MURDER with Abstract Mathematics

Chapter 13

I ducked as the bike passed under a low branch, and steered it from the earthen road into the thin slice of unattended ground, making the bike vibrate like a launch engine and throw up dirt. A feet to the right was a three feet drop into the mud of the Paddy field.

I glanced at the rearview mirror. The microbus, dark as beetle, was still there, following me steadily. It made no effort for stealth. Whoever followed me, wanted me to know that I'm being followed.

Or show someone else, perhaps.

I steered left and into the middle of the road and honked my horn. Then I turned to look back.

Three seconds later, the microbus honked back.

They recognize that I have noticed them. That could mean either they mean no harm, or they mean no harm, but they wish to threaten me.

Safe to assume the latter.

Always safe to assume the latter.

I came back down to the left, slowing down and turning on the suspension- much to the glee of my tortured arse.

The micro caught up, a veil of dirt tailing it. It slowed as it passed, as if making a statement. There was no scent to it, as cars often do. Only the dust in the air.

I hit the hind break and slowed to a stop as I saw it speed away on the country road, shaking it's part.

I killed the engine and stood there, taking everything in for a minute.

Afternoon bathed the golden paddy in red. The grain sang in their shells as the northern wind rustled through them. The sweet, grainy smell of ripe paddy wafted in the air.

I took a breath in.
I let a breath out.

I took a breath in.
I let a breath out.

Why can't I sleep now?

I reached home about fifteen minutes after evening. The Azaan was long gone by then. I don't pray myself, but there was something about an Azaan that shook and trembled something in the pit of my lungs.

I stopped before the closed gate and sounded my horn.

No one came.

I rolled my eyes. A lot of us don't pray. A lot of us pray for too long.

I waited a few more seconds, and then sounded my horn again. This time, our caretaker hurried out, his old carbine swung behind his back.

"Young M-master," he stuttered, "Master Sardar told us not to let you in."

I would've been surprised if at any other time, but right then, I just didn't have the energy to be so.

"Why?" I asked as I began to turn the bike, wondering where to go to lay down a bit.

"The- the Mistress is attending the party," he pulled his gun strap closer to his chest, "Sardar Sahib told us not to let you in."

I paused for a moment.

It made sense; father's hurry to Marry Shalik off. How he's adamant about my own wedding being much later. Why he sent me off on this particular day.

All for that... That... madwoman.

"Don't worry about my father, Chacha," I started the engine, "Worry about your own future."

Hoping that my comment was cryptic and threatening enough for him to have a bad time about it, I turned away and rode out into the road.

I stopped a hundred meters away and brought out my phone.

Bilu's name was fairly up on my contact list, in contribution of the first letter of her name.