HANDKERCHIEF

Professor Tripathi wolfed down his meal as he sat all alone in the college canteen of Delhi University, at times shifting his eyes to a fat book with crisp yellowing pages. A simple kurta pajama which he wore was now stained with the spicy red chutney of the vada he ate. Though he and his white kurta were in a mess but the book he was reading lay unharmed as he carefully turned the page with his left unused hand. Not a speck nor a spot. He stood contrast to his own personalities. Organised but unorganised, meticulous yet careless this man contradicted himself in his own ways. He was famous for such incidents that proved that this man had some bug inside his head.

But Professor Shailesh Tripathi was famous in ways more than that. His extensive work on the Gupta Empire and the dynasties of the South and his unbiased research thesis on the colonial period in India had been nationally acclaimed and regarded. The man had always found the past interesting, a familiarity in those years that were buried so deep in time's frame. Yet with so many years of study and close evaluation he realised that neither the life in the past or present was worth living. It sure made a living but was not an era to live a life.

Shailesh had always been a staunch believer of the concept of yugas. In hinduism the concept of yugas or as referred to as large tracts of time has been divided into four parts. Satya Yug or the golden period of flourish and the rise of humanity to the zenith with the moral compass undeflected. The next was the treta yug then the dvapar and finally the kali yug. It was believed that with each yug the morals, the values and the concepts of humanity would loosen and lessen bit by bit finally leading to the end of the civilization. The Kali yug was the ongoing time and the man of letters in history knew that Kalki would never come, the said or told saviour of humanity in Kali Yug. The tenth avtar of the Vishnu.

Professor Tripathi couldn't put his mind to one place. The idea had got him excited. The truth of the other time was a necessity to know. No matter who said what. The curiosity, his obsession would not let it rest. Though he believed in the concepts of yuga, but he harnessed enough doubt to believe his belief. Unknown and untrue till proven he thought to himself.

The shift was short today. The Professor had retired to his quaters early devouring a plate of chole kulche sitting on his favourite armchair. Though he was once married but his wife died young. He still missed her around, those intelligent eyes and her indomitable spirit. He used to cook for her every day, everytime. Tripathi had a lost a part of him when he had to part ways with her. Things never changed, rather he made sure that it never did. Tripathi looked at the clock and realised it was late already. Gulping down the last piece of kulcha he rose to wash himself and get fresh. The bell rang exactly at 6.45. The professor was impressed. He liked people on time, but he seldom did that himself, the weirdo as he was.

Tripathi opened the door.

 A man of medium height and strong build stepped in. Dressed in a cotton shirt and trousers, a gold rim spectacle sat on his nose and a whiff of an expensive aftershave filled the room. He held out it his hands in a respectful namaste.

'Namaskar' he said greeting the professor.

'Come in Bakshi.' Sailesh smiled.

The two gentlemen took seats opposite to each other as they both sipped into cups of hot tea.

'Professor what is that a historian wants from a physicist? We have nothing in common. ' Bakshi smiled.

'Sure Bakshi? ' Sailesh took a sip and closed his eyes.

'Enlighten me! The know-it-all'

Tripathi sensed a tone of mockery taunting him. But that how Bakshi was.

'Well we have a very common thing amongst us. Time my dear. It's time. You are still lost in solving paradoxes and I still am lost in understanding what happened in them.'

'Who can win against you? But still why do you need me. Do you want to have a debate old boy? '

'No. I need help Bakshi. I need your help. '

'Your work is completed isn't it. I want a confluence of history and physics. '

Samiran Bakshi had been trying to keep himself in checks. He respected Tripathi but now he found his tempers flying.

'With due respect professor. My work is not yet complete. And it would take fifteen more years. I have just scratched the surface. The time machine I build is not for you to take a ride to see what Akbar ate for breakfast.'

'That's not what I want. I want your invention to answer my questions. It's for the same plethora of reasons Nandini talked to you. I want to finish what she left unfinished. '

For the rest of the time both talked and discussed, shared and progressed into various discussions. Samiran left by 9. The professor knew he would never agree, but he had guessed that he would be able to plant the idea. And the work seemed to be complete.

The rest fifteen years took more than a snap to fade. Still, active in his work and teachings Professor Tripathi was finally there signing the 'No objection' document. He had taken it to the press and the media that he knew that this was risk. Even if he died today they should know he had lived a life of peace and tranquility and this is much out of his curiosity. He said that no matter what was the outcome today the people should not lose their faith in the physicist for he was the future. He was the new light.

Professor Tripathi walked in the chamber. Alone. Instructions had been given. It was a small wooden door that he opened first and then vanished into the interiors. Bakshi had the controls, and he had warned the professor to hold the propellor in proper control. A little mistake could end up in consequences not even he was sure about.

The professor had died the next morning. A heart attack. Nobody knew if the time travel had been successful, and he had not said a word after he had come. He looked old, he looked frail, and he had locked himself in Bakshi's room afterwards. Not responding, not answering.

Bakshi strolled in his room. This room had the last breath of the professor.He didn't know if he should feel annoyed or sad. This man had always been a trouble. And here he was in trouble again. The mob was breaking in waves already having declared Bakshi as a failed and killer scientist. Engrossed in thoughts Bakshi suddenly spotted the professor's handkerchief. The pink embroidered one. The one that Nandini had woven. He picked it up feeling the fabric in his hand and was stunned. The writing was haphazard but corrigible and in the red ink of the professor's pen.

Samiran you have created a wonder.

All my life I have proved my beliefs and this time you did it for me. Yes your machine travels past and yes I wanted you to believe that I wanted to shift back in yugs. But that's not what I wanted this time. I have always known you were a murderer. You had killed my wife that day when she refused to leave me for you. I know I can't get you hanged for her death but my death can rob you off all that you have earned. This handkerchief leaves no proof and this heart attack is induced. No luck trying to figure out how, you will hit the rock. I have arranged it my friend. Adieu!

~Tripathi

Samiran looked outside the window. The mob looked restless as a sharp rock smashed through the windows hurting him. Blood trickled down his wound as the agitation grew.