Who Moved My Taj

"Hey Iqbal"

"Temme"

"There's been some weird rumors going around mate"

"About what?"

"That they're gonna chop off our thumbs once we are done building this"

"Bullshit. They'd never do that" Ramiz dismissed it. They would never do that. Jehanpanah Shah Jahan was too kind. "They would have put it in the agreement if they were going to do something like that" he added to convince his brother, as they walked to work along the Yamuna. The Taj Mahal was visible in the distance. Today, the workers would finish the dome, which was complete to three quarters. Two of the minarets had been completed. Scaffolds had been raised for the other two. The entrances were yet to be built. The fountain and water idea had just struck the head constructor. The gardens were almost ready. In four months, it would be complete.

"What did he see in her for doing so much anyway? It just could have been a tomb" said Iqbal, staring at the Taj as he spoke. It had already started to look majestic.

"We're poor. We'd never understand the love of the Jehanpanah"

"But people say he sleeps around with his daughters"

"What did I just say?"

"Hmmm, Aurangzeb was here yesterday to see the construction. Ali saw him. It seems he grinned for a while and then took a cartload of workers to the Agra Fort, said it was a surprise present for dad"

Ramiz kept quiet, hoping his brother would stop talking.

"So how do you think she died?"

"Must have killed herself. Most queens do it nowadays. Heard a woman down south also did it recently"

"Have you seen her? Is she as hot as they say she is?"

"I've never seen her. But yeah, she must be. The king seems to be crazy about her" he said as he gestured to the Taj.

Iqbal started to say something, but he stopped. Two workers passed by. The bridge was close. They had reached the workplace. The usual checking was done and they were allowed to cross the bridge. After they crossed, Ramiz turned to Iqbal "Okay, Im scheduled for the new minaret today. Have a nice time at the gardens", he turned around and as he was about to leave...

"Ummm...Brother?"

"Yes, Iqbal. What is it?" asked Ramiz, irritated.

"You want to see her?"

Ramiz just stared at him.

"I mean, her body's still down there. You wanna take a look? I mean if she's gotta be hot as they...what?"

Ramiz had burst out laughing. "Go, go back to work you idiot" He said as he turned. Iqbal just looked at his brother walk away.

*****

It was way past lunch time. A hungry Ramiz was searching for his brother. The idiot was the one with their lunch and he had chosen to disappear. As he kept wandering around, looking for his brother, one thought kept coming back to him. What if the fool had gone to the tomb? What if the fool had decided to go on the adventure by himself? And what if he had got caught? And as time went by, the recurring thought became the only probability. "Bhuvan, I think my brother might be in trouble"

"Why, what happened?"

Ramiz narrated the whole story.

"Whoa, if he got caught, he is definitely screwed"

"I know, I just don't know what to do now. Can't even ask anybody"

"We need to go see if something's happened. Come with me"

Ramiz and Bhuvan moved along to the front entrance of the tomb. There seemed to be a little commotion, but they discovered it was about some worker caught stealing marbles. His brother, did not seem to have got caught. A flight of stairs led to the basement where the tomb lay. Bhuvan looked around. Noone was watching. He signalled to Ramiz. Taking a deep breath, Ramiz quickly took the stairs. Bhuvan followed him.

The basement was an empty room with the tomb below. It was circular in shape, with the tomb in the center. And there was no sign of Iqbal.

Ramiz looked around for a couple of minutes. "Well, even if he was here, there is like absolutely no place to hide. Lookes like he didn't come here after all. And if he had come, he's well gone"

Bhuvan was near the stairs, looking for sounds. "Hmmmm" he said.

"Lets leave. What are we waiting for?"

Bhuvan turned around. "I was just thinking about what your brother said" he said slowly, "Do you think we should have a look?"

It took a couple of seconds for Ramiz to understand what Bhuvan was implying. "NO" he said in disgust.

"Cmon man, she's like the most hottest woman in like, the whole world"

"No, and besides, she'd be rotten by now. What's the use of seeing that?"

"Ali told me a few days back that the tomb was filled with salt. An order from the Jehanpanah so that the body would never decompose. We can look at it. Ill guard the stairs. You open it and look. And when you are done seeing, you run back to the stairs, Ill got there and take a look"

Ramiz stood there, contemplating the possible outcomes. And curiosity gave in. "Okay" he said.

"Good. Am near the stairs, you go open it" he said as he moved closer to the stairs.

