The Jungle

The forest was silent and desolated. Time - around 3 in the afternoon. The forest was covered with dense trees, and about 12 people were running in the crowd of these trees. Their running caused soft rustling of leaves-which didn’t cause any major noise in the forest. These were very strange people. They were wearing black cloaks, due to which the entire shape of their body was visible. They were all running in the same direction in the forest gasping with long breaths. There was no expression on their faces – Zero, absolutely zero. They all stopped suddenly and started looking at their right side. They thought about something; and then they again ran towards their right. Suddenly, they came near a tree and stopped.

They noticed something on the ground. There was a plastic bag and a chopped hand was protruding out of the bag. There was a man who was at the forefront of the team of these twelve people. He was a handsome young man. On the black cloak sticking to his body was written Aakash in white. That is, he was Aakash. Aakash raised the bagged arm and looked closely. The sliced hand was frozen. On seeing that hand, everyone started crying. Their grief was a strange mourning. Aakash had tears in his eyes. And then, Aaakash kissed the arm, touched it to his forehead and then placed it on the ground.

And then once again, this entire team started running towards the other direction. They all saw him, the guy who was throwing the severed limbs in different places in the forest. He was on a bike. There was a helmet on his head and a bag on the handle of the bike. In this bag, were the severed parts of someone's body. The man on the bike stopped again. After getting off the bike, he took out a chopped leg this time, took off his helmet and smiled at the leg. The 30-year-old, light- toned and extremely powerful man managed to look quite ugly at the same time. He was now looking at the severed leg angrily and stood there, staring at it. Just twelve steps away from him, were the 12 people in the black cloak who were watching him without batting an eyelid. This was probably the last part of the body pieces. The man threw this last limb in the bushes on one side and turned back towards his bike. The biker still did not see the twelve men while they were looking at him with vengeance and anger. Why is it that he could not see them? This biker was now right in front of these twelve black veneers, he was leisurely walking towards his bike, he even crossed Aakash. He also easily surpassed the rest of the people standing behind Akash. He then sat on his bike, started it and went in the opposite direction out of the forest. These twelve cloaked men watched him go away. Who were these twelve black cloaked people? A soul, or an avatar or a ghost? Everyone had different names on their cloaks. Someone’s name was Aakash while someone’s name was Samaj. One looked 30 years old and had strange blackish marks on his face. On his chest was written, Samaj. There were some women and two children in this team. There was also an old lady. On her stomach were inscribed the words, Budhiya. There was a small child who had Sabun written on his chest. And there was a beautiful girl, so beautiful that if someone saw her once, they won’t be able to take their eyes off her. If someone on his death bed would look at her once, he’d desire to live more, just for her. It is said that there is no perfection in the world, neither in Surat nor in Sirat, but she was perfect in both Surat and Sirat. Extremely beautiful. On her chest was written- Falak.

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The man entered the flat and went inside. He was the same person who had gone to the forest today to hide his misdeeds. There was no clue regarding whose limbs had he dumped in the forest. He opened his refrigerator, took out a bottle of water and started drinking from it. He had no clue that there is someone else in this flat. Who? The same twelve people who were in the forest. These twelve people, sitting at different places in the hall, were staring at the biker. Sitting on a flat sofa, he suddenly became happy and then took a deep breath and started laughing loudly. Laughing, he picked up a script and read the word Aakash written on the cover. The man then said, "The story of the story writer ends right here, Tarun finished it" and then started laughing loudly again. His name was Tarun, and the 12 cloaked people were staring at him. Then some of the typed pages placed near the slider started flapping like a bird’s wings. Tarun had absolutely no attention on those papers. Tarun saw someone's message on his mobile and then left the flat, leaving the twelve people behind. As Tarun walked out, Akash moved towards the papers that were still fluttering near the slider, without any air. He picked up the papers and attached it to his chest. The old lady spoke,

" What should we do now? "

Aakash replied sitting on the couch thinking,

"We have no one Budhiya, we can do nothing but wait".

Why was he calling an old woman, older than his mother a Budhiya? That made Akash strange. Among these 12 people, Falak, who was the most beautiful came forward and asked Budhiya,

"What will we do after waiting?"

Neither Aakash nor the old lady had any answer to this question. Samaj then jumped in the middle and said,

" What kind of life is this? Neither can we live nor can we die. Just plain darkness all around us. All our paths are closed".

The old lady suddenly spoke on what Samaj just said, "What did you say, please tell me again". Samaj reiterated, "All our paths are closed?"

"No ...other than that"

“There is darkness all around us?"

"No, not that. After that."

"What kind of life is this, neither can we live nor die?"

Akash repeated what Samaj had said. The old lady became happy all of a sudden and then said,

"Yes, that. But what does dying mean?" everyone started looking at each other’s faces.

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Everyone was busy with their work in the police station. This was the Red chowki police station. Inspector Pagare, in-charge of this police station, was a very bitter and stubborn person. He wasn’t human; he behaved more or less like an animal. Today, this animal was about to encounter some humans from Mumbai. Me, Kushal, is missing since a few days now. Sharma ji, my father along with Nakul, my elder brother entered the police station to write a report of my disappearance. Both of them were waiting for a senior officer. Pagare came, and he was drunk. Which responsible inspector does this on duty? But this is Pagare, he drinks whenever and wherever he wants to. When my father, Sharma ji complained about my disappearance, Pagare laughed.

"Are you a millionaire?"

"No"

"Which means your son wasn’t kidnapped. Was he involved in an affair with anyone?"

"No, my Kushal is a decent boy. He does not even eat tobacco. He even hesitates to talk to girls."

"So why did he run away?"

"He is missing Sir; he did not run away ..." Nakul bhaiya spoke this time.

