Russian Roulette

The Russian Roulette

Nobody exists in this world who has not yet tasted defeat. It is a bitter pill to swallow and a difficult morsel to digest. And yet, for every winner, there are ten times as many losers. And then, there is a third category of people- those who have nothing to lose, or at least that’s the way they would like to portray themselves. Everybody has something to lose. There cannot be a person who has lost everything, and yet survives. Or, is there?

As Shyam felt the cold metal on his temple, he wondered all that went wrong, culminating in him playing the deadly game of Russian roulette. Death was staring at him and he was not going to be the first to blink. As he closed his eyes, he saw the picture of his family, his and children. There was every chance that it was the last time that he would be seeing them. Slowly, he pulled the trigger. The crowd held their breaths. Five blank shots had already been fired by both the players in this deadly game. Only one slot remained unfired, and that was having the bullet. They all knew what would happen next. It was only a matter of when. In his final moments, Shyam remembered all that happened over the last 24 hours, the day that changed his life, and will most likely end it too.

Having a shop at the corner of a main road has its share of advantages and disadvantages. It was a typical day for Shyam in his “Shyam paan parlour”. People were milling by, some stopped to ask for paan, others for their daily fix of gutkha. The police had already come for their daily bribe. These two categories of people constituted the aforesaid advantages and disadvantages. It was then that God decided to play a little game. A man came to the shop and asked for a Banarasi paan. Shyam had run out of his stock of gulkand,the honey dripped rose petals, so essential for the paan. .

“Can you wait for a minute? I’ll get it from the other shop in five minutes!” The man decided he could wait after all. Shyam rushed to the grocery store on the other end of the crossroads, turning a blind eye to the black Scorpio that was coming to his side. He realized it only when he heard the sound of screeching brakes. He looked to his right and saw a very angry looking driver and his companions, all mouthing profanities. Shyam started running as if he never cared. He bought the gulkand and walked back. But, his shop bore a different look altogether. Everything was broken, all gutkha packets were put in a bonfire and all ingredients of the paan were spilled to the ground. In short, his only means of livelihood was broken in a matter of moments.

“Who did this? Tell me!” Shyam caught the collar of a passerby and shouted. He was shocked to the core. In his gut, he knew that it was the Scorpio owner. Rich dogs like him do not value others’ hard work and don’t mind destroying their livelihood if it massages their ego.

“How can I know? I was just walking by!” the passerby freed himself and walked away. It was never wise to spill beans against someone so powerful. Unlike Shyam, that anonymous passerby valued his life. Shyam sat on his haunches, his head in his arms and tears running by the side of his cheek. Everything he had was finished. And even didn’t know who did it! That was the precise moment when his mobile phone rang out. It was an unknown number. Tepidly, he took the call.

“Shyam paanwaala?” A gruff voice spoke from the other end.

“Yes,” he replied weakly.

“Listen you dog! Your interrupted the work of my gang today. Remember a black Scorpio? It was full of my men, all armed. They were supposed to shoot someone. Thanks to your bumbling, the target escaped! Now, the man who gave us the advance money for the killing is mad at us!”

The seriousness of the whole situation now struck Shyam. Bang on the face.

“Sir, please forgive this little creature! I will… I will…”

“Yes, you will. You will repay all the money that we lost. And it comes at a small figure of fifty peti!”

“Fifty lakhs? How can a poor man, who lost his livelihood, get so much? Have some mercy on me sir!”

“Mercy? Forget it! In fact, we need to ensure that you pay up. So, I would like you to talk to someone who might inspire you to get the money.”

The next voice Shyam heard shook him to the core, making him numb from shock. It was wife. Before he could reply anything, the gruff voice took over, “I hope you have my attention. Your wife and two children are with us. And they will be with us, till you pay back every single penny of the fifty lakhs. As much as my men would like to do it, we will not harm your wife or your kids. All we want is money, and now you will think of means to get it fast.” The phone was slammed down.

Shyam stared at his phone as if it were from some alien land, and the voice emanating from, some alien tongue. But, reality hit him hard soon enough. Regaining his senses, he started thinking the various ways to get those fifty lakhs and rescue his family. None appeared on the horizon, after a prolonged thinking. There was no way to cough up so much cash. Just as he was thinking, a piece of newspaper, flying in the air, stuck him on the face. Cursing aloud, he removed it, but something written on it caught his eye. It was an ad promising one crore rupees worth of prize money if the person would take part in a ‘fun-filled, thrilling’ game. In his gut, Shyam knew that the game was going to be deadly. Nobody gives one crore rupees without asking for their pound of flesh. But a poor man, who has lost everything, has nothing to lose, but his life. And Shyam was exactly that sort of man. He intended to either save his family, or go down fighting. After all, fortune favours the brave, and bravado was Shyam’s sole currency.

