At the Eleventh Hour

By Manmohan Sehgal

"AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR" plunges its readers into the deep sea of SELF -DISCOVERY, MENTAL AWAKENING, SOUL SEARCHING and REDEMPTION. The book has an aura of love, suspense, stabbing, entertainment, trust, misfortune and death. At the same time its different themes also grip one's mind with the redemptive power of love, friendship and infidelity. Its simple but flawless narration provides enough mental food for the readers to go for self-analysis and forced to think if he had been there what would have been his situation. How he would have reacted and retaliated in those breathstopping and chilling circumstances. And above all the readers vividly feel the heat of incredibility and wonders at the mysteries of life as the climax is highly unpredictable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Jul 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781482820027

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Copyright © 2014 by Manmohan Sehgal.

ISBN:                  Hardcover               978-1-4828-2003-4

                            Softcover                 978-1-4828-2004-1

                            eBook                      978-1-4828-2002-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Partridge India

000 800 10062 62

www.partridgepublishing.com/india

CONTENTS

Dedicated To

Introduction

Acknowledgements

Woman: Woo-men

Haves and Havenots

Possessed

The Most Amazing Thing!

Riotered

The Hidden Treasure

Love, Infatuation or Frailty?

Tochan (Tow Away)

Shattered

Axed

Axed—2

Kalishnikoved

Goddess Luxmi’s Vehicle

Whose Fault?

Made for Each Other

DEDICATED TO

One and Only,

ALMIGHTY GOD

INTRODUCTION

There are innumerable incidents and moments in life which leave their deep impact on our psyche. We are deeply shocked and disturbed and wonder at their incredibility. At the same time we are also compelled to ponder over the real meaning of life. Many a time it comes to our minds if the same thing had happened with us what would have been our response and condition. How we would have reacted and come out from that shattering situation when the earth was slipping under our feet.

Life is full of unexpectations and miracles. A wise and patient man is one who faces every situation, whether favourable or unfavourable, smilingly and continues his life’s journey to achieve everlasting peace and contentment.

I have penned down fifteen short-stories. The core idea contained in them is true but they do not bear any resemblance in particular to any person or family dead or alive. Similarly, the names of the characters and situations are also fictitious. Therefore, this book should be read as a work of fiction and relished.

With this, I welcome you to At The Eleventh Hour.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I had developed an ardent desire in me to go for creative writing and that too in the field of English fiction after the completion of my post-graduation in English literature. Later on, when I stepped into the teaching profession, the same urge and passion remained but I lacked confidence, depth, time and finance. And we all know that these prerequisites are essential for a good piece of writing. As time passed, maturity, self-confidence and knowledge stepped in. And the result is before you in the form of my first book titled, At the Eleventh Hour,(A Collection of Short Stories) I am sure you are going to relish this book in your leisure and travelling hours.

It would be imprudent on my part if I do not express my sincerest gratitude to those who encouraged and helped in my dream come true.

First of all, I thank Almighty God for His love, blessings and strength for making me do it. Secondly, I am highly grateful to my father who is physically no more. I dare not use the word, Late for him because he is still alive in my heart; in my dreams; in my memories and will remain so till the last breath of my life. His memories have been a constant source of inspiration to me.

Thirdly, I would like to thank my readers for accepting and recognizing me as a writer. And how can I forget my publishers PARTRIDGE… . , for publishing my first endeavour. Without their support and guidance this creation would not have been materialised. Last but not the least I am highly obliged to my friends, colleagues (in service) for their critical approach and all my family members for their moral support in the final compilation of my first collection of fifteen short-stories. I am also highly grateful to Mr Sonu Kapoor and his MANOXA SOLUTIONS for constantly guiding me in my first effort.

1

WOMAN: WOO-MEN

It is in the months of May and June only when the red hot Indian sun makes the life of the inhabitants of the subcontinent miserable and unbearable. The blazing inferno especially engulfs the poverty stricken and roofless people. The Indians experience the power of nature and pray to all omnipotent and omniscient One for the monsoon showers to relieve them from the fury of the Sun God. The priests commence on the grand task of performing the hawans to please the weather God for the timely arrival of the monsoon clouds as Shelly’s invocation for the west-wind to lift him as a wave, a leave, a cloud, he falls upon the thorns of life.

Infact, the scorching heat never discriminates between the haves and have-nots. It is merciless and does not take into consideration caste, colour, creed or faith whichever one professes. Such is the intensity of the waves of the red ball of fire that even die-hards run for a shady place.

Shaurya wiped his fair wheatish complexioned and innocent looking face with his handkerchief and came and stood under the paanwala’s khokha’s extended shed. He was a medium built man who had recently jumped into the mad rat-race of survival. The strong winds of passion and lust had not yet blown against him. He was safe, protected and pure.

One Limca please, chilled.

The shopkeeper smiled at him and said, Very hot, sir.

Yeah, replied Shaurya taking the chilled beverage from him. He knew that now the owner would not mind his standing there for long. This was his fifth cold drink since morning as it relieved him only momentarily as the temperature had crossed 45°Celsius and there was neither any sign of monsoon clouds nor winds. And to wait for a bus at Delhi’s by-pass in such a blazing inferno tests one’s mettle and perseverance.

