Stumped

A dilemma of luck

STUMPED

Kismat, the name besides the man, aptly described the sequences of events that would unfold shortly. His intentions contradicted the nomenclature. He had a personality, which was built on sheer hard work. Although, that hard work was questionable. He was a cool dude, a thorough professional and above all a meticulous planner. He would prepare a blue print, consider all pros and cons and strike when the iron was red hot. He practiced his art alone since he didn’t trust anyone. He had acquired quite a wealth, whose actual value was a secret to the Income Tax Department as he himself had no idea about it.  For him, money was always secondary. He cherished rush of things, especially of adrenaline. Interestingly, violence was not his forte. He kept a profile for which one had to stoop to his levels to notice him. That was deliberate. He wore spectacles, nice clothes and confidence. For anyone laying eyes on him for the first time, he appeared not an ounce lesser than charming. That certainly was involuntary. It was an extremely smooth roller-coaster ride up to that night, which changed Kismat’s kismat.

He was returning to his mansion in his white SUV. A whistle continued to sing along with his state of mind through his rounded lips. Yes, he was happy. A briefcase containing five lacs rupees was sitting on the back seat. Though it was quite comfortable leather upholstery, the briefcase was queasy. It needed to spend some more time with its new owner to gain any kind of trust. Moreover, it was scary for the little briefcase to have parted ways with an old hand and join this new master, who was driving its future. The main reason for such dreaded fear was a pistol, which was in the hands of the present driver a few hours ago. Such was its impact that its old hand didn’t even bid good bye before the farewell.

The road outside was running on neutral. The cool weather forced windows of the SUV to welcome the natural air into the vehicle. The SUV had now joined the whistle song to full throttle. It was a happy chorus. But, kismat had other ideas. As the vehicle approached a crossing, which connected another road from the left, a bike came in front of the speeding SUV to commit what could only be called ‘a suicide’. Imperatively, a crash followed. The biker and the bike were separated by the huge impact. The SUV swirled for a few meters and regained its position of supremacy before stopping its journey. Kismat’s eyes enquired from the rear-view mirror and informed his brain that the biker was down and not moving. He had also seen that the biker’s helmet too had deserted him before he crashed to the ground. He opened the gate and came out of the vehicle in a reflex action. He stood there frozen. To his utter surprise and relief, he saw the biker moving and trying to get up. Suddenly, he noticed that head of the biker along with his eyes went towards SUV’S number plate. It was as if the injured was attempting to memorize the damn numbers. The road was insufficiently illuminated. The distance from his SUV and the injured biker was about fifteen meters. He frowned. Kismat’s sixth sense took over. His accomplishments including his hard earned identity or the lack of it could be over within a few moments, if he didn’t react. He knew for the fact that his vehicle was at an ample distance to prohibit decoding of the numbers by the injured biker’s traumatic eyes and brain. He took his chance. Kismat turned and recaptured his driving position in a flash. He started his ‘EUV’, the Utility Vehicle, which had appropriately shed its ‘Sports’ prefix and replaced it with “Emergency’. He pressed the accelerator. His eyes never left the rear-view mirror, which now depicted the biker collapsing once again.

Kismat was driving fast, his mind was running faster. What if that guy was dead? He was OK with that option, he guessed-that would solve everything. What if he was just unconscious? That would be a problem. Only if he remembers the numbers of his vehicles-damn-he can’t be sure-did he or didn’t he memorize them-could he have actually seen the numbers vividly? He wondered whether the lights on the road were sufficient to decipher the numbers from about fifteen-twenty meters? If he were injured by such impact, he would never have thought about noting down the numbers-and he was a thorough planner-Why did he have to get the SUV in a legal manner? It could have been so easy if the vehicle was also one of his ‘Trophies’ instead of legally acquired asset. But he had only himself to blame now as it was his plan- the so called perfect plan- so that he could never be detained for wrong reasons like, verification of stolen vehicle on roads by custodians of law. What if someone actually stops to help the injured and he spills the beans- should he hide his SUV and file a stolen vehicle report with the police? Yes, it would be perfect, he thought. But, he didn’t want to see the police-not now-not ever. He abandoned that idea.

Now, he was left with only one alternative. He went to his house. Parked his EUV and got inside with the briefcase and his pistol. Pistol was meticulously hid below a shelf in a discreet compartment. He threw the briefcase on the couch. If tried hard, one could have heard a moaning sound from the briefcase. He replaced the keys of SUV with those of his red sedan. He came out and started his return journey to the crime scene. He was hoping to see the injured there. Moreover, by this time he must be dead, he prayed. However, he could not rely on hope alone, he just had to see for himself, he just had to.

On reaching the ill-fated location, he saw the injured still lying down with hapless objects strewn all over. He again examined the light. He still was unsure. He was thankful to the cold citizens of the city and of the system, where everyone minded their own business. He thought he was not one of them-or was he? He left those disturbing thoughts. He had more important job on his hands. He had a first detailed look of the biker at that time. The injured was a shabbily dressed man of about forty-five years. Blood was oozing from back of his head. He bent down and searched for victim’s pulse. He was not sure why but relief instead of fear forced its way into his mind when he felt the pulse moving. If the man were dead, things would have been perfect for him-should he make them perfect? He thought. He could easily increase the size of the already opened up wound on his head and walk away. Could he? No. Not in his life. He didn’t want to add murder to his already illustrious list of crimes. Though he had seen blood outside of a human being but he was never responsible for its escape from confinements of veins and arteries. This was his first time. And here also the intention was missing.

He finally decided to do the right thing. He mustered some strength and lifted the injured. He had to maneuver the fainted into the back seat of the sedan. It was difficultly done. As he was keeping the unconscious man on the back seat, the biker suddenly muttered something. “Ahh….ohhh,” groaned the injured man.

“It’s all right. I have got you. You’ll be fine,” said Kismat comforting the biker before adding “I am taking you to a hospital. You just stay still and everything will be fine.” He climbed to the driver’s seat and started the engine. He still wasn’t sure that the biker had seen the numbers of his SUV. The injured rested silently on the back seat though Kismat heard a few grunts on the way to the hospital.

The red sedan entered the hospital gate and expertly positioned itself before the emergency door. As the stretcher was rushing towards their vehicle, Kismat again looked at the injured. The biker’s eyes were closed. Kismat’s right hand automatically reached the neck of the biker to feel his pulse.

The biker, feeling the hand, nodded expressing that he was alive and in his senses. He added proving that, “Why did you bring me here? This is an expensive hospital. I can’t afford it. Please take me to a Government one.”

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it,” Kismat consoled him.

The injured was taken inside and the doctor examined him. He looked fine and was talking to the doctor.  The doctor left the biker’s side after administering first-aid. The biker gestured Kismat to come to him. He obeyed the biker’s request and stood beside him. He held one of the hands of injured into both of his. He was preparing to ask the biker about the details of events resulting in this accident. However, he was left speechless when the biker asked him instead with utmost of innocence, “Why did you waste so much time in changing your car before bringing me here?”

Kismat’s superfast heartbeats were immediately evident from his expression of wide open eyes and even wider mouth.