A Chanakyapuri Tale

 

Akriti walked down the freshly watered and manicured lawns flanking the roadsides. The sun was hot and the lack of trees that could be otherwise seen on the side roads were severely lacking on this artery.

So far so good. She had worn sensible shoes for this walk, and if required, the run – though the burqa smothered her. But that could not be helped.

“There! That’s her!” Deshmukh’s shout could be heard over the heavy Corps Diplomatique vehicles trundling down the road, or perhaps, she just couldn’t forget his voice.

“Who sent the toolkit?”
“Who gave you the ideas?”
“How much were you paid?”
“Who all did you call?”

She had answered honestly. Truthfully. The whole year, until she was finally released; but she was under no impression of safety.

Then the routine set in.

New e-mail IDs. New SIMs. But she could see Director Deshmukh’s spiderlings scuttling behind her when she walked, on her e-mails, behind the cameras, waiting to snare her and trap her friends. Then finally she found a way out and said her last goodbyes. She went to her boyfriend’s house. This was routine. They knew about him. He was arrested and interrogated too.

Then out of Aditi Sadan came a woman in a burqa. No alert was sounded immediately. Not until the Director read the report and saw through her disguise.

“Gadi nikalo!” the bark echoed down the police walls.

Then Akriti ran. Just as the tires squealed behind her, she reached the gates of the US Embassy.

“I seek sanctuary!”

The guard had his back turned and was watching the news.

“The new COVID pandemic has just reached US shores. All borders have been closed and embassy staff have been ordered to deny admittance to foreign nationals.”