GALAXY, an international multi-disciplinary Research Journal held in high esteem by the academic world, has published my short story titled "Black is the Colour of Ecstasy." It is a bi-monthly. Here is the full text of the story as carried in the journal:
Black
is the Colour of Ecstasy
Subbaram
Danda
A
gleaming white car screeched to a halt at the Statue of Labour on the Marina of
Chennai. A fair lass in her late teens stepped
out of it, stark naked. She was
ravishingly beautiful. The vehicle moved
on in slow speed. The young woman ran behind
it. After three solid minutes it stopped
again. She caught up with it. A burly man came out of the car and dragged
her inside amidst loud giggles from its occupants. In a jiffy it sped away.
The
time was about 6 a.m. The sun had just
risen spreading its soft crimson rays all over.
The morning walkers on the promenade of the world’s second longest beach
watched the entire incident in shocking disbelief. They could not make head or tail out of
it. No one cared to call the Police or
the media.
The
young adult was Pratima, an M.B.B.S. student doing her final year in a reputed
medical college. After the episode she got
dropped, fully-dressed, at the hostel, where she was staying, as if nothing had
happened. None of her room mates came to
know of it. Days and weeks passed.
A
brilliant student from a small town down south, she had been a class
topper. The college dean had been hoping
that she would score the first rank in the university. But her performance started slipping
gradually. Her health appeared to
deteriorate. One day, a team of doctors
examined her and found to their utter dismay that she had become a drug
addict.
Her
parents rushed to the city and got her admitted in a de-addiction and
rehabilitation centre. There she
disclosed how it all began. Her initial curiosity,
kindled by senior classmates, took her to a rave party, where she had her first
brush with mild intoxicants.
Subsequently, her progress to “getaway substances” was fairly fast. Finally she became a slave to addictive
drugs. She had experimented with all
types of hallucinogens. She had inhaled
a few, smoked some, orally consumed several and got many others injected. They had generated in her feelings of exotic fantasy,
elevated excitement and incredible euphoria.
She
had finally reached a stage where she could not remain without drugs on a
regular basis. When she ran out of
money, she would beg with drug peddlers for free supplies. They would ask her to do demeaning things and
she would obey them helplessly to get the substance she badly needed. The horrific three-minute streaking incident
was one such.
Fortunately,
she responded well to the treatment at the de-addiction centre. Her recovery was miraculous. Within a few months she became almost normal. Her rehabilitation programme too did not pose
any problem. With an unusual
determination she got back to her studies, completed her degree and joined the
centre as a doctor. She devoted herself
full time to the care of addiction patients and also research. This gave her an opportunity to understand
the changing contours of the drug demon.
Pratima
was distressed to learn that young professionals in India, particularly in the
Information Technology industry and call centres, were increasingly falling
prey to the temptation of drugs. The
segment of women in this horrendous circle was not insignificant. New-found affluence, unbridled freedom and
peer pressure were the prime contributing factors. She was shocked to learn about another
emerging trend. Illegal outlets calling
themselves pharmacies offered drugs online and arranged for their delivery by
couriers.
Over
the years, the types of drugs consumed had undergone a dreadful
transformation. In the past the most
commonly-used drugs were naturally-derived mood changers like opium, ganja, and
hashish. In course of time synthetic
substances took over the reins. Every
city in the country had its preferred potion.
Mumbai raved wildly on Ice, Delhi on Ecstasy, Chennai on Ketamine,
Calcutta on Meth and Lucknow on Yaba.
The last one, highly popular in Thailand, was supposed to be four times
more powerful than some of the others. There were also “designer drugs.”
