RESONANCE Read Online Free PDF Page B

that lay idle all day long and when any ISD call was beyond his means. Hence, the compelling need to use the neglected car phone!
    The milkman was the occasional Hindu that one found in Pakistan. Since all his relatives lived beyond the borders, he was ever on the lookout to get in telephonic touch with them. His most recent fad was to buy a Kajri cow from the Sonepur Mela with a row of bells tied around its neck and hot pink and crimson tassels around its horns. Along with this, he was also consumed by a heart-rending desire to offer its milk at the Jyotirlinga in Baidyanathdham before coming back to Pakistan. The IB Officer was occasionally rewarded with the fruit seller's enquiries regarding price fluctuations at the Mughalpura Fruit Mandi of Lahore.
    The reason why all these people risked their necks to use the master's car phone was the fear of fat bills, that the infidels or the personnel of billing department of those 'morons', the telecom companies, slapped on these ' Allah ke bande', the chosen men of God. Allah, who had created all men equal, had also created the cell phone. Then, why the bills!
    How the beleaguered IB officer wished Imran Shah Malik had secured this car phone line too!
    But for once, on that fateful night, the IB officer was excited. His eyes lit up as he heard Imran give instructions to Aban. He noted down Aban Malik's number and flagged it immediately. Euphoric, he emailed the relevant information to Siddhartha Rana, the Joint Director of IB.
    "Imran Shah Malik has asked his son Aban to backup his computer and leave for USA tomorrow. The cell phone number of Aban Malik is +1…"
    He got an instant reply, "Send in the entire transcript and voice file."

Noida Driveway
    In Delhi, the head of the banned fundamentalist organization SIMI (Students' Islamic Movement of India) received a call from Pakistan. He noted down the Hyundai car licence plate number and called his trusted men to carry out the task.
    The thoroughly inebriated AIG of the CISF staggered out of the Presidential Suite humming the classic 'Na jao saiyan chudha ke baiyan… ', the haunting Meena Kumari song. He fumbled and fell as he walked across the lobby. Groping his way across the well-lit lobby, the AIG somehow managed to pass through the glass door of Lalit Intercontinental Hotel. He then flashed his car parking ticket at the valet captain.
    When his car pulled up at the porch, he dug out his wallet, ripped out a fistful of thousand-rupee notes, and shoved the tip into the hands of a bewildered celebrity, who had just got off from his burnished limousine. While the valet gave the AIG a quizzical look, the superstar gave him a steely stare. He slapped the money on the valet captain's desk and walked away.
    The AIG pushed hard to get his burly body inside his sleek car and sat confidently behind the wheel. Like every self-possessed carouser, he did not put his seat belt on. He engaged the gear and pressed the pedal hard. The muffler puffed out thick black smoke and the vehicle sped jumping several traffic signals.
    There was no sign of life on Golf Road in Noida. The AIG slowed his car down and veered to his right when a truck headlight pierced his eyes. He steered left, but the truck headed straight towards him. Frantic, he pressed the horn repeatedly. The next minute, all was silent.
    The steering wheel had broken into his front ribs while the truck zipped past in the opposite direction and stopped. Gasping for breath, the AIG wanted to shout out for help, but not a word passed from his lips. He groped for his cell phone on the passenger seat.
    The phone connected and his wife answered. "I love you, honey."he whispered hoarsely.
    "Where are you?"
    "Listen very carefully. Tell the Director General of the CISF that Project Karachi was only a trailer."He strained to take a deep breath, but his lungs seemed to give away. "Tell him that the Jihadists of Pakistan have initiated Tupac-II."
    "What is this ' To Pak to' ?"
    "I don't have