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Have you ever been scared for your life?

Dear Leo,

Have you ever been scared for your life?

I’m sure you have. I don’t know for sure, though. We only heard about the Taraka Crisis 16 months after it happened. Typical Zanger colonizers.

I am not talking about the usual existential kind of fear about whether you’ll survive the year with enough food and a home to live in, that one is much more common. I am talking about the fear that suddenly catches you in the middle of your throat. I think I felt that for the first time today.

I just want to try and talk about what happened, okay? No judgement. 

I’ve been at home since I quit the Times. So when they came home, I was the one who answered the door. Two of them, one man, one woman, both in white kurtas and saffron shawls. 

“We are from SATARC.” the man said. I felt it then. The fear sticking in my throat. I couldn’t have said anything right then. 

It was drastically different from when I met the creature on the seafront. That was animal fear, caught in the headlights fear. This was different, this was rational, this was my mind assessing threats and deciding that this one was a threat.

The woman flashed her badge and asked if we had our CAARDs on us. Mom was in their bedroom, generally fussing after Dad. She walked into the living room, asking what it was about.

The man didn’t look at Mom, keeping his gaze neutral. The woman looked at Mom. Her eyes fell squarely on the rosary around her neck. 

I’ve told her a million times not to wear any religious iconography, but she refuses. You know how she is about this stuff. She’s not wrong, we are inside the house. The law allows for it. But, well, you know how pointless the law can be.

The woman looked at me. “I’m Aarti, this is Manish. We understand you had an interaction with some anti-national elements recently.” 

They walked into the living room as she said this. Manish closed the door behind him, and I couldn’t help but notice that one of his hands was carefully kept behind the edge of the shawl. Mom narrowed her eyes when she heard this, she shot me a glare but she didn’t say anything.

Aarti sat down on the couch, “Don’t worry, we just want some information. We are just following some leads.”

Mom asked if she could get them something to drink. Manish asked for tea, Aarti wanted water. She walked into the kitchen.

“I’ll just get our CAARDs. Excuse me.” I got out of the room and fled to the kitchen. I managed to get to a bottle of water, gulping it down. I looked back down the corridor, but I couldn’t see where they were seated on the sofa from here. 

Mom looked at me, put her hand on my shoulder. “What are they talking about? What did you do, child?”

“I didn’t… there’s just been some misunderstanding.”

“They wouldn’t send national security agents just for a misunderstanding, would they?” Mom had that troubled look in her eyes, you know the one, where she expressly holds me responsible for whatever is darkening our doorway currently. 

“I think they’re just being safe about it. Don’t worry.” This I managed to say without letting my heart out of my mouth, thank God for small miracles.

I went to my bedroom, got three plastic laminates from the cupboard. I also slipped my hand under the mattress for a second. I couldn’t hear anything. Reassured, I walked back to the living room and passed the CAARDs to Aarti. Manish was busy giving the small altar in the corner of the room the dirty eye. 

“How long have you lived here?” She said, while passing her pocket scanner over the CAARDs.

“All my life.” I answered. That bit was true enough. I don’t count the time we had to move out when they demolished and rebuilt all of Jeevan Jyoti Road. You remember that, right? The bullshit about rezoning and reclassification. Good times.

“Manish, can you…?” Aarti didn’t complete the question. 

Manish snapped to attention and placed his Devi on the coffee table, and it buzzed Saraswati into existence in front of me, smiling widely. 

“Namaste. Case #256187-NN. Foreign Language Violation.”

French. That’s what they were here for? That’s about when the fear dissipated a bit. Mom came in with the tea and water. 

Aarti politely waited till Mom had gone back in, then pulled out a small palmpad.

“Did you try to speak to the anti-national?”

“No! God, no, it spoke at me. I don’t even know what it said.” A small white lie. 

Saraswati’s smile faltered just a bit, but she didn’t say anything. 

Aarti looked up at me, her eyes boring into mine. 

“Do you know what it was? Or why it came there?”

“Nothing, I...I don’t know anything. I’m just… I’m nobody, I’m an out-of-work journalist, that’s all.” I stumbled over the words, but that’s normal, right? 

Aarti noted down a few more things on the palmpad. Then she took a deep breath, and spoke again.

“Did it try to give something to you?”

The fear. It came rushing back. I tried to smile, but my fingers were shaking.

“No. No. Nothing at all.” I managed to push out of my mouth. 

Beep. Beep. Beeeep. I could still hear the beeping sounds.

Manish bent forward just a bit. Looked straight into my face.

“Your brother… he’s outside the Wall, isn’t he?”

My face steeled, and I replied, “Yes, but we have had no contact with him at all, for years.”

Aarti looked at Manish, something passed unsaid between them. Manish reached forward and pocketed his Devi. Aarti smiled at me, the first time she had since she had walked into the house. 

“That’s all, thank you. We will keep in touch. Good luck with finding work. It’s not good to be sitting at home, not being productive for the nation.” She got up and walked to the door, Manish followed suit. I opened it for them and they walked out. 

I shut the door and collapsed into the sofa. Ugh.

The stick, the goddamn stick that I took from the Matsya, started beeping the night I brought it home. A low-intensity, high-frequency beeping; small chirps and then nothing. It stopped when I touched it. I had stashed it under my mattress. Bad idea. When I touched it, I had a few minutes to examine it. It was ebony and metal, heavy but dense. It had shrunk down to the size of my palm, the way I found it. On one side, the letters SRNGA were embossed into it. I have no idea what they mean.    

Dad asked me what was beeping in my room the next morning, in one of his lucid moments. I had no idea what to tell him. He’s getting worse too. I’m hoping he’s already forgotten about it.

He asked about you the same day too. But it was as if he thought you were still here. I didn’t have the heart to correct him.

I wish you were here though. 

Love  

N

PS I don’t think the SATARC agents believed me