Flames OF Paradise - Season 1 - Episode 18

7 years ago

Flames OF Paradise - Season 1 - Episode 18

That night she couldn’t sleep. Snippets from her life in Delhi, Bhopal and Pachmari flashed in her mind. She briefly thought of Vikas but immediately shut her mind to any thought about him. She was better off without the bitter memories clogging her life. She thought about her project. What would happen to it, if she is not freed? She hoped Nitin would have taken over not letting the project suffer. She remembered the news of hostages captured by various terrorist groups, and recalled the beheading of a foreign journalist. She shuddered with cold fear and hugged herself under the blanket.
Her hands had been freed after Roshan had told the chief how timid and helpless she was. Who the hell was he to take her side? If he was so sympathetic, then why didn’t he rebel? Why was he working with such hard-core criminals? He looked educated, cultured, from a good family. Who was he? What was he doing here fighting for Jehad? Snigdha’s head started pounding with unanswered questions. She closed her eyes in sheer exhaustion and didn’t realise when she fell in a fitful slumber.
Next morning, she awoke with a start, when something was thrown in her room and the door b@nged shut. She got up, every muscle in her slim body protesting, and went close to the bag. It was her small backpack. How did this come here? Who brought it here? She frowned with puzzlement. Then she pulled it closer and zipped it open. Atleast now she would have fresh clothes and toiletteries. Peeping inside, she found out that not everything was there. It had been packed hastily with her toilet bag and a couple of jeans, sweat shirts and underclothes. Her face suffused with colour, thinking whether it was Roshan who had packed her things, touching her inner wear. This meant that the team could be still there, otherwise her belongings wouldn’t be lying there. She sighed with exasperation and took out her tooth brush, paste and face wash and b@nged at the door. Immediately, it was opened by a young teenager, whose head was covered in ahijab, and was wearing a voluminous Phiran and salwar. In the early morning glow, Snigdha could see the pristine beauty of the girl, biting cold outside making her cheeks rosy.
‘Is there a rest room or bathroom somewhere? Could I get some water to wash myself.’ Snigdha asked her softly.
The girl spoke shyly in broken Hindi, ‘Yes. Come here.’ She stepped outside only to stop dead in her tracks, noticing the film of snow all over. It had snowed during the night and the entire ground and tree tops were covered in snow flakes, making the surrounding pristine white, with just footmarks on the ground where people had walked. The girl took Snigdha near a tree where a bucket of water was kept, with a chipped plastic mug. The girl pointed towards the thicket some furlongaway from the place, and showed her a metal make shift toilet. Snigdha opened her mouth to voice her opinion, but closed it fast, because she knew there was no point in throwing tantrums. She was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by snow covered thick jungle, amidst deadliest terrorists of India, at their total mercy and cribbing about toilet facilities would not help her get free tomorrow.
Snigdha dipped the mug in the water and shrieked. The water was ice cold. Gritting her teeth, she filled the mug with water and started washing her face and brushing her teeth which were chattering badly by now. Looking around, she found that it was a foggy morning, with the weak glow of the sun peaking from the Chinaar trees, her hut barely visible from this distance. She could just make out the hazy figures of men walking in the thick wood, probably attending to nature calls or maybe guarding the area. Her eyes darted here and there in the hope of finding a familiar face, then berating herself for her stupidity, she rinsed her mouth and decided to try the metal loo afterall. No point in ignoring the inevitable. Her leather bound feet made squeaky noise on the snow covered leaves strewn on the ground, which were soggy from the snowfall that probably happened in the night. She heard birds chirping and twisted her neck to see the tall Chinaar tree shading the path, also called ‘booune’ locally. She noticed smoke coming out of a couple of houses shrouded in fog.

But she didn’t spot any women around. As she approached the toilet, she could now see a couple of gun toting men walking stealthily on the grounds, guarding the area with sharp alert eyes.
‘Where is everyone? I don’t see any women around… ’ Snigdha asked the teenager once she was back.
‘They don’t come out Madam. They are not allowed to.’ Girl said quietly.
Snigdha peered at the solemn face of the girl, noticing for the first time a sombre maturity on her countenance, strange for a teenager.
‘What is your name? Who are you?’ Snigdha asked.
‘I am Zainab. The room in which you are staying belongs to me and my mother Tasleema.’
‘You mean you have rented it to these terrorists?’ Snigdha asked cautiously.
‘Don’t call them terrorists Madam.’ She looked around in fear and her voice dropped to a whisper.
‘Why? They are terrorists. They are terrorising people to achieve their ends and the means to achieve them are violent, illegal and inhuman.’ Snigdha’s voice was full of unleashed anger and hatred. She missed the look of alarm on Zainab’s face, which she was darting here and there.