A Man among Wolves

Chapter 28

Selva watched Gurumoorthy die a quick but painful death.

At first, he was thrashing blindly about on the ground. The knife was still lodged in his heart. One could hear some revolting gurgling sound that appeared to come out of his mouth. Then, the thrashing receded gradually. The hands that were groping along the grass around him turned into tiny flicks of the wrist and fingers lifting aimlessly into the air like an erect penis. Later, he remained still but the gurgling sound continued. It grew fainter with time and stopped.

All of these could have happened in a span of a few minutes.

To Selva, these felt very long. To him, the world was still moving very leisurely.

So, he just leaned back against the tree and observed everything around him with serenity.

The tree was just a couple of meters away from the auto-rickshaw, before which Gurumoorthy's corpse lay. Selva had retreated back with horror when his foe had fallen and met the tree accidentally. But the tree was comforting. It was felt as if he was leaning on someone's shoulder, someone who didn't want him to die. So, he continued to lean on it, feeling his horror seep out of his body in the rain, along with every other emotion. At last, calmness and emptiness remained.

Selva spent his time looking at the raindrops that fell onto the small pool of muddy water before him, listening to their pitter-patter. The rain had slowed down considerably. It was as if the sky had had its batteries drained. The rough and violent storm reduced to a gentle drizzle. A frog leaped about near the muddy pool happily. Selva watched it until it disappeared underneath the auto rickshaw.

His eyes turned to Gurumoorthy. Blood had turned his shirt a shade of reddish brown. The stain was spreading into his dhoti. But it was already brown. So, it didn't make much difference.

Selva thought his own shirt must look bloody. Maybe not as much as the corpse's was. But bloody...

He had no idea how long he stayed like that, watching everything around him. He expected to lose consciousness soon but somehow, he didn't. It was very weird to him that he continued to remain conscious after all this. It was outlandish to even consider that his mind and body still functioned ably. As outlandish as that knife had felt in his hands, just before he slid it into Gurumoorthy's abdomen. Then, it had felt friendly. It might have even had a smile, if he had had the time to look...

An engine sound reached his ears.

A car.

It could very well be the Police.

Selva stayed where he was. He didn't feel any fear at the moment. They would come arrest him for killing this man. As unfair as it initially sounded to him, Selva was ready to face it. Peace was what he needed. Whether he got it by leaving the city or by living a brief period of time inside the jail, it didn't matter to him. Peace was what he needed...

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps and voices.

They didn't sound gentle.

Selva put his hands in front of him on his lap. The police wouldn't find him threatening if he did so, he told himself. They might also find it easy to cuff him. The easier this ended, the happier he would be.

Two men came into his sight.

Bulky, tall men. One of them was bearded while the other had well-trimmed facial hair. They could very well be the police, although neither of them wore uniforms.

Mufti? Selva just sighed. He didn't care about the details.

The bearded man walked carefully towards the auto-rickshaw, his eyes roaming all over Selva, who was casually watching him with his back resting on the tree. The man's one hand was on his hip, as if ready to take out a gun in case of danger. He inspected the vehicle quickly, came around it and spotted Gurumoorthy's corpse.

"The son of a bitch is dead!" He shouted out to his companion.

That man came to the spot as well. He shot furtive looks at Selva out of the corner of his eye, as if to make sure he wouldn't spring out of his resting place and stab them like he did Gurumoorthy.

But Selva wasn't going to do that.

He didn't have the energy to move.

He didn't want to, either. He just wanted to lose consciousness so that his nose and eye would stop burning.

Both of these men signalled somewhere behind them.

A whizzing sound came first. It was soon followed by a man on wheelchair. An automatic one. One of his legs was in an elevated position. It was covered tightly with a cloth to prevent rain from falling on it.

Balaji Rangan didn't care to look at Selva when he reached the spot. He looked at Gurumoorthy once and once at the knife that was wedged into his heart, up to the hilt. His hands locked in front of him again casually, as if he was observing a dish being cooked. The emotion on his face was difficult to read and more importantly, difficult to trust.

Balaji sighed.

Then, he glanced at Selva.

There was a gentle smile, or at least a shadow of it.

That was the last thing Selva saw.

He never noticed Balaji's hand reach for a gun. He was too late to register the gun pointing at him. By the time, his eyes conveyed the information to the brain, it was already splattered all over the tree behind him.

Selva died peacefully, his body sliding to the ground with a comforting thud.

Balaji turned to his companions. "Take care of the evidence!"

He handed the gun to one of the men, who had already pulled on a pair of gloves. Balaji Rangan reversed his wheelchair and navigated it around the lonely auto-rickshaw back to his car.

He didn't look behind him.

Not even once.