• Fear and sadness prevail
• Would I do it again?
• They're in business
• Dessert dreams
• Singyore keyana katha
• 

Part 5 of Fragments, Manel Abhayaratne's thrilling serial

Fear and sadness prevail

They were all like little flies caught in a net unable to escape even if they wanted to - and what had been the bait - freedom - and where was that freedom now?

He bent down to see what the girl was drawing again - it was the vehicle and she wrote the digital figures, only she had not seen one number. He ruffled her hair, "You are clever child. I have never seen anyone as clever as you." She smiled at him happy that he believed her. She pulled out some more paper and started drawing again, her long hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes slightly screwed up intent on her drawings. Then she gave it to him. It was a portrait of himself and she had written "I like you". He hugged her quickly and said humbly "I like you too."

The child's display of trust had touched him more than he would admit. He had to think, this child should be the bait and yet would she be harmed? It worried him. Earlier she was just a child at the window but now she was a person - a little girl who looked at him with trusting eyes. "Let's go for tea. Your mother must be wondering what has happened to us."

Sipping the tea he said, "Your daughter is brilliant, she has drawn almost a portrait of the man I suspected. Now it's a question of setting a trap as no one would believe that he is involved." He frowned slightly and Neela seemed to sense his thoughts. "She has got hurt too much, let her be please," she said. "I won't let anything happen to her," he replied. "That man is important and if he knows that the child has seen him, in this time of fear and death, it'll be easy to hurt her." She continued bitterly, "It's so easy today to hurt people, a bomb explodes, a gun goes off somewhere and more people die and only unseen organisations are responsible. You must not ever think of involving her in anything."

Nihal got up. He had to think and he could not with the woman's pleading face before him. "Look I've to meet a friend of mine. It's urgent, may I come in the evening to see you ?" She nodded. He added "You can trust me, I will never harm the child." "Trust you how can I? You are only another investigator. Your friend died, you are trying to find his murderers. Perhaps we are just pawns in your search?"

She was so close to the truth that he was angry."You must not say that," he said. She replied "No, don't come again. I feel you are a danger to us." He had to come, for without the child he would never succeed in his mission. He said more to change the topic, "You know you are very selfish not about this murder, that is another matter, but about the child. She is so talented you must teach her to develop that talent not keep her cooped up here. No not send her to an institution," he said roughly at her sudden "No." "But send her to a school to learn to live with her disability. You are trying to excuse the guilt you feel by over protecting her."

Neela looked at him and her eyes were sad. He said, "I am sorry I had no business to say that." Chitra touched his hand, he saw her puzzled eyes. He hugged her and said, "I must go, thank you, but I will be here in the evening." Neela did not get up. She watched him go closing the door behind him.

Devi had gone out with Mohan. Raju walked into the garden which earlier he had taken so much pleasure in cleaning. Now it was growing wild with weeds. The old servant was too lazy, he thought, standing idly against the mango tree, playing with a rope left long ago when Mohan was young enough to enjoy riding a swing.

He sighed. Mohan was not yet fourteen - not that old not to enjoy the feel of the wind on his hair and the joy of riding a swing. He rubbed his hand against the rough bark. Had he been foolish. If he had not got involved could they have escaped the sadness or would they have got caught up anyway, for in a small community everyone was related to someone else and within this movement, someone or other who was a relation had suffered or died.They were all like little flies caught in a net unable to escape even if they wanted to - and what had been the bait - freedom - and where was that freedom now?

The foreigner tried his best to reach Raju. The telephone rang but there was no answer. Where was Raju? Why was there no reply? He telephoned Adrian "Hello, I was wondering whether a fund is being started for those two men who were killed. Not yet - let me know-right-no further news. It is very sad that's why I want to help, do all I can to save this beautiful land of yours from these senseless violence. Ah! money is such a little thing - come home for dinner sometime - give me a call before you come." He rang off and sat restlessly drumming the table, more worried than ever.

Nihal drove off from the flat unhappy and fearful. He could not speak to anyone yet since he did not know from where there would be a leak of information. He needed time to think. He drove to a little hotel and asked for a room. The dirty waiter asked him whether he wanted breakfast and then grumbling to himself said that there were no tourists now and business was bad. He showed him into a musty room "No Sir, times are bad" he said. "No one comes now, with these troubles the tourists don't come. When we started, there was so much money in this business. You should have seen this place then. Now even the Loku Mahatmaya does not come. What is the purpose. Only I am there to see to things and they don't pay me well. You want lunch? That's good Sir I'll make you a nice meal. Yes, the phone is working. No hot water, Sir cold water. Yes, the towel is clean," he mumbled.

Nihal closed the door and stretched himself on the bed. His head ached and his shoulder was throbbing but Michael was dead. Michael who harmed nobody and had not really believed the foreigner was responsible for the crimes, for the problems, especially the killings. Nihal grimaced as his wound touched the pillow. He should have let that woman clean it and rebandage it.

