God’s Ire or Human Fallacy?

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I just happened to come across a usual rant from one of those doubting Thomases, that isn’t the current ravage caused in Kerala due to the ire of Lord Ayyappa. A battle is going on in the supreme court of India, on whether women in the fertile age should be allowed inside the temple. The temple has a tradition followed from ancient days that women in the age of 10 to 60 are not allowed inside the temple. It is said that the deity is a celibate and women in this age would distract the lord.

The temple is open only during the two months towards the end of gregorian calender year, with the season ending on 14th January.  As a prelude to the difficult trek, devotees are supposed to undergo some strict restirctions in life for 41 days. Footwear not allowed, sex is a big NO, even menstruating women not allowed near, strictly vegetarian simple diet, early morning and evening prayers and the likes. It is said that such strict rituals and the ensuing tough trek cannot be carried out by women in their ripe age. But then how come, girls below 10 years and aged women above 60 years, fit enough to do the trek?

There is another temple near Thiruvananthapuram, called Attukal, where males are not allowed. Though there is no specific reason given for the discrimination, male folks in all their maganimity have accepted the norm and stays away. Why can’t the gender equality clamourers put a case for male entry to this temple, is a question for another day.

My two cents are, even if the age old rituals call for such norms, there is nothing wrong in looking for a fresh perspective. Please remember, such alibis in the name of tradition and God were there for justifying Sati, untouchability, denial of temple entry to dalits, Devadasis, animal sacrifice and so on and so forth. But a vigilant and progressive set of people like RajaRam Mohan Roy, Ambedkar, Ayyankali etc have managed to change the status quo for the better.

India never faced the ire of Lord Shiva when we banned Sati, nobody faced Indra’s wrath when Devadasi system was banned. Then how come a Lord always known for his abundant blessings during Kaliyug, should be blamed for a big calamity. Or are some vested interests crediting the Lord? Either way it would be a disgrace to this literate state to drag the innocent Lord to the sufferings meted out by this incessant rains and defiant floods.

Time is for exhibiting humanity, to help the millions tide over the crisis. Religion and its Gods can wait.

CM’s Distress Relief Fund (CMDRF).
Name of Donee: CMDRF
Account number : 67319948232
Bank: State Bank of India
Branch: City branch, Thiruvananthapuram
IFSC: SBIN0070028
PAN detail: AAAGD0584M
Mailing address: The Principal Secretary (Finance) Treasurer ..
Chief Minister’s Distress Relief Fund,Secretariat, Thiruvananthapuram-1


Kerala shaves its Moustache

Image result for meesha novel

Let me begin with a disclaimer. I do not consider moustache as a masculine feature or a symbol of male strength and supremacy. For that matter, male supremacy is an oxymoron, as I strongly believe after more than 40 years of life’s experiences and memories as a son and husband, that women are a superior species.

The recent controversy is about the award winning Malayalam author S. Hareesh and his novel “Meesha” (means Moustache), after having published three chapters in Mathrubhumi (a respected magazine of proven predigree in literature), is now withdrawn after the author having asked for it. This could be described as “Shame for Kerala” or “Death of freedom of expression” or whatever. But I’m forced to think of the genesis of this supposedly the last nail in the coffin of secularism in India.

Kerala was described as a lunatic asylum by none other than Swami Vivekananda after having seen the most hirarchial and horrendous caste system in the country. It is said that the distances in feet were defined for various downward castes, that they were supposed to maintain from the Namboothiri Brahmins. No where in India, caste had taken a more uglier turn.

Though the state has progressed in the eyes of the world as a social paradise, the under currents of caste and religion had been always strong. It resembles Periyar river which has a serene look but a nasty undercurrent which has taken many lives. Nothing epitomises the state of affairs than the famous song by Vayalar “Aayirram Paada swarangal kilungi”, a song sung on the beauty of Periyar, but in the film a hapless child gets drowned while the song goes on. This small boy is the state of Kerala, while the world is singing about its social and human development indices.

It is the only state where people gets more worried about Saddam Hussain’s Iraq than India’s own Kashmir. Where a Gabriel Garcia Marquez scores over, leave alone Tagore, but its own M.T. Vasudevan Nair. Where a Maradona or Argentina looms large over its own P.T. Usha or the Indian Cricket Team. Where communism by EMS Namboothiripad had more followers than Nehru’s congress. But if that makes the state different from the rest, so be it.

