ANIKAA & THE ESCAPE- BOOK 2 OF ANIKAA SERIES

PROLOGUE

It was half-past eight, closing time for 'Khushboo' gallery and the end of a usual busy day for Mukund who had been working in Anikaa's art gallery as a manager for last two years. He ushered the last group of students out of the display room as the antique bronze and copper- finished Norton wall-clock chimed sonorously. One by one he dimmed and switched off the lights of the rooms, whistling his own-made melody absently, recollecting his wife's groceries list in his mind- Besan, maida, pumpkin seeds....

Anikaa's art gallery-'Khushboo' was no regular art space. It was one of the key attractions for art connosieurs, collectors and especially art students who would spend hours noting the nuances of the detailed work for their own projects. Khushboo attracted buyers from all over the world and for that very reason Mukund was hired by Anikaa. He was no curator, neither did he possess any art qualifications but he was gifted with a multilingual tongue and was a natural salesman. Apart from Marathi, Hindi, Gujarati and English he could fluently verbalize in French and Spanish; which made a positive influence on the visitors. With an honest expression and smiling face, he ensured that a customer entering the gallery must leave with a purchase receipt.

The gallery had four huge regally designed interconnected oak rooms where Anikaa's artworks were divided on the basis of painting styles - realism and expressionist. A small lounge was allotted to upcoming indigenous Indian artists who had predominantly filled the walls with intricate Madhubani paintings and surreal Thanjavur (Tanjore) paintings of Hindu gods and goddesses and the last room was converted into an office which was rarely used and was stored with large prints of Anikaa's much demanded paintings. Their normal closing times for the weekends usually stretched to ten o'clock, but they were shutting early tonight because of an upcoming hurricane warning. Hurricane Bela circling the Indian Ocean had changed its course and had hit Arabian Sea instead. Throughout the city, non-stop announcements were made about reaching home safely. The authorities had circulated special instructions to the corportates that all the offices must be shut by six o'clock but Mukund had kept the gallery open till half-past seven upon the request of ardent art students who were required to present a paper in their college. He had refused them first but heeding to their genuine request, he relented. By the time they finished their work, it was eight already. As Mukund switched off the last light and turned to leave, he stopped in his tracks. He turned around and spotted a faint light underneath the slit of the door of Anikaa's office.

"I'm sure I switched off the lights. Is someone in there?" mused Mukund and went towards the office which was on the far side of the gallery.

He swung open the door. It was a full moon night and surreal white moon light streaming through the criss-cross designed windows was illuminating half of the room but still it wasn't the light he had seen underneath the door. Strange! He skimmed his hand over the side wall and switched on the bulb. Everything was as it is, not a thing out of place. Switching off the lights he turned around to leave but stopped again. A trickle of sweat ran down inside his collar as he slowly turned to see a man's silhouette standing by the window, his arms folded behind the back. He opened his mouth to scream, to confront the man, to call the security- but no sound came from his mouth.

He took a step back to run but the shadow spun around in a trice.

"DO NOT MOVE," said the shadow in a minacious tone and started approaching him in the darkness. The door closed behind him by itself without making its customary clicking sound. A cold shiver ran down Mukund's body as he felt the proximity of the shadow. His mouth went dry and he stood rooted to the spot.

"Relax Mukund...," said the shadow and although he couldn't see it but Mukund felt the shadow smiling. "...and tell me where the prints and original of that painting are?" asked the shadow pointing to the painting on the wall.

Mukund trembled with trepidation. The steely voice of that shadow was spawning a foreboding feeling in him. He looked towards the wall as one of the paintings glowed in a warm yellow light that seem to come out of nowhere.

He opened his mouth and spluttered- "Thhh..at painting?"

"Precisely," hissed the shadow.

Mukund was so frightened that he didn't realise that he was now able to converse. His voice was back. He swallowed his helplessness in the darkness and racked his brains to answer the question being asked.

"Two....There are two more prints of that painting and the original one is in London, I guess," he said, blinking in the dark.

"Good. Now, give me the names of those people who possess this painting," said the shadow.

"I....I don't know," stuttered Mukund. "How can I know?"

"Don't, be scared. Try to think carefully. One more chance, where are they? Who has them?" asked the shadow nearing him.

Cold wave engulfed Mukund's body as the shadow moved closer to him. Sheer anger was radiating from the shadow and it seemed that every cell in his body was wishing to explode. His body was on cold tingling fire. He shuddered and mustering all his strength he answered truthfully- "I don't know. It's all confidential information in the compu...,"

He was not able to finish his sentence as his limbs could no longer hold him. With a thump, he fell on the floor unconscious, his body covered in cold sweat.