Abideh was always at work. Being a widely respected person in public sphere, time was always a constraint. Enemies had to die. Somebody had to do it. This killing business was one among many other successful ventures which brought profit. Abideh was not a serial or contract killer, but someone who killed for a very specific purpose. 

Like most shrewd murderers, Abideh did not make the killing. She made it happen. Not a drop of blood was spilled and neither the victim ever came to know the murderer. Such astuteness cannot be learnt in a matter of months, but is inculcated through years of experience and learning. It was only she who knew why she was killing, and the reason was very close to her heart.

People close to Abideh would never have approved of what she was doing. And neither did she have any intentions of killing few years back. She was content in her busy life. Only when the news of IMAGED entered her ears did she understand the value of such a technology, if used properly. Hidden urges, which a normal person tries to neglect because they ask you to be abnormal, brought a tsunami inside her, a tsunami her senses could not control. She became obsessive about using this technology for that one urge which was hidden deep inside for so many years like molten lava under the layers of the volcano. IMAGED had made that volcano erupt.

It was not that she could not have killed without such a technology. But for a person of middle class upbringing who fought her way to a high standard of living, doing such a thing had an upper boundary to be crossed. The boundary is the boundary of sanity. A contract killer could kill one, two, three or dozens of enemies. But what if the enemy is big, well spread. There has to be an industry to be set up, a killing machine, which not only kills but also threatens. It dares people to cross the line, submitting them to the demands of the powerful. It communicates this dread instantly. It gets into the mind. And it lets the killers stay unnoticed. The lure of such a future drew Abideh with a force she could not resist. It made her cross that boundary of sanity.

She had, for a short while forgotten all about Rohan and Lavie. Her attention was drawn once more to them after reading the news report. She cursed herself for taking these two people lightly. The simple reason she had imaged both Rohan and Lavie was a fear that they knew something more about the murders than others. She knew the diary was with Rohan because he was the first person to enter the office of Prof. Dinanath in the morning of his death after the constables. Hence he could have known about the technology if the professor had written anything about it. Lavie was the first one to file a report about Prof. Rameshwar, and Abideh could not be sure that it was a mere coincidence that a reporter from ’The Indian Express’ was present at the remote site at the same time the murder took place. She was very wary of reporters. Hence a watch had to be kept on them.

After a series of clever moves, Abideh had got the control of IMAGED. She was using it for her own personal vendetta. She had employed her trusted friend Sophia to carry out the work. On the orders of Abideh, Sophia would scan the selected targets. She also had a group of female agents working for her. Sophia would then connect the target to a particular agent so that both are connected through their brain. The agents were first trained with the technology and they were good at manipulating the target to do the work which Abideh wished them to do. The group of agents was located somewhere in a remote location in India. Since the time she got the technology, Abideh had been able to carry out her work quietly and without any fuss.

Lavie and Rohan had been scanned and connected to the technology at the cinema theatre. Sophia, who had the Param-10 had connected them to two female agents. The female agents were instructed to keep a tab on them: listen to their inner voice and check what they know about the murders. The agents wrote the important things down and had to show them to Abideh on a periodic basis.

But after reading the newspaper report, Abideh realized they were not doing their jobs properly. She knew they had gone to Bokaro but did not get the details of it. She was surprised to find the news. But it was clear to Abideh that it was time to keep a strict watch on these two. It was time to up the tempo.

She got in touch with Sophia and gave her further instructions. The instructions were similar to those given for the two professors. The two agents now had to be regularly in connection with Lavie and Rohan. The aim was to frustrate them to commit suicide.

Sophia appointed two of her best for the job. The women were instructed to manipulate and frustrate the targets, take them to such a deep level of mania and stress so that they find it difficult to live in this world. That particular night they set out to work.

*

Rohan could not sleep. Nothing special had happened during the day. It was a normal day at work. Classes had to be taken and exam papers for the Game theory course had to be set. He had met Tapan for few minutes. But he could not sleep. As soon as he closed his eyes for a few seconds and proceeded to sleep, he woke up as if somebody had shaken him. There was an eerie sound like that of a radio when the channel is changed. His eyes would not close so easily. Something was forcing it to stay open. When he put an extra effort to close it, a sudden force would make him shut them tight like we would do during a thunderstorm to prevent any foreign particle to enter our eyes. His hands would automatically come up over his chin with the fingers toiling over his face like wandering nomads. At first he did not pay attention to it, but when it happened twice after he had put his hands down on the bed, he got worried. Slowly, his head turned right. He brought it back to the centre position and tried to hold it firm. There was definitely a force trying to turn it to the left. He was resisting it. He got stiff with fear. Suddenly there was a deep itching sensation in his stomach and he moved his right hand to it. In that split second, his head jerked left. Rohan rose up with a shrill voice saying ‘Fuck’.

