” thundered Illidan Stormrage. “I am the rogue, the betrayer, the demon who was once an elf. My whole life was a play of hatred and bitterness. When I died no one mourned me....... and now you resurrect me? What does this mean? Who is foolish enough to bring this wretched being back from the dead?”

“It was I.” The voice had a shrillness that could pause any passing creature's heart. It came from everywhere, as if a hundred wisps all around sang in unison. Far from being pleasant it evoked images of slithering serpents with their fangs grating against each other's scales. It came from a banshee. “I am Sylvanas Windrunner, the Queen of the Forsaken. Once a revered elven warrior much like you, but cursed into a fate worse than death – into undeath.”

“And what do you want?” rasped the demon elf.

“Why? The same thing that you want.........” The banshee's eyes were orbs of green flames as she hissed through gritted teeth, “VENGEANCE”.

______


“Priestess, the Lich king's undead army has breached the alliance's defenses. It is only a matter of a few days before they reach the Moonglade forest and disrupt our beloved druids' slumber.”

“Good work huntress........ leave me now.” The priestess, Tyrande, had dreadful secrets that she could not reveal even to her trusted sentinels. She was expecting her scout owl to return any moment with news from the banshee territory. The fair elf was fondly called the priestess though she was the titular head of the night elves. Her beauty had been sung about in lands afar. It had once made two of the most powerful elves quarrel. The Stormrage twins were both in love with her, but she chose the wise druid Malfurion Stormrage and married him.

Malfurion was now drifting in the transcendent emerald dream rejuvenating his powers. He was to be aroused on the day of solstice that was just three days away. The savior of the people could then fulfill his duty and stem the surge of the Lich king's scourge. But until then he could not be troubled or he would be forever in a vegetate state. The undead scourge was advancing, relentlessly slaughtering and enlisting anyone who opposed them, for the scourge turned their kill into the undead. The Moonglade forest, where Malfurion and his fellow druids were recuperating would soon be blighted and infested with the undead minions of the Lich king. Malfurion would be killed and there would not be a champion left to rescue their world.

As Tyrande gazed out of her citadel's window her brow was wrinkled. She knew that there was almost no hope left of rescuing her people, her forest and above all of Malfurion. The Lich king had outwitted and overpowered her forces at every turn. Now was her last chance and she prayed that she would be more fortunate. She only needed to hold on for another three days, but that seemed impossible.

______


“You are an incompetent fool!”, cried the Lich king.

“Your majesty..... haven't I served you well?” Anub'arak the chief lieutenant reminded him.

“Then why do we have so many setbacks? Azeroth should have been conquered by now.”

“We cannot fail ...... you are almost a god.”

“Yes. Soon I will be a god. But now my army is too far away for me to control telepathically. I, myself will go to the battlefront and put an end to this pathetic resistance by the alliance,” thundered the king. “Make sure that everyone knows of my plans. The puny alliance will tremble on hearing these tidings...... they shall be devoid of all hope long before I unsheathe my sword in battle.”

The undead scourge unleashed their blood lust on the defending alliance champions with renewed gusto as emissaries brought forth the tidings of the Lich king's impending entry onto the battle field. And soon the alliance came to know their doom, that the invincible tyrant would conquer the elven territory and blight their holy forests.

______


“You remember Tyrande don't you?” the banshee teased Illidan.

“Of course, more than anything else.”

“Then hear this........ she is presently in terrible danger. She, as the commander of the alliance is the biggest obstacle to the Lich king's plans and he will see to it that it doesn't remain that way.”

“What are you saying?” Illidan was perturbed.

“The Lich king himself is entering the battle. Your brother Malfurion is recuperating in the emerald dream. There is no one left who can face the Lich king......... except you.”

“Me? He defeated me once before...... and he is several multitudes stronger now........” shouted a perplexed Illidan.

“Your demon avatar is impervious to his new powers...... and you will not face him alone this time. I have enough reasons for joining you. The wretched bastard did this to me, turned me into a banshee.”

“All right. I will go with you. What is your plan?” he asked.

The banshee related to him the events that had transpired since his death and then the details of her plan. They would go to the fringes of the Lich king's continent kingdom, Northrend, and infiltrate the undead troops. They would then intercept him on his way into the elven territory and assassinate him. The undead scourge would crumble without their leader and the future of the living on Azeroth would be safe.