The reverberations of M.F. Hussain’s forced exile made the maximum impact in this state as support for the maestro was widespread and almost unanimous. This happened two decades back when Hindu communalism was not even at its infancy. Goddess Saraswati being drawn in naked created no heckles in the Hindu minds. While Hussain’s support swelled, there were no takers for two other contemporary artists, namely, Salman Rushdie and Taslima Nasreen, who were also on the receiving side of far right’s ire.

When we fast forward two decades, Hindu right has far outgrown its infancy and is a rebellious adolescent now. So what made them grow? I would not agree that the national trend is being followed here. That was exactly why I took up earlier that the state was always different from what rest of India did.

A few years back a teacher in Alapuzha, a backwater paradise boasting of a forward ideology always, had a gruelling experience. Joseph, as accused by far right, had written a derogatory piece on Prophet Mohammed. What followed, costed the teacher his right hand, which was chopped off. The state was surprisngly silent and never rallied behind the teacher, whose wife eventually committed suicide owing to social and financial woes.

This selective amnesia among the intellectuals and the political leaders was being constantly watched by a society which always took its own deprecation in the right spirit, as part of larger good called freedom of expression. Disorganised and economically feeble, the community tried its best to keep away from the far right who were trying their luck since 50 years without much success.

But today if the monster, though still adolescent, is able to show its ugly face, the blame has to be taken by the double standards followed by intellectuals and leaders.

Harish’s is a rich novel, and only a character was speaking his mind on what that character thought as a reason for Hindu upper caste women who went to the temple many decades back, were to showcase to the society that they have come off age. To generalise it to todays Hindu women going to temple and therefore finding it hurting the sentiments is nothing but a mountain made out of a mole hill.

Harish unfortunately is a scape goat or victim of an indifference the society at large has meted out to the hitherto timid Hindus. To say the least, the proverb of “Ala muttiyaal cherayum kadikkum” ( if cornered even a docile rat snake would bite), has come true. But an established writer like Harish being an unsuspected victim is a sorry sight for the state.

Killers of Chernobyl!

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Reference document : http://chernobylgallery.com/chernobyl-disaster/cause/

It was a chilly night in the Ukrainian village of Chernobyl on 26th April 1986. Chernobyl name comes from the peculiar variety of grass/plant called Artensia vulgaris. It means the place of this grass/plant. The nuclear power plant there came into operation in the early eighties as one of the nine places shortlisted by the erstwhile USSR. The four 1000 MW units were installed one by one.

Unlike a thermal power plant, power shutdown in a nuclear power plant can take dangerous propositions. That is because in case of thermal power plants the boiler is heated by coal and you just need to stop the coal feeding and run the circulation water till the boiler cools down. But in case of Nuclear plants the residual heat is generated too fast if the absorbing medium is cut off. Since a sizeable nuclear fuel is already fed into the reactor, the only way is to control the reaction through control rods and the absorbing medium like heavy water/ circulation water as the case may be.

The circulation water was being pumped by three pumps of roughly 1.7 MW each. Once the power supply goes off, the DG sets were standing in as standby, and they would take 45 seconds on an average to supply this power of 5.5 MW to the circulating pumps. Till that time if the flow is not maintained it would create bubbles in the water due to heat accumulation. These bubbles were called voids. Due to these voids, the temperature further shoots up. Unfortunately the designed fission reaction of Chernobyl was a positive void reaction, i.e. if the temperature increases, the rate of reaction also would increase.

But the plant designers had a plan to fill this gap of 45 seconds. The 1000 MW Turbine and generator are mammoth machinery and it would be running at a huge momentum unless it is at a load of say less than 70%. Hence the system requirement was that the turbine and generator should be able to supply this miniscule 5.5 MW of power for a short duration of 45 seconds with their mammoth momentum. But this failed thrice during testing and the operators were looming large at an acute safety lacuna in the system. They got an ultimatum from the regulatory authorities to test it once more and if the problem persists, then go for urgent remedial measures.

On that fateful night of 26th April, the unit operator took a decision to test it for a fourth time, but without taking formal consent from the authorities and therefore without proper planning. The unit was running at more than 60% load and the power was shut off. The Turbine and Generator as usual did not deliver 5.5 MW of power till the DG sets took over. In the meantime disrupted flow caused void formation and the temperature shot up, increasing the reaction rate. There was a panic button to be pressed in case of such an emergency which would lower additional cadmium rods into reactor which would have slowed down the reaction at once. The panic button would bring down the rods into the reactor, but while doing so displaces the cooling water. To make things worse the rods had a tip of graphite instead of cadmuim, hence during this displacement time neither water nor cadmium absorbed the neutrons.