Pratima,
an erstwhile drug user herself, was aghast at the new developments. This
redoubled her resolve to be of unstinted service to her patients and wean them
away from drugs permanently. Her
attention was drawn to a male inmate, whose case history made unusual
reading. He was Victor, a handsome
youngster. He hailed from a respectable
family. His grandparents and close
relatives enjoyed good reputation in the society. But his father was a jarring exception. A steam engine driver, he had fallen victim
to drug abuse. He refused to undergo
treatment and became a critical consumer of hard drugs. The most shocking part of it was that he
constantly used Victor, even when he was a small boy, to run errands for him
and fetch drugs from peddlers. In course
of time he passed away but Victor partly acquired his habit. Fortunately he took drugs only
occasionally.
After
graduation the young man got a job in a call centre. His position involved working in different
shifts, including night. Long hours of
grinding work, abusive callers and rigid targets made him a distraught
person. He turned to drugs on a regular
basis.
Pratima
took pity on Victor. She paid special
attention to him. She reasoned that a
young man, wrongly introduced to drugs by his own father, should not be allowed
to destroy himself. She counselled him
frequently. She narrated her own story
to wean him away from the bad habit. He
appeared psychologically convinced.
Gradually, a strange chemistry developed between them and blossomed into
love. As his condition improved, they
went out often together. Their
relationship grew from strength to strength.
She also sought his cooperation to realize her dream of working towards
eradicating the menace step by step in co-operation with the authorities. He helped her, while still undergoing
treatment inhouse.
She
drafted a plan of action and got it approved by the board of directors of the de-addiction
centre. Accordingly, it adopted a five
km radius area around it and sought to make it a drug-free zone. Schools, colleges, civic authorities,
district administration, corporate entities and the police were roped in to
clean sweep the area of drugs. Public
lectures, distribution of leaflets, surprise checks on suspected vendor outlets
and stringent punishment started showing results.
At
an international conference on “Drug Eradication: New Challenges” held in New
Delhi, Pratima’s pet project came in for appreciation. Several non-governmental organizations
offered to adopt it as a model for implementation in their respective
areas. The Union Government announced
special grants to the centre for sustained action. “On this occasion I swear it will be my
endeavour to drive the drug traffickers out lock, stock and barrel,” an
emotional Pratima declared.
On
return, one day she was on her night shift.
While going on rounds around midnight, she heard a cell phone ring. It was from the bed of Victor. He was fast asleep. The mobile instrument lay by his chest on the
bed. After ringing for ten seconds it
went off. Half a minute passed. It rang again. He was still in his deep slumber. With trepidation, Pratima picked it up but
before she could answer, it fell silent.
Could it be a very important call for him? It rang again but differently. This time it was an SMS.
Pratima
read the message. It said: “Operation
White Rose will begin at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow.
Do as planned. No failure or
slippage will be tolerated – Red Rocket.”
Something flashed in her mind.
The name was familiar to her. She
strained hard to recall her drug days. Yes,
it was how the chief drug handler in South India was known in his circles. In fact, she remembered, it was this rogue
and a few others of his tribe that had forced her to run mercilessly behind the
car in the attire of the primeval beings for three solid minutes on that
fateful day.
She
started thinking feverishly. What was
Operation White Rose? What role Victor
was going to play in it? Certainly, it
should be a major assignment. Otherwise,
the local chief’s call-name would not have appeared at the end of the
message. She wanted to find out
everything -- in her own way, discreetly.
This was very important to her because at stake was her relationship
with him. She went to her room quietly
without disturbing him.
Next
morning around 7:45 a.m., when she was getting ready to go home, Victor entered
her room with a strange smile on his face.
“Good morning, doctor madam!
Today I am in a very good mood.
Let us go out for a walk in the park round the corner. I was told that white roses are in full bloom
there. It will be exhilarating to take a
stroll by them.” A bell rang in her
mind.
“With
pleasure,” she replied without displaying any anxiety on her face. She was sure something terrible was going to
take place there. She was prepared to
face any eventuality. Following the SMS
message the previous night, she had arranged for two private detectives to shadow
Victor and report to her all developments.
Now she would also be going with him.