"Who is this?"

"This is my elder son Nakul"

"You say your son is missing. He is 18 years old. An 18 years old boy is not a child. He must have gone either by his own will or you must have thrown him out from your home .... Right?"

This time, my father was silent. The policeman understood. And then him getting angry was imminent.

"The boy was innocent. Did not even eat tobacco. He used to stay away from girls. Then which father throws such a son out of the house Sharmaji? Would you care to explain?"

The entire police station was in a fit due to this situation. There was utter silence. Sharmaji bowed down his head. This time Nakul did not remain quiet. He said,

"My brother Kushal was a story writer."

The policeman was shocked to hear this. He just kept thinking. As soon as Nakul said that his brother was a story writer, the rest of the policemen in the police station started looking in his direction. Pagare himself was surprised. He was drunk but he was conscious of what he was hearing. He said,

"What do you mean by story writer? Was he lying to people? Wasn’t there any time when he spoke the truth?"

Hearing this, my father spoke in a slightly rude voice,

"My Kushal does not lie, he is a good boy, he is intelligent ... he is very clever."

This time Pagare felt irritated.

"Innocent boy. Never lied. Still that clever boy was kicked out of the house. Your elder son says that he was a story writer. Now Sharmaji, tell me, what does all of this mean?"

"He used to write stories” father spoke softly.

"What? Stories as in the ones in novels and movies? "

"Yes". Nakul replied.

Pagare was in two states of mind. He first got up from his chair. He then laughed while thinking something and then scratched his head. He then suddenly spoke-

"Now I understand what you’ll meant by story writer. But not everyone has this kind of talent. Why would someone remove such a talented boy out of the house?"

“I agree that I removed him out of the house. But that can be discussed later. Right now, I want you to find my son. He can go anywhere but no matter what I’d say to him, he’d always come back. He cannot stay away from his father. It has been 15 days now. I feel that something just isn’t right. "

Pagare who had now lost his temper, said -

"It was you who threw his own son out of the house. And now, after all this, you expect us the police to find him for you? Enough with all this. I think it’s time for you’ll to leave."

Father panicked. He didn’t know what to say.

"But "

"No buts. We already have enough work to do. Better leave Sharmaji.”

In anger, he drove Father and Nakul bhaiya away. They walked out with a heavy heart wherein Pagare was murmuring some cuss words.

On the busy streets of Mumbai, Budhiya along with Aakash and Falak, where roaming freely. They had Samaj with them as well. They were easily passing through the cars on the roads. These were not visible to anyone. These people were looking for something. Aakash then asked-

“Budhiya, how will we know what does dying actually feel like? "

" This concept of death holds our true identities Aakash. We have to figure it out."

The world does not have enough time to live but these cloaked people needed information about dying. Even though the world is doing a lot of research on death, the fact is that they haven't ever known the secret of death. Yes, man dies but that is the only information man has. It is really shocking to know that one day man has to die, but he's so obsessed in living his life, that he doesn't let others live theirs. Meanwhile, these people were out on a quest to find out the basic fundamentals of death when they saw a bier carrying a body and people crying around it.

Some people were carrying the bier on their shoulders. Around them was a crowd which was chanting ‘ram-naam Satya Hai’, and two to three women standing behind, were mourning for their loss. A middle-aged woman was constantly crying and mourning the death of her son quite loudly. After watching all of this in front of their eyes, Budhiya, Aakash’ Falak and Samaj then looked at each with realization striking them all of a sudden; they now understood what dying actually meant. Death means going away from your loved ones. To be left all alone. To die means to mourn. This is what they all understood. This was going on in the minds of these people. And then, all three of them wept suddenly starting from the old woman.

"Oh, dear god! My story writer died. My storywriter died!”

When Samaj, Akash and Falak saw the old lady mourning, they started doing the same too. All three of them returned to the flat where the rest of the members were waiting. Watching these people mourn, the rest of the members too began to mourn loudly. But even after all of this, no one outside the flat could hear any of them. Rather, no one knew that there were 12 people present in Tarun’s flat.

Who are these people? Who is this story writer? What was their relationship with this story writer? The story will unfold slowly.

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Nakul bhaiya and father came home directly from the police station. Melancholic and disheartened. There was no one other than these two at home right now. Both were depressed. Absolutely silent. They didn't know where to find me. Nakul bhaiya then said

"Baba, I think we went overboard with Kushal that day.”

Father’s eyes welled up. He moved towards a trophy placed near the wall, took the trophy in his hand and said,

"My scolding, my anger was for his own good. He is only 18 years old now. He should’ve been concentrating on his studies."

"But he does not think like that Baba "

Father came close to Nakul bhaiya, kept the trophy on the table, held Nakul bhaiya’s hand and wept like a little child.

"Bring me my Kushal, Nakul, I will never call him a story writer ever. He can do whatever he wants to. I will not speak a word. He can write stories, roam around, do as he feel like, I just won’t say anything. Neither will I ever hit him. Just bring him back once."

Just like an innocent child, father hugged Nakul bhaiya and wept continuously. Emotions then got better of Nakul, and he said-

"I’ll bring him back father. Whatever it takes. I promise you I will bring him back. "

Nakul bhaiya had a small flashback in his head. He could hear my voice, screaming and telling him-

"No brother, please don't burn these papers, please, these papers are my life!" He couldn’t sleep that night. He was a little nervous. He tried to sleep but there was a voice which he could hear, as if it was trying to tell him something. It was my voice which was telling him, “Bhaiya, I have been cut off, ripped off, I am all alone, afraid in this old forest. Please get me out of here. Brother help me. "

Nakul bhaiya got up, all shaking and trembling and sweating profusely. The fear on his face was eminent and clear.

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