Aaryan was startled with the sound of the door bell.
He hadn’t left the house in exactly a year and three days. And he was not expecting anyone for another 28 days.
The world had once known him as “the dynamite” — the nemesis of the entire bowling community. The only chink in his armour was his fickle temperament. No one could predict when he would get bored of batting and throw away his wicket to the bowler that he had most mercilessly clobbered. Since the 12 years that he arrived at the international cricketing scene, he had ruled the pitch. And everyone knew he could continue for another 12 years at least.
And then it happened.
It was the final of the T-20 world cup. Aaryan had smashed 84 runs off just 27 deliveries. The crowd had gone berserk. The cheering in the stadium reached an impossible decibel level as the bowler ran in to bowl almost unwillingly, As he neared the crease, a searing pain shot through Aaryan’s left ear and he crashed on the pitch, out cold.
That was his last memory before he woke up 29 days later in the hospital. 5 days later, he quit cricket.
He retreated to his cottage on his private island. He cut off all connections with the world. No TV. No newspapers. No phone. No internet. The only communication device he retained was a land line with an unlisted number.
His managers managed his money for him and sent him his monthly supplies. He refused all human contact other than meeting his managers once a month. All he did was stare at the trophy shelf for the entire day.
Their twelfth visit had happened just three days ago. No one would now disturb him for the rest of the month. The gates of his estate were closed. And the boatman would come only the next day with fresh supplies.
But, now, to his annoyance, the door bell was ringing.
Reluctantly, he opened the door. It was almost dusk, and the distant rumbling of the waves had faded into a whisper telling him that the tide was at its lowest. A woman stood in the doorway, a sack on her back. She seemed to be in her late twenties, hair tied in a bun, big bold sharp eyes and a determined but pleasant face. She wore a T-shirt and jeans. Her jeans were wet and she held her shoes in her hand. Apparently she had waded through the low tide to reach there.
“Mr. Rathore?” she asked. “I’m Kiaraa. Kiaraa Ghosh. I’m working on a book about sports legends who enigmatically disappeared from public life. You’re my white whale.”
Aaryan frowned. “I’m not interested in any interviews.”
“I knew you would say that. But I have really taken a lot of pains.”
“Wasted. Go away.” He growled.
“Please, Sir”, she pleaded. “I promise I won't take long.”
“I don't like talking to people.Go back before the tide comes in.” He pointed down the pathway.
“After all this? Not even 20 minutes? Please…” She pointed at her wet jeans and her overall messed up appearance, cocked up her eyes and put on her best smile.
Aaryan hesitated. He found himself softening.
“Fine. Come on in. But no formal interview. Just a talk. And no recording.”
She nodded and asked, “Just one more thing…Shall I change into some dry clothes? I mean, I am carrying a pair of jeans. If you can show me a place to change…”
He pointed to an adjacent room and sat on the sofa.
***
It was exactly thirteen minutes into the talk.
Though she had asked him some very generic questions, to which Aaryan gave short half hearted answers, she seemed to know almost everything. His childhood. His first coach. His initial struggles. His rise to glory. Top scores. Memorable innings. She knew it all.
He had just started warming up, his initial distant demeanour mellowing, when she suddenly dropped the bombshell.
“And what about the doping scandal?”
Aaryan froze. This was a dangerous area.
“I have no idea whatsoever.” he said nonchalantly.
“I guess you know it all. Perhaps the burden of that knowledge was too much to bear. And that’s why you retired abruptly.” she said softly. There was a moment of silence as she studied his face intently. Just about when he was about to stand up and declare the interview to be over, she said, “It's ok. You don't need to answer. Let's talk about other things.”
Aaryan relaxed a bit.
“What is your greatest fear?”
“I don't know. Never thought about it.” Aaryan answered vaguely.
“Let me help you there…fear of failure?”
“No. I don't think so.”
“Yes, maybe you are right. It doesn't quite fit Aaryan Rathore. How about public disgrace?”
“Well, every person wants to avoid a social stigma. That’s why I was very careful about it. And now that I am out of public life, I don't have that fear any more.” Aaryan answered. But he didn't seem quite at ease. He was suddenly aware of Kiaraa’s gaze on him. And then she struck straight where it hurt the most.
“And what about any skeletons in the cupboard? Vivaan Dutt?”
Vivaan had been a rising player under Aaryan’s mentorship, a 17-year-old prodigy with an array of infinite shots in his arsenal. Aaryan had even declared Vivaan as his successor and the one person who could break all his records.
They hung around together all the time from gym to nets to nourishment. The only agenda on their minds was to be better and better at their game. That’s when they had discovered benign, tested, and safe performance enhancement supplements.
But when it was discovered that there was a banned substance in the supplements found in their luggage, Vivaan took the fall alone. Aaryan assured him that all would be well. They would just need time to let the dust settle. He got Vivaan bailed out of prison and asked him to lie low for a while. But a few months later, he committed suicide.
The media said it was out of guilt and depression. Aaryan had made no comments.
As these memories flashed in his mind, he felt the air in the room grow heavier. Kiaraa stared at him. Her calm eyes bore through his soul.
“Did he ask you for help?” she asked.
Aaryan stared at the carpet. “Yes.”
“Did you?”
He took a deep breath. “I did. As much as I could. I had told him to wait out the storm. I had told him to maintain his composure, not show any desperation, not do anything stupid. He was weak. He destroyed himself.”
She nodded slowly. “He trusted you. And then it was very late when he realized that his career was over.”
“You know nothing. There were more sinister things at play.” Aaryan whispered.
“Like what?” She prodded on.
“Your time is up. And so are your boundaries. Please leave.” Aaryan stood up abruptly.
“You know? Or you don't?” She insisted.
“I know. But I wont tell you. Now, please…”
“Ok.” She shrugged and picked up her phone from the coffee table. She opened an app and tapped the screen.
That very moment, Aaryan felt that sharp stab in his left ear. He covered his ear and shut his eyes tight. Screaming, he passed out cold.
***
Kiaraa typed in her report.
“High frequency memory reset initiated through the app. Subject in induced Coma. Memory inhibition experiment - round 1 partly successful. Memories weak, but persistent. Alternate reality partially accepted. Memory inhibitor round 2 started.
Recommendations -
Alternate reality embeddings to be boosted.
Booster activities to be started immediately after MI round 2.
Another interview after 12 months.
- AI 437, Code name Dr. Kiaraa Ghosh ”
***
Aaryan Rathore lay on the floor. Comatose.
Being a whistle blower in a company doing cutting edge research in medicine is often injurious to health.
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