First there was an explosion due to high pressure built up in the water circuit which lifted the 2000 ton upper lid of the reactor dome. This explosion made all the water in the circulation system to escape and the reactor was running dry now. This was followed up by a built up of immense heat enough to generate 33 GW (33000 MW) of power for a unit designed to generate just 1000 MW. No need to furhter explain what would have happened if such high levels of energy are built up within a few seconds. Most of the victims were hapless rescue team members from the army who never knew what they were up to. 4000 people was the official estimate of casuality.

The iron curtain (euphemism for the tight veil of communism), made sure nobody in the free world knew about what exactly happened. Worse was the fact that no real culprit underwent any scrutiny not to speak about any conviction. Other than a few operator engineers every one went scot-free. As per my opinion the following real culprits should have been taken to task:-

  1. The Turbine-Generator manufacturers who could not deliver as per design the requisite momentum to feed Cooling water pumps for just 45 seconds.
  2. The regulatory authority who allowed the plant to run with such a gruesome safety lapse.
  3. The authorities who asked hapless armymen to do the rescue act without adequate safety gears.
  4. The chief engineer who took the decision to do the test without informing the regulatory authority.

Chernobyl gives a great lesson to human kind on laxity could create a debacle. If Fukushima was a technical failure, Chernobyl was a human failure. If we could perenially put Union Carbide on the grill for Bhopal gas tragedy, why shouldn’t we grill the companies responsible for Chernobyl?

These are some of the children who died without knowing who took their lives. It could have been our children as well, are we really bothered? Are our nuclear plants safe? How do we think so when the real culprits are roaming free? I recently did my little bit to prevent these culprits enter India again. Now it is your turn!

#Chernobyl #Nucleardisaster #Nuclearenergy #Atombomb #Sovietunion

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Poem on Girl Foeticide

Cry of a Girl-Foetus


You devoid us of birth – why

All for a chromosome Y,

We make this world bloom

Without us it’s all doom,

We want to be in this world

No foeticide should make us void,

We yearn up to all mothers

To bring us out in all colours,

We are those flying fairies

We are those fragrant flowers.

Flowers for Algernon- Book Review

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It’s been a very touching experience reading this novel, I’m sure if anyone who reads this book is not teary eyed by the end, then that person would be a hard-nut sadist. Journey of a mental retard beautifully portrayed in first person, it starts with elementary English, raises us to the high standards of linguistic genius in later parts, and heart-breakingly brings the curtains back to elementary English.
It takes us closely into the sad world of mental retards, more than the ridicule and teasing they face in the public, it’s the curse and isolation they undergo inside their own houses which wets our eyes. Author has lived the life of the protoganist well enough that it would be difficult to think that the author was not a mental retard.
My only disconnect was the way three women are portrayed, the mother Rose as abusive, Alice who is used as a sex object which may not augur well for real life caretakers, Fay as a loose woman who sleeps with a stranger every other day. Sexism is least expected from such high calibre authors.
It’s very easy to connect with the people who like this novel, that they are all nice at heart. Short but Sweet Novel, I can’t wait to see the movie Charlie. Because we all have an element of Charlie in all of us.


The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers wisdom.” – Isaac Asimov

In the circle of book worms it is always believed that a book is as good as the person who recommended it to you, and I should say, what a beautiful book it was.

It reminded me of the fallacies of humankind, who while in the cosy embrace of mother earth, are hell-bent to destroy the very planet they reside. While they squabble over religion and language thinking one is superior to other, I am again reminded of the above quoted lines from the Father of science fiction Isaac Asimov.

Dan Simmon’s Hugo prize winning magnum opus is, to say the least, possibly the most futuristic book ever-written. A story told in the background of a few millenniums into the future, starts with an obituary on Mother Earth often nostalgically referred as old-earth, yes, as you rightly guessed, because they now had a New Earth. After the Hegira, supposedly the exodus of life from Earth before the planet ceased to be a liveable haven, the whole set of species led by Humans relocated to an array of planets separated by a few light years. This family of planets are referred as the Web, and travelling between these rocks were a routine affair with a technology called farcasting. If even two centuries back if I had talked about somebody having breakfast in Mumbai, lunch in Dubai and dinner in London, people would have labelled me either a lunatic or a science-fiction writer. So before you pooh-pooh the concept of farcasting as an element of wild optimism, think twice.

