The second shift ended very late for Sadanandan that day. The client and the onsite personnel of his project were pegging him back to finish a critical work. The whole week has been like that for him and no different was that Friday also. Hectic. It was almost 2AM in the morning when he finally got down to the garage and started the bike.
Sadanandan was a serious guy, not the usual happy go lucky kind of person that you will find among software professionals. Short and stout, he was passionate about two things- riding bikes and photography. As an occasional writer, who had published a few articles in the company’s e-magazine, he had also won a best story award in the last Annual Competitions. And the passion of riding the bike in the late night might have tempted him to stay late and complete the work that day.
The ride back home for him was always exciting for the road was good, curvy and he could easily touch his favorite comfort speed zone of 80-90Kmph. It was on one of those curves that he was slowed down by a person who was standing in the middle of the road, waving a red cloth. Sadanandan sensed danger, but when he stopped the bike feet’s away from the person he was shocked. Shocked not because there was any kind of danger ahead, but because of the person.
The person was Appunni, the protagonist in his last short story The Last Hair Cut. He stopped the bike and got down.
“Appunniyetta, How come you are here? And that too at this time” asked Sadanandan.
“Yes, I am here. Why? Can’t I come to this place?”
“Ok Ok. That’s fine. But… I never expected you and why are you standing on this road. Where are you staying? You could have taken my phone number from mom and have called me? When did you reach the town?” Sadanandan asked a lot of questions.
“Unexpected things are happening, right? That is why I came.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t understand. Why are you stopping me here? Come let’s go home.”
“You won’t understand anything for you have lost that skill of understanding people. Otherwise you would be helping your aged parents out there at home.”
“What are you talking? And why are you talking all these things to me.”
“I am talking about this…” Appunni shouted showing the papers he took from his under pockets.
“What is this?”
“This is your death warrant for me. Your ultra fiction! The Last Haircut. Phew!! ”
“Where did you get that from?”
“That’s not your problem. Why did you do this to me? What you achieved? Money, Fame or something else. Come on tell me what you got by killing me.” Screamed Appunni.
“Appunniyetta, that’s just a story I wrote.. and .. and how did you come to know about that. Try to understand … it’s just a story. Nothing more than that.”
It was then Sadanandan noticed a bike parked far from them on the curve. He guessed it would be a bullet from its shape and a second later the passing light from the faraway lighthouse showed him the person sitting on it. It was Manoj, his friend .The person who first identified that his ‘The Last Haircut’ was a piece of fiction, the person who screamed - ‘You killed that poor Appunniyettan for a few appreciations’- over a bottle of Russian Vodka and the person whom Sadanandan used to tease about his lack of finishing of the football during their company matches.
“It may be a story for you. For me it’s a stroke. The stroke that caused me the same pain as piercing a dagger right into my chest. You have killed me Sadananda, you have just killed me. I will show you how it feels when one kills you.” Replied Appunni in anger.
“Appunniyetta, I didn’t mean it. I just wrote it for…”
“..making it interesting… or for a few appreciation mails ... ?” It was Manoj who completed the sentence.
“Manu, What are you doing here? Is it you who told Appunniyettan about this?” asked Sadanandan.
“Yes, it was I. It was I who brought him here.” Manoj then told how he contacted Sadanandan’s cousin at his hometown and there by got Appunni’s contact number.
“But why? What harm have I done you?”
“You don’t know? You don’t know how hurting it is when you kill a character who is alive.”
“Come on Manu. You can’t do this to me.”
“Yes I can. For I have the right to choose how a character should be handled. You have no right to kill him, even if it is for a mere story.” Blabbered Manoj
Sadanandan saw Appunni taking the scissors from his under pockets. It was the very own hair cutting scissors that he used in his village shop. This time it sparkled at that dark night.
Sadanandan ran. Not much further he could hear the thud of the Bullet coming behind him. Appunni kicked a running Sadanandan on his back from the bike. Sadanandan fell on the road on his back just near the approaching bike, whose ignition was turned off by that time.
Appunni got down from the bike and went towards Sadanandan. He could see the fear on Sadanandan’s face. It was pale. With no time he stabbed Sadanandan. Blood splashed on his face and shirt. Thick Red Blood. He stabbed him three more times.
*********************************************************************************
Sadanandan woke up with a loud scream on his bed. He was sweating and stammering… “Don’t kill me.. Don’t kill me...”
In the hall the new track from Strings sang on the TV.