When he rose up his head jerked up. And his mouth opened bringing out a shout. He ran out of his bedroom to the drawing room and sat on the sofa keeping both his legs tightly gripped with his hands. He was sweating profusely. In a matter of seconds the picture of Joker from the movie ‘The Dark Knight’ appeared in front of his eyes. It was the same white face with a smile of the red lips extending out on both sides. In slow progression, his own lips started extending on both sides, very similar to the way joker was laughing.

It never occurred to Rohan to go to a doctor or call somebody. He kept sitting on the sofa for two hours trying to keep as stiff as possible. Sometimes his hands would go to his chin, other times his head would jerk up. Once his head rolled around in a 360 degree motion forcing him to turn around. He had controlled his voice, so at least he was not shouting. Otherwise he would have attracted attention of the neighbours in the middle of the night.

The radio like signals in his head had reached a higher pitch, as if something had gone out of control. He was virtually shivering in order to prevent making those strange movements of his hands and legs. It occurred to him that going out of the house may help. He rose up and walked back to his bedroom. When he raised his hands to find the switch, he could not get to them in the dark. His fingers had become stiff. He pressed the wrong button to switch on his table lamp. With that flicker of light, he got into his pants falling over the bed once, put on a t-shirt and ran towards the door to get out and have tea at an outside tea stall some distance away from his house.

Things were fine on his bullet classic. Apart from a short pinch on his face which made him itch twice, he reached the tea stall without much fuss. The cool wind had brought calm over him. The owner of the stall, a short man wearing a roughed up t-shirt and lungi welcomed him with a salute and a smile. He made coffee and passed him a cigarette along with it. Rohan put the cigarette in his mouth and as he was about to press the lighter button, both his hands loosened. The lighter and the cup of tea fell down. The sound of the glass breaking on the concrete pavement took over the silent night sky for a split second. Rohan looked towards the owner with a glint of apology. His head wanted to jerk down but he stopped it at the crucial moment as the owner was raising his hands up to tell him not to worry about it. He paid for the coffee, cigarettes and the broken glass and took his bullet classic to get back home.

Sitting at his sofa, smoking the ‘classic milds’ brand of cigarette, he tried to relax as his motor movements were being tampered with continuously.  There wasn’t an iota of sleep left in him. Neither was he willing to think about what was happening, so bizarre were the incidents. He was not a believer in the supernatural, but how could these actions be explained by normal reasoning. He decided to put his mind to something else. On the table was kept the diary of Prof. Dinanath which he had carried back home today. The reason for this was Tapan, who had commented after noticing it lying on his office table.

‘How did you get this diary sir? I had given the exact same diary to Prof. Dinanath.’

This had taken Rohan off guard, ‘Somebody gave it to me too,’ he answered, unable to think anything to divert Tapan’s attention.

‘It was really funny how much one has to run to just give a simple diary. A same to same diary was handed to me by an MBA student to be given to the professor.’

‘MBA students give diaries to professors. This sounds strange.’

‘Yes sir. Even I was surprised, when he gave it to me. We were drunk you see.’ Tapan stopped immediately taking his tongue out to indicate he had made a mistake. Rohan laughed out loud at his action.

‘Don’t worry, you can speak about it. In fact I would like to know about the MBA culture here. We professors don’t get to interact with them much outside the classes.’

‘It was a party, a birthday cum placement party of an MBA student whom I knew personally. He had been placed with a handsome salary in a multinational firm. Hence I was invited. There was a big crowd in the hostel basement. Loud music played from one of the rooms on the ground floor. The crowd was a healthy mix of first and second year MBA, foreign and PhD students. The hostel has a basement with two stone tables standing in between. Booze of all variety was kept for the crowd. Most of the students had plastic glasses with drinks in it. Few of them were sitting in separate room smoking marijuana. I was standing alone with a glass in my hand.’

Rohan raised his brows, ‘I didn’t know all this happened here among students.’

‘Yes it happens. Parties are a common occurrence in the dorms. There is always a reason to be found to gather people around and make merry. These parties celebrate their successes in competition or summer internships or job placements. Sometime later my friend came to inquire if I was having a good time. There was another student with him. While talking he came to know that I am from the Economics area. It was then he asked if I could deliver a diary to Prof. Dinanath. He had personally tried to do it two times when his office was closed. I said yes, and he ran up to his room to get it for me. The diary was packed as if there was something very precious in it.’