Ramiz slowly moved across the room to the tomb. There was a latch on the side.
Bhuvan thought he heard some noise. He listened closer.
Ramiz slowly removed the latch. He tried to lift the stone. It was heavy.
There was definitely some noise upstairs. Bhuvan felt a chill run down his spine.
With a push, Ramiz opened the tomb. "Bhuvan, It was Ali, wasn't it, who told you about the salt"

"Yea"

"That lying bastard" he said as a jet of vomit made its way out of his mouth onto the corpse.

"Someone's coming. Hide somewhere" yelled Bhuvan. He turned around. Ramiz was nowhere to be seen. The
tomb was closed. "Where the hell did he go?" he whispered to himself. A huge guard came down the stairs. "What are you doing here?" he bellowed.

Bhuvan turned around slowly. "I was...ummm...I needed a broomstick. A guard said this was the storeroom. So I came down here."

The guard stared at him.

Bhuvan was sweating profusely "It's really hot inside here...Sir...Ummm...Do you know where they keep the broomsticks?" he asked, intonations rapidly changing on each syllable.

"No" he said.

Bhuvan heaved a huge sigh of relief.

"Listen" the guard continued "Forget the broomsticks. All workers have been called outside to the gardens. Some sort of" he chuckled needlessly "Finger inspection"

Puzzled, Bhuvan said "Okay" and walked behind the guard.

*****

At the garden, the Captain surveyed the workers. "Are they all there?" he asked. "Yes. Except for two sir" replied the soldier "Brothers, sir. Ramiz and Iqbal. Iqbal took a half day off and went home. Ramiz was not found anywhere in the area"

"Okay, let them go. Lets finish off with the ones here"

*****

The latch on the tomb was locked. Ramiz had heard it tick when he jumped inside the tomb to hide. What could he do, there was nowhere else he could go. Now, he was gasping for air inside the tomb. The stink of the corpse which had his face covered in vomit. Mumtaz. He would die with her. On her.

THE END

For the History Illiterate:

1. Shah Jahan supposedly cut off the thumbs of all workers who built the Taj so that they would never replicate it. It is also rumored that he hated the taste of ThumsUp.

2. Shah Jahan did sleep with his daughters. Seems there are records for that.

3. Aurangzeb took the truckload of workers to Agra fort. In Agra fort today, there is a marble prison, from which the Taj is visible. It is said to be Aurangzeb's gift for his dad.

4. There's only Mumtaz in inside the tomb. This story about Ramiz is fake. But you already knew that didn't you? ;-)

Impressed with my brothers' work, I've brought a dead blog back to life.

The Legacy Of Beluda Hill

"But there is no water here" said Jacques, puzzled. Jillian smiled weakly "I know" she said. She too was thirsty. But there was another thirst in her, which she would quench. The other thirst was why she had brought Jacques all the way up the Beluda Hill.

Jacques held in his hand, a golden ornament, glittering in the sun. It was the Crown of the Duke Of Ilbur. It was, until that afternoon, when a group of peasant-turned-revolutionaries ambushed him and his bodyguards in the woods. Now it was Jacques'. The leader of the rebels, now had a crown. Jacques, brimming with pride of the day's events, wore the ornament and looked at his wife. "And you, Jillan, are my queen", said he. She smiled again - that mysterious smile that she had come to possess for the last two weeks. The smile which somehow, seemed to convey sorrow.

"I'm thirsty, we have to find water elsewhere. This well is dry" said Jacques, his mind drifting back to the current issues that parched his throat. "We have to talk" said Jillian slowly, as her left hand moved towards her hips. "Well, tell me" said Jacques, a bit surprised.

"Do you love me, Jacques?" she asked, without expression.

"What is this for now? You know I love you" he said, with a tinge of irritation, arising from both the question and his thirst. Jillian remained silent. Jacques sighed. He had been told that women, at this time, would have changing moods, and had to be cared for like children. He laid his palm on her bulging stomach. "On our child, I promise, I love you more than anything else in the world".

His pregnant wife though, at his utterance of those words, broke a tear and turned around, hiding her face from her husband, showing her tears to the horizon. She looked down, the side she faced was steep downhill. She brushed off her tears. Jacques, sensing her pain, "What is it, my love?".

My love. The words had meant so much to her before. Now, it was a shadow of a love that had once been true. Their romance was one that was celebrated by the villagers. They were considered the most perfect couple by the villagers - she was considered the most perfect match for their hero. And when Jacques had proposed to her, she, by saying yes, had not only become his woman, but had also been adopted by the villagers. And the villagers had grown to love her more than Jacques. She, in a way, had become the queen, the mistress, the mother of the village. The love from the villagers still remained. Her love for Jacques still remained. But Jacques...

"Where do you go at nights, Jacques?" she asked solemnly.

"What?"

