Yet again, King Vikram decided to tread the same well-known path. There was terrible traffic though. The Vetal, who accompanied the King, said, 'Okay, as time pass, which is our intra-national favourite most hobby, let me tell you a story.'
'Once upon a time, in a major metro, which happened to be the financial capital almost of a continent, there was a high rise building. In it lived filthy rich people who were, however, so poor that they could not afford any decent security, neither guards nor good security cameras.
But the building had a wow ladder at the back with the perfect most fit to jump in to the wonderful shaft, spacious enough for a well-oiled phoren ka pahalwan to clamber up precisely to the eleventh floor. Of course, he was Tarzan and Spiderman welded in to one small tiny body whom four male servants and their body builder master could neither catch nor control. He scooted from a room latched on the outside. He managed to vanish through a bathroom window with a mesh. Bad devil!'
'Look who he is talking,' sniggered the King and said, 'Stop. Do not proceed. In fact, today I am going to ask you questions, and if you cannot answer them, you would be one of the media personnel covering a wild goose chase.'
'Why curse me so badly? Am I not ready to answer your questions?,' pleaded the Vetal. 'Shoot'.
'Why bring in pistols and guns which were absent even when an unreported half murder was committed, while a petty thievery of shoes was yaked and yaked and yaked about?''
'No silly jokes, please. We have been suffering them enough. For the last five, or is it six, days! Proceed with your queries!'
'If a man has six knife injuries, of these two fatal, how come this unique individual, some great actor, indeed, not bleed to death as he went some two hours later to a wow hospital with doctors who are good at similes, and cover-up's, of course, of wounds that are charged some twenty five lakhs for a five lakhs worth operation as pointed out publically by other doctors who saw the insurance claim?'
'Answers not possible. Go ahead,' said the Vetal. 'Actually, i have one too many, too. Why not call an ambulance to reach the nearby hospital? It would arrive in five minutes, since big shots were involved, right? Why allow a seven year old kid to take to the hospital his seriously injured, deeply wounded, blood soaked Daddy? That, too, in an auto? Was the child going to sign the authentication papers in the hospital just before the operation which was 'needed' to remove that almost three inch long piece of knife? And while the Dad was being operated, was the small little 'Baba' going to be in the operation theater helping the great doctors in his own small way?'
'Oh, Vetal, what wonderful doctors! Where did these doctors train because they allowed such a patient to go home in less than five days! Such magicians they are that their patient sauntered out of the car as if out of a gym or a sauna or a unisex saloon, smiling, waving, not even a bandage near the neck which had a deep knife cut apparently. His deeply wounded, oozing backbone, too, seems to have healed magically! A child who hurts himself while playing has more band-aids taped on his frail little body!'
'I told you, Oh, King, who can provide solutions to such questions? In fact, I have many more.'
'You are right, Oh, Vetal, why, and possibly what, answer when fictions are dished out as facts that are stranger than Bollywood fillums!?!'
Pratima@In this whole farce is lost the credibility of a well-known hospital and of a highly respected police force. But who cares! I suppose, that is the moral of this (hi)story!
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