“Illidan, this is your chance to redeem your honour, to save your loved ones.......”

“ENOUGH! Your platitudes do not sway me. I doubt if your insipid plan will succeed. But I will still do it...... I owe it to my brother and Tyr-........ his wife, the only people I care about in this miserable world. I shall play along and if your plan fails, it wouldn't the first time that I die.”

“Good..... and this is not my plan. It was Tyrande who requested me to resurrect you using my knowledge of necromancy. I have informed her scouts about my success with the necromantic rite.” Sylvanas noticed the disbelief in his face when she said, “She should be here soon.”

______


Mighty Malfurion floated over placid forests enveloped in a verdant bubble. An omnipresent force of limitless energy pounded on the circumference of the diaphanous bubble seeking an orifice. But inside Malfurion was calm. In fact he was meditating. He or rather his mind was in the emerald dream, the dimension where the mind was all that mattered. For eons creatures with fragile old bodies had retreated their surfeited minds into its calm and yet stimulating environment. There their thoughts could resonate helping their minds cogitate at an explosive pace. The emerald dream had thus turned into the biggest repository of wisdom and knowledge. But no one could enter it without the key keeper's, the great red dragon's, consent for the infinitely potent force would obliterate all infiltrators.

In the emerald dream Malfurion had the counsel of the wisest minds ever in Azeroth. Every moment he learned more about the true nature of power, about the origins of strength and magic. In a few days he would know enough to transform nature itself. Then he would be not only the keeper of the grove but its maker too. On the day of the solstice, when Elune's stellar powers are in its most untainted form he could recede from the emerald dream and revisit the real world. No one could then threaten the fate of the living in his world for he could turn the world itself against them.

______


He was still haunted by her tears; the shame and repent was overwhelming. More than ten thousand years ago Illidan had betrayed the elves to demons. He was so enamored by Tyrande that in his desperation he betrayed everyone to win her as booty. When Malfurion had caught him during his insane act, he was heartbroken too. But then he sentenced Illidan to be imprisoned forever, until due to a string of fortuitous events he was finally released. But by then he had spent a mind numbingly torturous ten thousand years in a dungeon. And even after he tried all he could to make up for his past mistake no one showed him any compassion or mercy.

He was not sure if his second life would be any different. He was needed for his powers and extraordinary talent for violence. When that need was over what would happen? Would he be shunned again? Illidan's desultory reverie was interrupted by the voice that he would have heard even if he was dead.

“Illidan. Thank you for doing this.” It was Tyrande.

“Tyrande!....... I am glad to see you again.”

“There is no time for conformities. You carry the fate of Azeroth on your shoulders. Pray the gods be with you.”

“I know what I have to do.” Illidan felt fatigued. He felt he was destined for self destruction. If the Lich king doesn't kill him then the remainder of his despondent solitary life might be worse than death itself.

“It is good to have you back Illidan..........,” said Tyrande looking genuinely glad. And then they deliberated their plans and decided on the details.

______


Illidan was soaring over the ice continent, Northrend. The wind chill would have frozen the tears in his eyes if he had had eyes. Sylvanas was a zooming purple blur next to him. They were on route to Netherport where the Lich king was thought to have camped before his journey to the Moonglade forest. He smelled acrid smoke from somewhere below and flew towards it. A party of necromancers were engaged in a sacrificial rite of self mutilation and cannibalism. Acolytes were hovering around them eager to sacrifice themselves hoping to attain undeath. Decomposing carcases lay splattered on the putrid ground. Illidan had known before the morbidity of these bands of undead and his reaction now was the same as always.

“DIE, FOOLS” he bellowed. His twin blades were more than eager to slice through the flesh of the necromancers and their lackeys. It had been a long time since a kill and his body and mind, being tuned for the purpose, reveled at the opportunity. Within minutes he decimated them all.

“You are the fool! Now everyone here will know of our arrival,” cried Sylvanas.

“I needed to do that.... Besides they were an isolated band. It's going to be sometime before we are discovered.” a calm Illidan replied.

But he was wrong. His audacity had endangered him once again. The ground below him shook in tremors. The blighted land cracked as hundreds of arachnoid warriors emerged from underground. At the center of the group was a giant ant covered with spiky appendages and mandibles the size of Illidan's arms.