Here is a set of pilgrims on their way to Hyperion, a distant planet humans had habituated off late. Each of them has their own reason to travel to this dreaded destination. Dreaded because of the presence of somebody who was more popularly known as the “Lord of pain”, Shrike, happens to be an intriguing character walking the tight rope of speculations whether it was a God or a mere human. And each of these travellers had a reason to unravel the mystery.

What makes the book so entertaining are the stories these pilgrims have. That way each of their stories qualify as a Novella and what we read as a book is a collection of these novellas woven together with a seamless ending. One needs to have a scientific and an imaginative mind to enjoy this marvel.

Though what takes the cake, is the concept of time tombs in Shrike Temple, wherein, if encountered by Shrike, that person starts growing in a reverse way, eventually dying as an infant. A concept of bringing the past personalities alive, namely, John Keats, the romantic poet, also is a novel idea. The set of poems written by the poet among the pilgrims, namely, Hyperion Cantos, is what gives the book its name. The poet who loses his motivation to write with the death of his muse is in pursuit of her whereabouts in Hyperion to rekindle his poetry, and to quote him “only a poet knows the pain of losing his muse”.

This book could be a good fodder for the recent debate between Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk, on the possibilities of Artificial Intelligence going the wrong way. Unsurprisingly the story hovers around how Artificial Intelligence considers humans as substandard and wants to finish off the obsolete race once forever. Their only hindrance was Hyperion, the abode of Shrike.

The AI dominated world called Core wanted to destroy Hyperion before it could join ranks with rebel humans called Ousters.  Hegemony, that’s what the string of planets were called where humanity resided in concurrence with Cybrids (Human body with programmed intelligence) and Androids (fully AI). Hegemony which was intellectually dominated by Cybrids and Androids, created a hatred amongst self-respecting humans, some of whom stayed away in their secluded abodes and were called Ousters.

Finally what happens is left to imagination in an artistic way.


Murder in a train – A short story

                                                Murder in a train

Kochuvelli express was approaching its last station, Kochuveli. Kochuveli literally translates as a second surreptitious wife.  And like a paramour visiting his secret liaison, the train too was hesitantly inching ahead. The station resembled the Malgudi station in the famous novel, Malgudi days by the legendary writer R.K.Narayan. It came to life only during those occasional arrivals of a train. Once the hullabaloo of the passengers getting down and the taxi drivers and hawkers shouting out for business died down, the station used to look like an empty carnival ground a day after the carnival.

Suku was on his usual look out for things people used to forget when they alight the train. Most of the time he used to get a cell phone if he was early enough to find it. People who forget the cell phone usually come running for it since they were so habituated with fingering with the phones. But on an average he ends up with a phone every week, which gave him a handsome revenue of two to three thousand rupees every week. Without knowing who were Sam Pitroda, Rajiv Gandhi or Steve Jobs, he thanked the guys who initiated a telecom revolution in India and the world. Kerala being a tourist hot spot, sometimes what he kept his hands on, were the phones left behind by foreign tourists.

The usual things people forget were books, spectacles, and ear-phones etc, which were not carrying much commercial value for a thief. Suku but never considered himself to be a thief, since he never stole things. He just picked up things which in all probability would have been picked up by somebody else. That way his conscience was clear. And to make it clearer he made sure ten percent of his daily revenue was deposited in the nearby Ganapati Kovil (temple). That way he pulled in God as his partner in business as well.

He was about to leave a reserved compartment when he noticed somebody was still asleep in an upper berth. As a thief he do not carry any such inhibitions to help people. But something unusual had struck him while he took a second look at the figure. It did not have a head.

Thiruvananthapuram, the capital of Kerala state, unlike many other Indian cities always wore an old world look. Sometimes, it gave a feeling that, if one could take away the Padmanabhaswamy temple and the state secretariat, then the city would be nothing more than a small town. May be that’s the way the Lord Padmanabhaswamy wanted to keep his city. As the legend goes, the princely state of Travancore (now Thiruvanathapuram) is owned by Lord, and the erstwhile king ruled it on Lord’s behalf. The country belonged to the Lord and hence the sobriquet of “God’s own country” to Kerala.