……Deewaronke Aanchal Main Zinda Hun... Bas Yeh Hai Meri Kahani.
Sadanandan was a serious guy, not the usual happy go lucky kind of person that you will find among software professionals. Short and stout, he was passionate about two things- riding bikes and photography. As an occasional writer, who had published a few articles in the company’s e-magazine, he had also won a best story award in the last Annual Competitions. And the passion of riding the bike in the late night might have tempted him to stay late and complete the work that day.
The ride back home for him was always exciting for the road was good, curvy and he could easily touch his favorite comfort speed zone of 80-90Kmph. It was on one of those curves that he was slowed down by a person who was standing in the middle of the road, waving a red cloth. Sadanandan sensed danger, but when he stopped the bike feet’s away from the person he was shocked. Shocked not because there was any kind of danger ahead, but because of the person.
The person was Appunni, the protagonist in his last short story The Last Hair Cut. He stopped the bike and got down.
“Appunniyetta, How come you are here? And that too at this time” asked Sadanandan.
“Yes, I am here. Why? Can’t I come to this place?”
“Ok Ok. That’s fine. But… I never expected you and why are you standing on this road. Where are you staying? You could have taken my phone number from mom and have called me? When did you reach the town?” Sadanandan asked a lot of questions.
“Unexpected things are happening, right? That is why I came.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t understand. Why are you stopping me here? Come let’s go home.”
“You won’t understand anything for you have lost that skill of understanding people. Otherwise you would be helping your aged parents out there at home.”
“What are you talking? And why are you talking all these things to me.”
“I am talking about this…” Appunni shouted showing the papers he took from his under pockets.
“What is this?”
“This is your death warrant for me. Your ultra fiction! The Last Haircut. Phew!! ”
“Where did you get that from?”
“That’s not your problem. Why did you do this to me? What you achieved? Money, Fame or something else. Come on tell me what you got by killing me.” Screamed Appunni.
“Appunniyetta, that’s just a story I wrote.. and .. and how did you come to know about that. Try to understand … it’s just a story. Nothing more than that.”
It was then Sadanandan noticed a bike parked far from them on the curve. He guessed it would be a bullet from its shape and a second later the passing light from the faraway lighthouse showed him the person sitting on it. It was Manoj, his friend .The person who first identified that his ‘The Last Haircut’ was a piece of fiction, the person who screamed - ‘You killed that poor Appunniyettan for a few appreciations’- over a bottle of Russian Vodka and the person whom Sadanandan used to tease about his lack of finishing of the football during their company matches.
“It may be a story for you. For me it’s a stroke. The stroke that caused me the same pain as piercing a dagger right into my chest. You have killed me Sadananda, you have just killed me. I will show you how it feels when one kills you.” Replied Appunni in anger.
“Appunniyetta, I didn’t mean it. I just wrote it for…”
“..making it interesting… or for a few appreciation mails ... ?” It was Manoj who completed the sentence.
“Manu, What are you doing here? Is it you who told Appunniyettan about this?” asked Sadanandan.
“Yes, it was I. It was I who brought him here.” Manoj then told how he contacted Sadanandan’s cousin at his hometown and there by got Appunni’s contact number.
“But why? What harm have I done you?”
“You don’t know? You don’t know how hurting it is when you kill a character who is alive.”
“Come on Manu. You can’t do this to me.”
“Yes I can. For I have the right to choose how a character should be handled. You have no right to kill him, even if it is for a mere story.” Blabbered Manoj
Sadanandan saw Appunni taking the scissors from his under pockets. It was the very own hair cutting scissors that he used in his village shop. This time it sparkled at that dark night.
Sadanandan ran. Not much further he could hear the thud of the Bullet coming behind him. Appunni kicked a running Sadanandan on his back from the bike. Sadanandan fell on the road on his back just near the approaching bike, whose ignition was turned off by that time.
Appunni got down from the bike and went towards Sadanandan. He could see the fear on Sadanandan’s face. It was pale. With no time he stabbed Sadanandan. Blood splashed on his face and shirt. Thick Red Blood. He stabbed him three more times.
*********************************************************************************
Sadanandan woke up with a loud scream on his bed. He was sweating and stammering… “Don’t kill me.. Don’t kill me...”
In the hall the new track from Strings sang on the TV.
……Deewaronke Aanchal Main Zinda Hun... Bas Yeh Hai Meri Kahani.