“Illidan this time you DIE,” it announced.

“Anub'arak!” cried a shocked Illidan. The hideous monster was almost as despised and feared as his master, the Lich king. Illidan quickly transformed into his demon avatar and a terrifying battle ensued. Sylvanas surrounded herself with the arachnoids whose souls she magically possessed. Protecting herself thus she slew several undead warriors with her uncanny archery skills. Illidan, seemingly in a demoniac frenzy, went on a rampage killing all in his sight. Though he was targeted by the entire company, his magic shield protected him. He leveled many of the undead by summoning the flames of hell onto them. Finally Anub'arak and Illidan came face to face.

Both adversaries were adept at magic and their fight appeared to be a pyrotechnic spectacle. The ricochets from their clashing curses pulverized their surroundings. Eventually all but Slyvanas, Illidan and Anub'arak had perished. Anub'arak was beginning to show fatigue when Slyvanas aimed her flame tipped arrow at him. But she never fired the weapon. She was suddenly engulfed in flames that inexplicably emerged from the air around her. Her pitiable screams alerted Illidan, but to no avail as she was quickly reduced to ashes. The tyrant Lich king had manifested in front of Illidan shielding Anub'arak.

“Your persistence is impressive,” said a voice that clearly bespoke the unrivaled power of its source. “Before you try anything foolish listen to what I say.”

“I am here to kill you,” shouted an enraged Illidan before he pounced on the Lich king.

The Lich king effortlessly fended off the attack. He drew his magnificent sword and said, “If you insist I can play with you for some time. After all that is what you are here to do, to delay me.”

After many more futile lunges Illidan said between gasps, “No I am here to rid this world of you.” He used his twin blades both to attack and parry the Lich king's lurches.

“My powers have grown dramatically since the last time we had a bout. Apart from my boundless magical powers, I also posses unparalleled physical strength. You cannot hope to even scar me. Everyone in the alliance knows this. Hence I surmise that you must be here to delay me.”

“No, I can kill you. I am immune to your magic...”

“And I am immune to yours. You might as well give up elf. Did you really think that you can defeat me? I didn't think so..... thats why you are still alive. I want you to join me, why do you side with the people who hate you the most? You know you have no place in Azeroth as long as they are here. With me your powers will be respected. As I conquer other worlds you will be the champion of my army.” The Lich king put up an impassive face masking the weariness he felt.

Though Illidan was exhausted he did not give up his fight. He screamed, “Never..... I have not lost my mind. I will not betray Tyrande.”

The Lich king laughed out wickedly and using his most sympathetic tone he said, “Tyrande? She send you here? Isn't it obvious that she has used you as a ploy? She wants to delay me until Malfurion returns from the Emerald dream. What you don't realize and what she knows is that my telepathic powers are now so strong that I can sense whatever happens anywhere on Azeroth.”

They both stood still and regarded each other. The Lich king acutely observed Illidan as he said, “You see, if your plan was to surprise me with a stealth attack you had no hope from the beginning. I knew of your arrival the moment you set foot on Northrend. She too knows the fallacy of your plan. You have been used by an elf trying to save her love.” The Lich king's countenance did not betray his guile and trickery. He could subvert anyone.

“I don't believe it.....” Illidan was dismayed. But he realized that everything he had heard was logically sound.

“You can join me and have the life you deserve or die a painful death. Your first task as my lieutenant would be to return to moonglade forest and slaughter your brother. If you need to, tell your brethren that you killed me.”

Illidan was in a dilemma. It was heart wrenching to know that he had been betrayed, but he still had feelings of loyalty and some residual love for his brother and Tyrande. She could not do something so cruel, could she? But he knew that nothing could be said of the atrocities people could commit for the sake of their loved ones. He himself had once left the realm of reason and sinned terribly for the eternal company of his love. Was he really just a pawn? His whole body shook from the gravity of this revelation.

“ILLIDAN. Do you swear your allegiance? Will you murder your brother and take revenge on Tyrande?” asked the devious Lich king.

______


Tyrande was preaching a sermon when she felt desperation inexplicably creep up on her. She shuddered and tears ran down her cheeks as she sensed that something terrible had happened. The world moaned the departure of one of its greatest souls. A Stromrage twin had died.

