The flickering lamp-post

Scene I


A spoonful of moonlight, an ocean of placid silence and a melancholic saunter on a long dusty boulevard in the still of a n autumn night – perhaps, that was all Calyx needed to set his perplexed senses right. He was convincingly confused, the lingering fatigue of the day and tantalizing essence of slumber on one hand, while on the other, a profound desire to walk on. Alas! He was getting strangled by this caravan of gypsy whims. Tranquility always has the enchanting ability to induce a whimsical air all around, and the prevailing tranquility did the same. His eyes were losing it all and his steps were giving into a clumsy unsteadiness. He had lost himself to the emphatic serenity, to be precise.
A flickering lamp-post at a yard or two’s distance, however made Calyx zap out of his trance. It wasn't a flamboyant light to drive away his drowsiness, but a fond, yet fairly faded memory that was etched to it. Besides, there stood a man in robes of black. He was leaning against the lamp-post, but the color of his long coat and his black hat had decently veiled his face. All that Calyx could make out of his rigidity was his coldly mysterious persona, for he was motionless, so much that one couldn't make sure whether he still breathed life. He walked closer to the lamp-post when, out of the blue, two men in the same black robes appeared and enquired of something, which he couldn't literally understand, although it was undoubtedly plain British English. He swayed his head from side to side no better than a puppet in the hands of grotesque insanity and stared blankly at them. They probably convinced that he was the right man, left him with a suitcase, a thick file and a black cloth with a peculiar symbol '' on it. Calyx stood there motionless as ever. What exactly were they trying to do with him?
A faint sound was heard and the man leaning against the flickering lamp-post collapsed. He was dead. Thankfully, Calyx managed to keep his sang-froid intact and fled from the bewildering scenario, with a dumb-struck and muffled heart.



Scene II




Dawn broke in a clear sky. Amidst the relentless ringing of the alarm, Calyx got up as if he'd been woken up from one nightmare to walk into another. He received the call.
'Who's it?'
'Master Calyx, get us back our suitcase and files... else you are paying for it. Be were you were last night at 11:10 pm, Floyers' Street; near the same lamp-post but sharp at 8pm. Our guys will be having their eyes on you, so no chance of a narrow escape! ’
'Hello... may I'
The call was cut.
That one was terrifying! Indeed a pathetic way to begin the day. And what exactly was in that old ragged suitcase and brown torn-out file after all. An anxious curiosity got the better of him and his sleep. Dragging himself out of the bed, he walked up to the couch, where he had thrown those last night and crept into the bed, shuddering. Flip and flap... There he stood aghast with uninvited terror, dumb-stuck and motionless again. He had really walked into a night-mare. It was a detailed account of the hide-outs, bunkers, underground hoarding centers, pin-codes of accounts and techniques to crack the code language of the '' drug smugglers. But it was that suitcase that switched places with Pandora's Box of troubles! It beheld the forbidden delights, drugs, cocaine and marijuana, to be precise; not less than 4kg for a cert, worth millions of rupees and not less than a million of troubles as well.
But then the shadow cast over the mysterious happenings of last night was lifted. In all probability, the two men were to hand over those to the ma in black robes, but they mistook Calyx to be him. The mystery behind the man dying at the post still remained unveiled. But being seized by an inexplicable insanity, he decisively stated that he'd go back to the lamp-post in black robes, with the suitcase and the files. Yes, he did walk out by 7:30pm that twilight, walked into the boulevard of the flickering lamp-post.




Scene III



As the evening grew darker, Calyx let his romany thoughts loose. Three quarters of an hour had passed, but not a soul was to be seen around. Time could have halted, but as always, no matter what one does, time doesn't stop. Ah! This was the very place where his brother, the last of his kinsmen, and he had parted to live their lives in their own fashion. Quite a number of years had passed since that dusk, when they went on either sides of the curved lane, the curved lane that had carved them.
'Give the suitcase and the files. Hand them over.. Quick! Would you!', cried a familiar voice, as if he was suppressing his shout.
He was the same who threatened him over phone, but Calyx was far too vexed up to think about it.
'Give it over fast. You are a dumb creature to tread on the smugglers boulevard and worse idiotic to be standing here right at the death point. It's over for you. Fast, give that.'
Sweat trickled down his forehead and in a frozen voice, stammered out, 'Yes Sir.'
A prolonged silence prevailed.
'Calyx browning? Isn't that you Cal?'
'Bro...', Calyx answered back,' Sorry, let me rephrase, Mr. Smuggler!'
'Who the hell are you answering back?' and down went the trigger.
Calyx laid on the handful of soil, drinking the last streams of light from the flickering lamp-post... frozen, numb and dead.