"I know I have not been able to satisy you, my love. But it is only because of our piece-of-the-moon growing inside me. I never wanted to deprive you" she said. Her voice was flat, without expression. But the words were strong enough. Strong enough to plunge into the heart of the hero. The hero, whose heart could not be touched by the sword of The Duke Of Ilbur, was now hurt with guilt. He did love his wife, more than everything else. But certain other emotions, he possessed. Ones that originated not from heart, but from hormones. He had succumbed to them. And now, he stood, without an answer, embarassed. She had found out.

As he stood, staring, impaired of speech, she continued in her flat tone "Remember, when we were lovers" she paused "you said once, that you would kill me, and then kill yourself if I would cheat on you. You made a joke, ofcourse. But I know you meant it" The colour had drained off Jacques' face. "What are you going to do now, my love?" she asked, staring down again, at the steep fall below again. Silence. And then, as she watched down, Jacques flung himself, off the steep side of the hill, she saw him fall through trees, and bounce off rocks, breaking his new-found ornament as he fell to his death. She did not yell. She did not scream. She knew he would do it. It was not suicide. She had killed him. She had killed him for adultery. Like he said he would. And now, she had the second part of the deal to complete. She took a deep breath, and flung herself and her piece-of-the-moon, behind the man she loved.

What remained was the legacy of their love. The villagers sung ballads in praise of them. The ballads reached far and wide. And even time, though it has been able to change the names and forms, has not been able to erase their legacy. And even today, the children say,

Jack & Jill Went Up The Hill,
To Fetch A Pail Of Water,
Jack Fell Down And Broke His Crown
And Jill Came Tumbling After

The Exodus

A small boy with a rope in his left hand walks on. He is wearing a shirt which is torn in a few places, a shirt that is soiled ruddy from the mud of his land. He wears the shirt without buttoning it, so it can glide along with the wind as he walks. He is wearing his brother's trousers, they are a bit big for him, and he frequently has to bring his right hand down and tug at them to keep them from going below his hips. His hair is uncombed, mucus lies waiting at the end of his nostril, tickling him, threatening to ooze down. His right hand will attend to his nose in a few seconds, after it has pulled the trousers up to a comfortable height. The trousers, will again, start it's inevitable descent. His left hand, in the meantime holds the rope. On the other end of the rope is a dog. Thin, shabby and famished, it is an image of what it's master would look like if he were a mongrel.

"Brother" he calls "Are we there yet?". His brother, lean but muscular, carrying a burden, is a newly turned man. The hostilities around had helped the boy grow into one. Son to a dead mother And guardian to her other child, he strangely does not feel alone at this time. As when he looks around and sees the multitudes treading along with him, what he sees are brothers to whom god has bequeathed the same fate. An unfortunate faction which other men could take the liberty to banish. Loneliness is not something he feels. Fear though, is very much present. Moving away from a place so familiar (and hence secure) is not a very easy thing to do. And it is even more daunting when you do not know where you are going.

And there also lies the burden. On the cart that he is pulling, along with a few possessions and rations, lies the burden of the soceital morals, domestic upbringing and humanity,in the form of his grandfather. A babbling idiot who had become too old use his body or be in his senses and was better off dead. A dead weight which he unwillingly chose to carry owing to the respect that had been inculcated into him.

"Brother, Are we there yet?"

The Story Of Gopu Alias S.GopalakrishnanMan

At home, they called him Gopu. At office, they called him Gopal, Krishna or Soda-Buddi. His ID card read S.Gopalakrishnan. But the Soda-Buddi wearing, Monitor Screen staring, Coffee drinking, Not-So-Smart looking Infoscion also had another name - A name that spelled doom to all the wrong doers and the mischief mongers and good-citizen troublers and the shady dealers and the moody weeders. For he was the champion of the weak, the saviour of the humble, the resurrector of justice and the guardian of peace. Like SuperMan, Like BatMan, Like Rajnikanth, he was also a class apart, a super hero. And his name was S.GopalakrishnanMan. He could fly, he could swim, he could see the future, he could see the past, bullets would not touch him, bombs would not move him, Kryptonite would not cripple him, A misplaced sense of justice would not trouble him, he was the old-style superhero who could shoot lasers from eyes and palm, he was the new superhero who used gadgets and had a lab. He was, is and will be the Ultimate SuperheroMan. But Global Warming can kill him. And if it can kill someone like him, your butt is too easy. So Stop Warming The Global and Prevent Global Warming. Please shutdown your computers before you leave office. I don't care if there is a paper on it that says "Server Machine, Don't Switch Off", the planet is more important. This public service announcement was brought to you by Ozone, whatever is left of it after the CFCs finished having lunch.