Epilogue
Sometime in the future.
Mahmud Mashrur Akter is enjoying the monstrous force with which the wind is pulling at his long curly locks. After all he had the top of his six-year-old Jaguar XA convertible down, letting the salty gusts of the Bay of Bengal vainly attempt to blow him out of his super-charged monster. He knew this stretch of the Marine Drive till the Myanmar border like the back of his hand; has travelled up and down this road since his early 30s countless times. For some unknown reason, he started missing his best buddies; the wind, the sunshine, the shuddering trees on the mountainson his left, the roar of the mighty Bay on his right, the prospect of death, as sure as sunshine tomorrow, less than 50 miles away – all these suddenly transported him back to his late twenties, the times when things had finally started to go his way, after years of struggle.
The afternoon, that started it all, was only a couple of weeks ago. Mahmud had just been told by the specialist, his good mate Professor Afsana, at the hospital that he had developed a rare condition – bottom line, he was living on borrowed time. After all, nothing she knew or had ever been done in the world before totreat that debilitating condition he had developed which, if worsened, would shut his neural activities down in a matter of minutes. Within 35 minutes Mahmudhad decided and mapped out what he needed to do. He had always fought – atleast in the last 25 odd years – to have things his way. And now, he wanted to give the reaper a run for his money. And the very last but not the least on his wish list, was the final drive along his most favourite patch of tarmac.
A wry smile crossed his face as Mahmud thought of his friends, the trio working in NASA, who’d been down at Cox’s Bazaar to holiday with him only 9 days ago.“Been leading the way to many things for a long time mates. Seems like i’d lead the way in saying goodbye to all then”. He’d never been afraid to die; just that he’d always wanted to go out in his own terms. He thought of his girlfriend, the industrialist, who’d not show too much an emotion if she hears,but who’s heart would freeze and die forever and never know love or warmth again – such was Areena’s feelings for him. They had weathered too many a storm together, had survived waves of disasters and scathing, searing attacks on them by the unforgiving society – but they had accepted that, as their passion and longing for each other had surpassed the boundaries of religion and politics and the cruel blows of economic downfalls. But never once, never once since they first laid their eyes on each other 20 years ago, had the passion and lust and longing faded even by a whisker.
He didn’t want to wither away and become a slideshow of memories, not wither away like his father did. He wanted to bow out standing firmly on his own two feet, not writhing in bed in pain and suffer unspeakably. Hence was the decision to do it away from the madding crowd, away from those few who’d loved and cared for him through all those years.
“Ah,there you are, my love”, mumbled Mashrur when he saw that narrow stretch of grey beach, quietly encircled by the coconut trees and the accompanying vegetation, giving it a shielded feel from the motorway that ran 200 yards to the east. This is where he’d end it all. On his own.
He got down from his beloved Jaguar, let the driver’s side of the door quietly close, and walked to the edge of the beach, his eyes calmly scanning the wideopen stretch of the beautiful Bay in front. One last look at the classic .38.Had preserved for a long time. Never knew it would come to serve this purpose.One cynical grin lit up that handsome face of his – quite handsome even at 45 –the grin that had many a lady quivering and feeling hot under the collar, set aflame with uncontainable lust. Not any more. Never to be. One last look at the sun lighting his world away, and then he put his chin to the barrel and pulled the trigger. His last thoughts being none.
No comments:
Post a Comment