The vilification of Tyler

Author's note: This one is not my best and frankly was meant to be depressing. And I used all  of my vocabulary in it, which I now feel was supererogatory (see what I mean?). So keep your dictionary software open.

The herald in red velvet announced “All rise. Queen Marla, ruler of the empire of Kaglash arrives.”

All eyes turned towards the entrance of the court as the beautiful Queen walked regally through it to her throne. As always her sight evoked awe, envy, treachery, devotion and love in those eyes. Thufir, the chief of royal security, watched them with engrossment. He was thinking of what the herald had announced. Only the day before she had been just Queen Marla, not the ruler of the empire. The king Lukkan had died in battle leaving her the burden of ruling his vast kingdom. He remembered that she had been just a callow young princess of the nearby kingdom of Zentyr when Lukkan had proposed to her a year ago. Now the responsibility of a sovereign of state was abruptly cast on her leaving her little time to even mourn her husband's death. Will she live up to our expectations?

Marla was concentrating on performing her duties. But she found it exceedingly daunting as her will was being drained by the effort it took to hold back the whirl storm, the wailing dirge that was emanating at the back of her mind. Her king and his entourage had been slaughtered in an ambush. The discontented populace of the kingdoms he had amassed in his tireless expansionist campaign looked up to her with hope of peace. The royal counsel had advised her of the cabal of noblemen and traders who were, at that opportune moment, plotting to overthrow her. Already there was talk of a usurper in their midst, someone who had betrayed the king’s war plans to his enemies. She felt weariness that she knew only sleep could obviate, but she could not afford that luxury.

A lot of ruckus coming from a corner of the room attracted her attention. Thufir was hustling through the court towards Marla’s throne.

“Your Highness, we have received credible reports that an assassin has been planted in the court. We have to search everyone”, Thufir whispered.

Even though he did not appear perturbed Marla could see the nervousness in his darting glances. With utmost restrain she intoned, “Do the needful.”

Thufir ordered the royal guard to cordon off the hall and bar all exits. Everyone would be frisked irrespective of their rank or status. Marla was observing her subjects, looking for signs of resignation, fear or cowardice when a sudden movement caught her eye. The court jester was being restrained by several guards while he was maniacally shouting inanities and trying to resist them. Thufir brought forth the jester towards her. He held a dagger in his hand.

“He had this on him. I cannot imagine what he planned to do with it”, he growled.

“The rascal, I know him; he always made us laugh with his histrionics. All the while he was plotting against me? The obscenity…..” The thought of her and her king laughing at his jokes and performances seemed repugnant.

Her enemies would be watching her, she knew, and they would judge her from her reaction. She had to show them her resolve. She had to set an example.

“This man is to be hanged unto death at dawn tomorrow. Find out who hired him and mete out the same punishment to them. Now get him out of here.” Marla tried to overcome the revulsion she felt, there were impending affairs of the kingdom to deal with.

The queen’s orders were executed expeditiously. As the sun rose the next day Thufir was standing on the ramparts of the castle overseeing the hanging. The court jester, whose name was Tyler, trembled and sobbed violently as he was led to the gallows. In comparison the other prisoner, they had found one more assassin in the hall the previous night, was calm and reticent as he went about the requisite formalities. Thufir found it highly unusual that there were two assassins in the hall. All through the night he had pondered the weirdness of the situation. He regarded himself as an excellent judge of character; after all he had reached his current post at a prodigious pace only on account of his shrewd manipulative nature. But no matter how much he ruminated he just could not make out Tyler to be an assassin. The fact that he was a court jester only made things queerer. Was he partaking in a blunder?

The other assassin was undoubtedly a true ruffian. He had on him several blades and had slashed at one of the guards who had tried to shackle him. He was disguised as a member of the priesthood and had sneaked in among the retinue of the high priest. During his interrogation Thufir had noticed several hideous scars on him and like any other mercenary he had revealed all he knew about his employers after very light torture. But Tyler’s interrogation was a different story. His claim that his weapon was meant to protect the queen seemed specious. Even when faced with inhumanely bloody torment he repeated the same babble about being innocent and never harming anybody and loving the kingdom and queen. But he did not appear to be a hardened murderer. Physically he was emaciated and some of his muscles had atrophied due to lack of recent physical activity. Were their enemies so parsimonious as to risk hiring a tyro?