“So, you want to enroll in our game?” a hefty looking man with an unkept beard asked.
“Yes,” replied Shyam slowly.
“Do you know what it is?”
“No,” the monosyllabic rant continued. Shyam was beyond caring now.
“It’s called a Russian roulette. In this, there is a revolver with only one bullet in the six slots. Two people hold the gun on their temples and fire. Only one man stands in the end. The one who does, wins the money.”
Shyam gulped down slowly. What the man described was way beyond illegal. It was one of the deadliest sports and only the most desperate participated. But then, desperate was how Shyam was.
“Okay,” another monosyllable.

The stage was set. One revolver was placed neatly on the table and two chairs facing each other were placed. The audience seats started filling. Most of them consisted of affluent-looking men, who would look like gentlemen in an alternate universe, but in that moment, they seemed like vultures eyeing a prey, like bloodthirsty ravens waiting for a bloodbath. Shyam’s head was covered with a black cloth and he was seated in one of the chairs. He waited for his opponent. Soon enough, an announcement was made that the game would start in a minute. The countdown had begun, and in the last ten seconds, the crowd was chanting as if it were a prayer to Almighty.
“Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…ONE!”
It was the opponent’s turn. Even though he was shrouded, he could feel the heartbeats of his opponent, palpitating in fear. Or maybe it was his own heart. Click! It was an empty shot. Now, Shyam knew that it was indeed his own heart. He slowly put the gun on his temple and pulled the trigger. Click! Another blank shot. With every blank shot, the probability of survival changes dramatically in such a sport, and both the ‘players’ knew it. Once again, the opponent fired a shot. Click! Once again, the luck seemed to side with him. Shyam knew that if he survived this round, the next round would be probably his last moment on earth. Slowly, he pulled the trigger. In his blank eyes, he saw the face of his wife and his children. Click! Another blank shot.
“Noooooo!” the opponent cried. Probably he was sobbing. Probably he knew it was his end. Probably luck will not side with him anymore. The crowd waited with bated breath. And instead of the loud noise with blood splattering, all they heard was a soft sound. Click! It was all over. The opponent jumped up in joy! And for Shyam, it was all over.
As Shyam felt the cold metal on his temple, he wondered all that went wrong, culminating in him playing the deadly game of Russian roulette. Death was staring at him and he was not going to be the first to blink. As he closed his eyes, he saw the picture of his family, his and children. There was every chance that it was the last time that he would be seeing them. Slowly, he pulled the trigger. The crowd held their breaths. Five blank shots had already been fired by both the players in this deadly game. Only one slot remained unfired, and that was having the bullet. They all knew what would happen next. It was only a matter of when. Shyam was still staring in the eyes of death. He still did not want to blink first. Breathing deeply, he fired away.
Click!
The crowd went into a frenzy. The opponent started thrashing his limbs. It was not possible! Nobody can survive the Russian roulette in this fashion! But somehow, it had happened. Shyam had survived, and now, both the contestants stood to win. The cloth on their face was opened. The main organizer of the ‘event’ walked on stage, and said “We are an honourable organization. We might be doing this bloodsport, but we will play it fair. Both have survived, and the prize money will be divided right in the middle. Both will get fifty lakhs each!” Shyam could not believe what he was hearing. He had actually won the money, and saved his family! And his chances of survival were les than one in a million. Yet he survived. Yes, he had to take a bold step to save his family, and fortune had favoured him in the most incredulous of ways! Nobody lives in the sixth shot of Russian roulette. No organization conducting such a sport can be expected to be honest. Yet, both had happened. Thanking God, he collected his cash and called the number of the Mr Gruff voice.
“So, you have the money?” the gruff voice said.
“Yes, you scoundrel! Come and get your dirty money!” Shyam vented all the anger and frustration of the last twenty four hours. A moment later, somebody tapped his shoulder. Shyam turned around and saw a huge man in a business suit.
“Then give it to me,” Shyam recognized the gruff voice. The man was in the auditorium! He continued, “I knew you would take part in this one. You had no other choice. But I wonder, how you survived?”
Shyam merely smiled and shook his head, “I don’t know. Here’s your money. give my family back to me!”
“Of course. We are respectable goons.” Shyam’s wife and children soon appeared. It was unbelievable for him! Within twenty four hours, his life was snatched from him, only to be brought back by the longest, or should it be the closest, of shots.
One might wonder, how did Shyam survive, after all? The sixth bullet should have killed him! Yes, it should have. But for that, one would have to go back in time and visit an unknown gun making factory in Russia, where old Nikolsky fitted the spare parts and made revolvers. Then, one must also visit his home and see how much his wife beat him every day. On one particular day, the wife had beat him and verbally abused him so much that it affected his otherwise renowned concentration. It led to a small error in the gun, which would cause the last bullet to remain stuck in the cylinder itself, instead of being fired. This error could be deadly in most of the direct gun fights. Most, not all. Whoever said that fortune favours the brave, wasn’t probably wrong at all.

-Shivam'da'