The chambers or vaults inside the Padmanabhaswamy temple had raised a lot of worldwide attention due to its enormous wealth, which was discovered off late. Since then, Government of India was working round the clock to ensure its safety. And the solace for the Government was that after the initial media frenzy the temple had limped back into normalcy and now the government was free to have its job done without any hassles and interference. Lot of speculation was there regarding the vault B, which had two snakes embossed on the door as a matter of caution. People after having been put their ears on the door spoke about either hissing sound of snakes or the hiss of sea waves, not able to ascertain what exactly they had. Rumours even tell about the doors if opened will bring the sea into the city thus drowning it once for all. It was said that the kings made it with a dual purpose. One was for their escape in case of an attack. Second was that anyone, especially the enemy who in hot pursuit, opens the vault B door, they will be engulfed by the waiting sea waves.

It was now a challenge for the government to protect vault from unscrupulous elements, especially if the story of the connection with sea was a possibility. Hence it was decided to hand over the security to CISF on a 24 hour basis. So when all of a sudden a human head was found floating in the Padmatheertha Kulam (the reverent pond of the Lord), the police was in a state of shock. More than the shock it became imperative for them to hide the incident under the carpet lest the media showcases it as a failure of security system. And the impending media scrutiny would make their job a sure nightmare.

The face was so defunct because of the fishes gorging on it, hence it needed a DNA test to ascertain that the body discovered in the train was in fact the same person’s. The reservation chart had shown that the coupe in the compartment was fully reserved by a Gujarati family, supposedly on a leisure trip to the “God’s Own Country”. But the police took no time to trace this family who were away in Kanyakumari enjoying the sunset on the Vivekananda Rock. Soon their dream trip to the “God’s Own Country” became a nightmare reminiscing “Devil’s Own Country”. Poor chaps expectedly had nothing to do with the murder, which police was also prima facie convinced. The profile of this murder and the unfolding intricacies were just not the cup of tea for a middle class trading family. But the police couldn’t afford to leave any loose ends, and they were just doing their duty.

India being India, somebody in the temple premises had leaked the information to the press, and in no time the issue was subjected to debates on national television. The television anchors bade for the blood of the Prime Minister, citing it as a failure of the secular state to uphold Hindu interests. The Prime Minster, keeping in mind the upcoming central elections and more so because of the rising and worrying clout of the right wing party, swung into action. The temple was handed over to the National Security Guards (NSG), which was the prime commando group in the country. The coast guard was put on high alert to prevent any getaway through the sea in case of a heist. The southern air command in Akkulam a suburb of Thiruvananthapuram was asked to do an air surveillance to prevent drone attacks on the temple.  In short the whole security mechanism, be it from the Central Government or the State Government was literally at the service of the Lord, everyone trying to prevent a possible heist of India’s greatest treasure.

Towards 30 kilometres north of Thiruvananthapuram city lied the Saint Andrews church. The church once was situated further towards the coast, but in a magnanimous gesture, the priests agreed to donate the building and space to India’s seemingly over-ambitious dreams of becoming a space power. The rest as they say is history. From the benign and baby steps then, the space programme of India has grown into one of the most successful programs the world over. It was in fact a matter of pride for the country but other nations frowned at it. Especially one neighbouring nation who was always in the news for the wrong reasons, could not digest this mammoth leap India was taking, despite the acute economic and political problems.

With the whole security mechanism shifting focus to a tangible treasure, the enemy was finding it easy to strike at the real treasure of India. And that was the Vikram Sarabhai space station near Thumba. The enemy had clear information that the satellite which can see the whole of south-Asia like the back of one’s hand is under preparation at this place. This satellite if launched would expose their nefarious deeds in front of the world community. The hitherto support they enjoyed from western countries would fall like a pack of cards, thus ending the millions of dollars that flowed in the name of various aids. The country’s economy which depended on arm exports and narcotics sale would go into a tailspin if not for the herculean aid that they received from West every year.

The only way they could prevent this was to stop the launch of this satellite. Reminiscent to the 2008 Mumbai attacks, a team of mercenaries were dropped off into a bunch of dingy boats off the coast of Thumba while the Indian coast guard was busy surveying the coasts of Thiruvananthapuram. The Dingy boats were deflated and buried the moment they took to the shores. Far away atop the Kodimaram (Flag Pole) of Saint Andrews church, Jesus must have smiled at the fallacy of enemy nation.