‘How long were you there at the party?’

‘It went on the whole night. I was there till 5 a.m.’

‘Who gave him the diary?’

‘He is an Alumni,’ Tapan said. After this incident, Rohan thought it safe to keep the diary at home. He opened Prof. Dinanath’s diary.

Date: 5 February 2014

Place: Mumbai

An Economist in conversation with the devil

There are places where two roads run parallel for a long stretch. The landscape may be the forests or a desert or the snow clapped mountains, but to an economist, it is a complete waste of resources. Why put your resources in two roads when they traverse the same landscape? I would say here that one of the roads belongs to the economist and the other to the devil. Just like an economist and the devil, the roads do not concur for most of their path, but they make inroads into similar territories. And just like the roads, the economist meets the devil or both of them cross paths somewhere down the line. And well, if the economist is a tea lover, he might share a cup and have a conversation.

‘You made us. You gave us our jobs. Without the devil, there is no economics,’ he said while handing over the cup. ‘I have wanted to meet you for so long and here we are finally at the end of the road. You look very different from what I had expected. Nothing too dreadful.’

‘I prefer it this way. I have transferred the dread to the people here,’ smiled the devil.

‘Are we the agents?’

‘One of them.’

‘I guessed so.’

‘Look,’ said the devil holding the cup with both hands and bending towards the economist, ‘it is important to have a garb. The devil will not come with a vengeance and destroy humanity which happens rarely. Most of the time it has to be the use of mundane methods. Both me and the angel, even though enemies, have to exist. For us to exist, humanity has to exist. And within this existence, we have to spread our work. The angel prefers to cash in on the good side. It has done wonders for him, won him praises, won him the verdict of history. I on the other hand hate the good side. But something has to be done of the history, of the praises. That is where economics comes in.’

‘So economics is the tool of the devil to win praises and get noticed in history.’

‘If you have to put it in one sentence, yes. I am tired of being the black in the black and white. Economics is my grey area. Tell people to maximise their utility. To maximise their utility, you need to use the resources of this world. The resources are limited, hence you will fight for them. When you fight for them, the devil is happy.’

‘You claim that it is the economists who make the people fight. But won’t the people fight irrespective of whether the economist tells them so or not? Moreover economics has moved well beyond utility maximization. Game theory, experimental economics and behavioural economics are coming up prominently in economic discussions.’

 ‘Yes, these were worrying development. Game theorists almost clinched the game away from me. But you see, in game theory, from what I have understood as the devil, you have to sometimes tweak the assumption of rationality which is interesting for the devil. Irrational people are my favourites. Behavioural economics studies individual behaviour. Behaviour of a person is a complicated subject. I bet you can’t explain the behaviour of a single man or a woman satisfactorily. How would you explain the choices a group of people make? The drivers of traits in a person evolve and change. So do those for a group. Many game theorists, specially the young ones work on boundaries which are limited. There is still a long way to go. Human behaviour and greed are my allies. They have been giving the game theorists a lot of trouble. I am not yet worried about game theory, but do keep an eye on what’s happening.’

‘But you don’t understand, we are working for you too.’

‘Yes, you are in a way. You have forayed into subjects of war, my shining star. I love it when humans fight themselves. And game theory has its roots in the biggest of them, the Second World War. Earlier, economists had not touched war and if they had, it was a metaphor for destruction. However happy I may be out of a war, I get a lot of bad mouth and the angel gets more followers. But now that game theory has entered into the arena, people think about actions not as good and bad, but as effective or non-effective. This prevents humans from outright rejecting me. It is something like I am not on the side of the villain anymore, I am on the side of the one who has the best strategy. Earlier, the powerful would win and the humans would curse the devil for the occurrence of the war. Now the best strategist wins and humans curse bad planning and intellect for the losses. People fund war planning, they prepare for it all the time. Intelligent men, good men who have won Nobel Prizes have studied war not as an object of destruction but a subject of research and intrigue. This gives an impression to a part of the population that war may not be a bad thing at all. Plus the devil stays away from criticism as it falls upon the strategists who follow research done by you economists.’

‘This is interesting. I am a game theorist as well, but never thought it this way. My idea of our association was very different.’

‘What was it?’ The devil asked him taking a sip.