After the hanging had concluded Thufir went into his office to reflect on the case. Based on the leads he had he knew that the assassins or assassin was hired by a duke who apparently was an intermediary of their enemies. The assassin was a loner with no known family. Tyler on the other hand had a family; his mother and sister were in the neighboring kingdom of Zentyr. He had been a minor attendant at the pantry in the palace of the king of Zentyr till he moved to Kaglash about a year ago and joined the group of court jesters there. Thufir thought his family could shed some light on him and they had been brought to the castle and were being questioned. The investigators had also retrieved from his house a few artifacts belonging to Tyler. They were placed on his desk and he went through them one by one. Books, trinkets and several other inconsequential private items constituted the bulk of it.

There was a battered old journal among them. Thufir leafed through the pages and randomly read passages from it. He was alarmed at first and then enraged.

“Utter gibberish” he grumbled, “Insanity….” He hurled the journal into the fire place and after returning to his seat quaffed down the steaming cup of tea that was on his desk. He had not been so discomfited in recent times. He hollered for his adjutant and enquired about the court jester’s family whom they had incarcerated. The mother had not survived the torture during her interrogation but the sister was still alive.

“Release her immediately and issue a statement that the court jester Tyler was mentally unsound” Thufir ordered, “and that he was a ……….bong addict who in an inebriated state had tried to harm our beloved queen.” He could not help but chuckle when he said that. He had lied.

“Ridicule that which you cannot accept,” he thought. Thufir painfully recalled the torture that Tyler had been subjected to. His guttural, almost bestial screams were echoing in his mind. Thufir knew he wouldn't be able to sleep well for many days.

Pages of the court jester’s journal had begun to char among crackling embers in the fire place. It had opened at a dog eared page and the hurriedly scrawled ravings of the court jester were transiently visible before turning into ash. It read,

“I know that pouring forth my misery is to no avail. It has always only made me sink deeper into depression and hence I refrain from dwelling on my sentiments. Today I had an insight into the crux of my quandary. It rained today, a pleasant drizzle that lasted for hours and I gazed out the window relishing every moment of it. I felt a longing to go out for a walk in the rain. Then I noticed that there were other faces too, looking out through the gloomy windows along my street. Did they also desire the same? To loose all inhibitions and play in the rain? When the drizzling stopped I felt disappointment for losing an opportunity to enjoy myself. And then I related the situation to my cursed fate.”

“Isn't the disappointment in my life an extrapolation of this feeling of loss? I think that abnegating myself the experiences that my senses crave for has had the same consequence, but in a larger scale. It is impossibly taxing to be unable to reach out and touch the object I desire even when only inches have to be traversed. Protracting this act of self-denial even though it goes against each and every instinct engraved in my bones seems to have ultimately disintegrated my mind into its basic primordial constituents. I have to forsake my instincts and rely absolutely on my disjointed intellect whenever I have the strength for it.”

“Am I turning into an automaton? Should I live my life as if it is a preprogrammed ritual? I feel the routine I follow day after day is a violation of my self, a slow but unwavering destruction or self imposed decay of my soul. I sense little, there is only a numbness that dilutes all my sentient emotions. But the numbness is overwhelming and every moment it threatens to devour the dregs of my personality that have somehow persisted. It feels as if my consciousness has been dulled and my soul has withdrawn into another realm, watching my pathetic life impassively, sensing emotions vicariously.”

“They say that the destitute crave for a revolution with the hope of ameliorating their life in the process. Well, I am destitute as I have been feeling utterly worthless for years now. I know that due to my shortcomings I will never attain my prize, but I have an irrepressible hope for a change, a revolution that will overturn the current circumstances.”

“In any case she needs all the help she can get now, she needs it now more than ever. I will not let any harm come to her. I am no soldier but I must do what I can to help and protect her.”

That had been the last entry Tyler had made in his private journal and it was now lost forever.

______


The herald in red velvet had announced “All rise. Queen Marla, ruler of the empire of Kaglash arrives.”

All eyes had turned towards the entrance of the court as the beautiful Queen walked regally through it to her throne. As always her sight had evoked awe, envy, treachery, devotion and love in those eyes. Tyler had been eagerly waiting for that moment and as the queen entered he had watched her with only love in his eyes, boundless but unrequited love.

Short stories

I write short stories once in a while. I am going to upload some of them here. Mind you they are all very weird.