Nizar Ahmed was a new recruit into the Crime Investigation Department of Kerala Police. He was taking a survey of the compartment where they had found the headless body. Police had handed over Suku also to him for interrogation. After hearing Suku’s version of story he checked the mobile phone police had confiscated from Suku.  After having unlocked the phone with the help of experts he was scrolling the phone for anything specific. Suddenly he saw a message from UBER car Rental App which showed a booking from Kochuveli railway station to Thumba. This was an unusual route for somebody who must have come by train. Because Thumba was nearer to many previous stations and no one would get down at Kochuveli to go all the way back to Thumba.

In no time police had caught hold of the Uber driver who took the person to Thumba. Being an unusual trip, he had taken note of the traveller. He said the traveller was a bit erratic in his behaviour and dropped off mid-way, maybe a few kilometres before the designated destination. He had surprisingly got down in front of the church much before the hotel which was marked as destination in the App.

Nizar Ahmed had no other option but to go and meet the priest Father Jacob Pazhoor. The beauty of Kerala is that nobody is really bothered about what religion anyone belonged to. Father Pazhoor had no qualms in allowing a Muslim cop to do a check of his premises. Soon a battalion of forces with equipment for explosive detection arrived at the church. Even after threadbare checking nothing unusual was found. Though the church authorities were whole heartedly supportive of the checking, some local people obviously with political overtures started protesting against police presence at a place of worship. Seeing that the number of protestors was swelling in numbers, the police decided to vacate the area. But the cop in Nizar Ahmed still was not clear of doubts.

It was just a hunch that prompted him to check a dilapidated caravan, which usually came into life only during the annual carnival. Inside the caravan there were sure signs of somebody having stayed. Below the wooden floor of caravan there were remains of some assembly been carried out, apparently to launch rockets. The explosive team which rushed back confirmed traces of RDX, a deadly explosive. The news sent the whole state machinery into a frenzy.

The Space centre was cordoned off and not even a housefly could enter it without the security agencies shooting it down. Drones were on the sky to survey the landscape, all of them transmitting the visuals to a control room. Without getting hindered about the mayhem outside, the Indian scientists known for their integrity and commitment worked round the clock to honour the timelines of the launch.

Nizar had by this time became a small fry in the sea of high level police officials who had proliferated to prove their mettle. But something was bothering the young officer, a sixth sense that everything is not fine. From a distance he looked at the image of Jesus Christ behind the Altar of the church. The Lord seemed to tell him something. It was past the dusk and the last of the sun rays had dissipated. The sky was overcast which made it dark instantaneously. Suddenly there was a strong lightning and a deafening thunder followed it. The power went off making it pitch dark. Far away the light house was still showing its light around into the sea. In the faint light that it transmitted, again he saw Jesus Christ smiling at him. He did not waste any more time.

Running at a maximum speed through the sands of the beach, he reached at the bottom of light house. He had called up his superior and updated him about his gut feeling. One police officer never under- estimates the gut feeling of another officer, that’s what makes the police force over the world ticking. Help for Nizar was on its way, but he did not wait for it. Puffing and panting he climbed the stairs like a panther, without making the slightest of noise. On the top he could see the light house keeper lying in a pool of blood, his throat slit neatly. He waited with bated breath to over hear any conversation. In chaste Urdu, he could hear what they were intending for. He could count seven silhouettes all together. One fellow was speaking with a clear Malayali accent. Nizar had decided to catch this traitor alive. Far way he could see the approaching police vehicles. There was a sudden unrest among the culprits seeing the beeline of vehicles. They were starting to launch rockets before the police would spoil the party, Nizar could clearly hear their conversation. “Finish off the space centre first, then let them kill us”, the leader among the lot shouted at his guys. Before the guys could make out what was happening, Nizar had his gun do the talk. In a swirl action he had shot four guys down. The remaining two were in a state of shock. Before they could react Nizar had hit the fifth mercenary on his leg with the iron rod he had kept stock from the stairways. He could hear the bones breaking amongst the screams.

The remaining guy, the fellow Malayali was hit on his head in a typical police tactics and was brought down to captivity in no time. By that time he could hear heavy footsteps climbing up the stairs. Nizar Ahmed could see the beautiful church under the twilight. He smiled back at Jesus Christ.

After many days, Nizar Ahmed visited the grieving family of the deceased man whose headless body was found in the train. After handing over the money he received as a gift from government for his heroics, to the deceased’s five year old son, Nizar turned towards the widowed lady. He said “I wish I’d been there earlier. It might have made all the difference. So all I can tell you is why he was murdered”.