The
road was deserted. As they kept moving
on the sidewalk heading for the park, a white sedan with tinted glasses fully
raised stopped suddenly by them. A tall
brawny figure emerged from the driver’s seat, rushed towards them and stood in
the front blocking their way. It was
Red Rocket. With a derisive laughter, he
growled at Pratima: “Hey, you think you
have become an angel? Recall your
past. Don’t imagine you are smart. You want to remove us from the scene? Forget yourself. Victor is your death knell. We have planted him in your centre. He is our man.”
The
head trafficker’s face turned ghastly.
“We are in the process of kidnapping you. Soon you will be dead and Victor will be
rewarded….” Before he could complete his
monologue, the two security guys pounced on him and immobilized him. Strangely, Victor did not try to escape. Nor did he try to go to the help of the drug
chief. Soon he and Red Rocket found
themselves behind the bars of a police lock up.
A pistol was recovered from Victor.
That
night, when Pratima entered her room at the de-addiction centre, she found a
letter on her table. It was from Victor. He should have discreetly left it before they
went out together for the fateful walk, she thought. It read:
“Dear Pratima, first of all my apologies to you. You have been taking good care of me and I
know you want to make me turn a new leaf.
I am beholden to you. But now, I
am in a mess. Drug Handler Red Rocket,
whom you also know well, wants me to trick you and hand you over to him. Yes, I have been planted here by him. Twice
in the past, I managed to foil his attempts.
But he has threatened to kill me, if I fail this time. I am putting into place a plan of action to
save you and myself. Trust me. My pistol will not betray me.”
This
development perplexed Pratima. Should
she help him out of the present mess?
She decided in his favour. His
letter became a key document. During interrogation Victor co-operated well with
the police and disclosed everything he knew about the drug distribution
networks around the hospital, near his residence and his call centre. This led to many arrests and seizure of a
variety of substances. In the special
narcotics court, no charges were framed against him and he was cited as the
main prosecution witness. The case progressed fast. Ultimately, the kingpin Red Rocket and ten
others were sentenced to life term. The
judge commended Victor’s role.
Yet,
Pratima was not prepared to trust him in full measure as in the past. Could he be playing a game? She wanted to wait and watch. After rehabilitation sessions, he was
discharged from the centre. He tried to
keep in touch with her, but diplomatically she managed to maintain a safe
distance from him.
Victor
felt happy that he had come out of the muddle unscathed. However, he had a major battle to win. Now his plan was to join hands with Pratima
and lead a contended life. He formally
proposed to her to tie the knot but she sought time to respond. She was in a dilemma, whether to marry him or
not. Though his credentials had now been
proved, there was a new complication.
Every drug cartel was well-entrenched and had its own international
connections. After a setback it would
lie low for a while but soon would rear its head in some form or the
other. Once a man had testified against
a drug setup, she knew, it would track him down ruthlessly and kill him sooner
or later. Victor was one such
person.
Her
thoughts continued. For all she knew,
she had disappeared from the hunter’s radar.
If she moved closer to Victor now, she would also be targeted. Her dream of eliminating the drug menace
would be shattered. After days of
agonizing deliberation, she decided to stay single and devote herself totally
to the cause very dear to her. Her
desire was to live to serve the afflicted humanity and deal a death blow to the
perpetrators of the drug crimes. This
threw Victor into total disarray.
One
day, when she was in the Out-Patient Ward, a disheveled man in tattered clothes
with an overgrown beard was brought in a stretcher. He had been found lying in a semi-conscious
state behind white rose plants in the park near the hospital. It was Victor. He cried out looking at Pratima, “Don’t save
me. Your rejection of my hand was the
least I had expected. Though the drug
lords have apparently wound up their operations in this part, they have been
after me to taste my blood. I could go
nowhere for support or solace. I decided
to end my life, instead of facing their bullets. I have consumed a heavy dose of sleeping
pills.”
He
gasped, paused for a few seconds and resumed his talk in a feeble voice, “Don’t
let your vigil drop. They can set shop
again at any time. Please carry forward
your good work with renewed zeal. May
God be with you!” They were his last
words. (Ends)