‘My understanding is that economics has forsaken its parents: morality and philosophy and taken over the reins of the ethical standard of the world. Now it’s not the philosophers whom people turn to for ideas and suggestions like the earlier days but economists. The answers of how and what of tomorrow is not found in philosophy but economics. When this happened, we became your natural ally.’

‘Maybe. I am not sure. It definitely didn’t begin this way, let’s say when Marx and Engel were there. But later, maybe. The important thing is that evil has a legal route through some of you. Another good development is that the person spreading it may not be aware of the consequences. I mean look at the 2008 crisis,’ the economist shook his head, ‘the people who encouraged lending at cheap rates had no idea of how much evil their activities will spread. Similarly those of you who do not support climate change on economic front are not aware of the tool they are providing in the hands of the devil. These economists do not realize the scale of destruction they can bring. These scholars have evil in them somewhere deep inside.’

‘Yes that is true. Economics does have a lot of debate and people on both sides of the spectrum. But we do not know how the future will turn up. Do you?’

‘I don’t need to. But how come you are so interested in me? Most economists never even feel my presence in them. Some do, but only when they are on their death bed. You seem pretty fit to live for another twenty years.’

‘No. I don’t think so. I have been getting thoughts lately. Life seems to have changed a lot in the past year. My mind is not stable, my movements are not assured and I seem to be a burden to the society.’

‘You should not think on these terms,’ said the devil rising, ‘keep fighting. I know what it is, but can’t tell you. You will find it out yourself someday, hopefully. I will take your leave now.’

And so both of them separated and went along their separate roads.

End

Lavie could not sleep either. In her case, the movements were not sudden or powerful but smooth. Her eyes would open slowly after closing, like a curtain in a drama theatre opening for the audience to get a first glimpse of the set and the characters. The only thing she saw was the fan on her ceiling. Her fingers played like music involuntarily, making her hum a song. Her head too would turn left and right but only slightly. Nothing of this gave her a sense of fear or dread as in the case of Rohan. In fifteen minutes, she switched on the television to watch news and went into the kitchen to make some coffee. She was humming. In her mind, the song she was playing came from her own consciousness. It never occurred to her that the music was not hers but of someone else.

An hour after a cup of coffee and the boring news on television, she went to bed again. Her body felt tired, sleep was somewhere around the corner. It was puzzling for her, she was suddenly in a gay mood. Her thoughts went back to the events of the day. The day in office was normal, she was covering an assignment in the slums of Turbhe in Navi Mumbai. Since returning back from Bokaro, she had quickly finished off her pending assignments and approached the Social Change division to inquire if they had any leads for a new story. The one she had been recommended was in the small locality of Turbhe where social service and prostitution were fighting the war of the angel and demon. She had spent the whole day moving around the narrow crowded lanes full of people and full of life to talk to the residents and conduct interviews for her story. It had been a satisfactory day indeed. Maybe that is what made her happy, she said to herself.

There was the meeting with the division in the morning. She had to wake up early and for that it was important to sleep. She tried different tricks but her eyes would open up after a brief period. Frustration was creeping inside her. She blamed the coffee for her situation and vowed to reduce her dependence on the drink. Within the next hour she had stopped enjoying the music in her mind and the movement of her fingers. She lay on bed instead, wishing and praying that she sleep. It was only in the early hours of dawn that she could collect some of it for around two hours.

Next day both of them had a dull day feeling sleepy the whole time. Rohan did not sound motivated in his lecture. Unlike his normal teaching method, he relied heavily on the presentation rather than interact with the students, feeling drowsy the whole time. Lavie had to speak in the meeting. In the afternoon, she wished there was a bed in the office where she could lay and steal a nap. In the evening when they returned back from work, they had an early dinner and went to bed. After an hour of sleep, they were woken up by strange repulsive sounds coming into their ears. The whole process of the previous night repeated itself with the exception of Rohan going out to the tea stall. This continued for successive nights until they were frustrated and unable to work. Sleepless nights took a toll on their work schedule.

After a few days, they started hearing thoughts pretty clearly. Somebody was speaking to them in their head. A lot of it was not clear but Lavie was alarmed by this. She put all her pending assignments to rest, took leave from her job to sit at home and consult a psychiatrist. Rohan, on the other hand had to complete the courses he was taking. Now in the classes, his ability to involve students had decreased. He had realized this weakness and did what he could to make up for it. His slides were up to date, something he had done before the courses had started. This saved him the pain of speaking of his own. After the mid of the course, he was to set out to United States to present in a research conference, hoping that a change of place would help him get rid of the problem.