She was a beautiful woman, he smiled, but with a lot of inhibitions and fears. Perhaps he could get to know her better later, but she would not thank him for what he was thinking of now. The child had to be the bait for the foreigner would come if he knew that the child recognised him. He would not send anyone else, for he obviously did not want anyone to connect him with the accident.

It was strange how after all these years of striving they had got a glimpse of the truth and now Michael was dead and had he the right to risk the child? He could almost feel her trusting thin hand in his and her beautiful eyes smiling at him, the pride with which she had drawn the man and that special identity the little finger with the ruby ring. Nobody would have really suspected the foreigner.

He was not loud or arrogant, he was quiet, well spoken, obliging and yet vaguely he remembered him saying at a cocktail party, "There is money in revolutions. Strange how people fight for equality and justice and the amount of money that can be made." Michael had laughed and said, "I don't think there is any money really not in this country anyway," but he had been wrong.

The conversation had been lost in the laughter of the others who were around. Just a remark would not lead to suspicion and he was a businessman who lived in the country and wanted to spend his retirement here. He was a lonely man with no kith and kin and this was a country where a man could make friends with ease, friends who would be bothered and concerned. He lived quietly, went on long holidays and was back and visited the country and had conversations about its beauty with those abroad. Nihal gazed at the cobwebbed ceiling and wondered what he could do. Then he thought, "I will not risk the child, but she is so necessary."

He telephoned his friend, Mahinda, in the local newspaper office. He might think of some solution. Mahinda's voice was stunned, loud. "You are dead. Dr. Serasinghe said so." "Yes that's true," said Nihal. "Then how the hell," asked Mahinda. "Listen it's urgent. I am at Hotel Paradise - appropriate name - anyway can you get me one of those self-drive cars and come here. I need your help desperately." "Alright. I'll be there in half and hour."

Nihal smiled that was what he liked about Mahinda. He never asked unnecessary questions not like some other newspaper reporters he knew. He was dozing when he heard the knock on the door. He got up and then clutched his head feeling the familiar nausea and the dizziness. He sat on the bed for a while trying to still the images of the revolving room and then he opened the door. "God help Nihal," said Mahinda, "you should be in hospital - what the hell are you doing in this filthy hotel? This is a low down joint where men bring school girls to titillate their fancy."

"For goodness sake sit down. You need a stiff drink. Shall I get you one? If you faint off I shall definitely take you to hospital." "Listen," said Nihal tightening his hand against his throbbing head "Listen to me first, then you'll know why I have to be dead and think with me, help me to decide what to do. My mind is yet not really clear." "No wonder," muttered Mahinda. Nihal continued harshly, "I know who killed Michael and almost succeeded in bumping me off. Listen you'll be surprised when you hear. It's the foreigner, the famous do gooder who is involved, I feel he is the key figure in this. He does not want anyone to have even an inkling of suspicion that was why he himself was willing to take risks and killed Michael and almost succeeded in killing me - if not for that child I'd have been dead."

Mahinda wondered whether he was delirious. "Child - what child," he asked. "I think I'd better tell you the whole story". Mahinda listened intently he was worried. Nihal's face was ashen and the stained bandage highlighted the angular lines on his unshaven face. Mahinda could not believe that the foreigner was really involved. It was difficult to think of the urbane, confident man with his sober, sedate looks and cool talk involved in helping a rebel movement.

"Look Nihal you rest a bit. I'll come in the evening and we will go to that flat, then we'll try to work out something. I am sure you are having a fever, I think" he scratched his head. "You should go back to hospital." "Nobody knows I am alive. If he finds out then I am finished. I am in no fit state to go out." Mahinda was worried. "Let us have some lunch then you rest. I'll keep the car at the hospital and we can use the vehicle I hired. In the evening we will go to the flat." "Yes, no one must suspect that the child knows anything," Nihal's voice was blurred. He put his head on the pillow and closed his eyes.

Saturday Evening

Devi looked sadly at Raju. "You are so tense, and worried. It is long since we even slept together and we are not that old. What's the use of a life like this? Does this so called struggle for liberty satisfy even the needs of your body?" Raju looked up at her in surprise. Normally Devi was so inhibited that to hear her talk this way amazed him. "You look surprised," she said sadly, "but don't you realize that for months I've lain against you and you have not even touched me, though I feel the tension within you. Is it not unnatural?"

The phone rang. "Who's that?" asked Devi. Raju grabbed the phone. It was the foreigner "Where is the boy," he asked. "I can't find him," said Raju. "Surely your set-up is better organised. Nobody can vanish that fast?" Raju was silent. So many had vanished silently leaving no trace of themselves. Suppose the Police had got him. "None of our boys is involved in the accident," said Raju sullenly. "That's beside the point," said the foreigner "You must find him, that's an order" Raju was stunned. What business had the foreigner to give him an order? Yet before he could furnish a reply the phone was put down.

"Raju," asked Devi "What's all this about. What have you done? Who is that on the phone, what troubles you?" "There are some things I cannot tell you," he said. "Till you started this big campaign there was nothing important that you couldn't speak to me about but now it's time that we spoke of things that matter. - To be continued

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