It was Saturday. Shaurya was returning to his parents in Zirakpur. He had recently joined as Assistant Technical Manager in the world renowned RR Surgicals. Infact, he was very fortunate to be selected out of ten short listed candidates, although other candidates were equally good and well qualified like him. He only thanked God for his benevolence. It was nothing less than a miracle. Now he could think of getting married as he had recently celebrated his twenty-sixth birthday with his family members and close friends. His mother was already in hurry to crucify him but his father wished him to settle down first and then he could go for shouldering the marital responsibilities.

Excuse me, is there any bus for Karnal? A squeaky, nervous voice fell on his ears.

He turned back and saw a young gorgeous looking girl. For once he was taken aback. Such was the onslaught of her glowing face. Controlling himself he said, Yes many… many. In fact, I’m also waiting for the bus.

A slight smile appeared on the girl’s thin lips as she put her bag down. She was in her early twenties,

You never know about these Haryana Roadways buses, continued Shaurya. Sometimes you have four-five buses at your disposal and sometimes none. You have to wait for a couple of hours.

The girl’s smiled broadened. The young man reciprocated. She glanced down, and tried to appear normal in that blazing heat but she could not. Shaurya moved a bit further in order to accommodate her under the vendor’s tin shed which she accepted. Now she was standing quite close to him. She looked ravishing in her defiant figure. She was wearing a sky coloured denims and skin tight burgundy colour T-shirt. As they waited for the bus, Shaurya could feel her fragrance. His mind fancied sitting together in the bus with her.

Chandigarh! Chandigarh! the conductor of the bus shouted from the door of the bus as the bus passed them and came to a screeching halt some twenty-thirty feet away in front of them.

Come on, run, he said to her as he picked up his briefcase and gripped his laptop in his left hand.

Please save one seat for me? said the girl, pleadingly.

I’ll try, replied Shaurya as he ran towards the bus. The girl followed him. There was quite a rush but still the young man had to prove his masculinity in getting inside the bus and managed successfully to get two seats. The girl was also able to sneak in after a lot of struggle and reached the reserved seat for her. It was quite an ordeal for the fair damsel to make her way in this male dominated society, where intense struggle is there for each and every seat.

Oh! Thank you very much, the girl said smilingly putting her bag down.

My pleasure, replied Shaurya as he looked into her smiling and searching eyes. The girl sat down and adjusted the lock of her hair with her right hand which used to free itself, and strike her glowing cheek after every few seconds. He felt smitten by her style. It reminded him of a song in which the lover exhorts his beloved to check her locks and keep them in control as they appear like deadly nags (cobras). This thought brought a slight smile on his face and he turned his face towards the window to hide his delight.

The bus resumed its journey and the passengers heaved a sigh of relief as the fresh air splashed on their perspiring faces. At length the young man said, "Quite hot!, ‘in order to break the silence.

Yeah!

Adjust your bag under the front seat, advised Shaurya to the young maiden. The girl obeyed and looked at him smilingly. He felt shy and felt in want of words to continue the conversation. The young man looked out to enjoy the view but when you have such a pretty co-passenger sitting beside you the nature’s beauty takes a back seat. Such is the impact of feminine beauty. And that’s why itis said to be the most wonderful and mysterious creation of God. Shaurya felt hesitant to talk to the unknown girl. In order to pose normal he opened his laptop and started surfing. Although, his mind was not there. He could feel the warmth of her bare arm which touched his. He strived hard to concentrate while browsing but all his efforts were in vain

Now, he did not feel the scorching heat of June. Its place was taken by an invincible brutal warmth.

Where are you going? Shaurya again heard the sweet voice

Zirakpur, he looked up and said.

"Where is it?’?

Near Chandigarh

Do you live there? asked the young girl.

Yes. Now the young man switched off the laptop and started conversing with her and dared to look direct into her bewitching eyes. They welcomed him. He could also feel the closeness of her physique and the strong waves of perfume which she had used.

You must be visiting your parents every week?

Not exactly, . . . usually after fortnight

What about you? enquired the young man.

Delhi University, M.A. final, Psychology.

And you? she asked.

I work as an Assistant Technical Manager at RR Surgicals.

That’s good;I too, will jump into job after my finals.

So you stay as PG.

Yes, replied the girl, blushingly

Single, I mean as PG.

The girl smiled and felt shy as every Indian girl does when asked this type of question.

Oh, no! . . . with one of my friends.

So you are going to your parents?

She nodded.

At Karnal… ?

Yes, she replied smilingly.

Time passed quickly and comfortably for both the unknown passengers. Her fragrance intoxicated him. It was quite strong. When he looked at her again after some time he found her busy on her mobile which was also cute like her.

Yes, Mom, I’m fine. I’ll be reaching there by almost 2 O’clock. While talking, she glanced at him and smiled.

Okay, pick me up from the bus stand. I am nearing Panipat. Okay, bye!

My mother, she said to him as she kept her mobile in her purse.

He smiled back.

It’s extremely hot, she said.

Yes.

I must have some drink.

Don’t worry, he continued, we are nearing Panipat, you may have some drink there, replied Shaurya.

Time passed very quickly for Shaurya. The two hour journey from Delhi to Panipat used to tire him, but today, these hundred and twenty minutes seemed to have lapsed very quickly. In his heart he cursed the driver for driving the bus expeditiously and bringing his romantic journey to a quick end. He felt on top of the world while conversing with her. Beautiful partner, political topic or a game of cards hastens one’s journey to its quick and surprise end.

As the bus approached the city of three battles of Panipat which changed the history of India, he knew that Karnal was not far away where his fair co-passenger would get