From childhood Indra Nag had the ability of quantum tunnelling, modelled on the iconic character of Monsieur Dutilleul. Simply meant he could pass through solid surfaces as the electrons forming his body ensured that his atom passes through another atom so that his electrons can exist in the same atomic space as the electrons of the second atom. His father, a school teacher had once experimented with holographic space time, though he didn’t have the resources to carry it further. But his father could leap in the air to a height of a coconut tree in his younger age.

Indra became aware of his uncanny gift in childhood. He once wanted to escape to Deshbandhu Park from his flat on Raja Dinendra Street  to join a football match. His mother had gone for an errand and locked him from outside. He had put his two tiny hands against the living room wall, flat against the surface, concentrated and applied the right pressure. He felt the dry, cool inner wall with his fingers, then there was a moment of total darkness before he stepped through on the other side. Both his parents were school teachers and the disciplined approach, stifled him. sometimes.

As he grew up, he used this skill of his, parsimoniously. His neighbour’s newly married wife appealed to him as very coy, and in his Class VIII adolescence she came in his dreams quite often. One Sunday, when his parents were sleeping, he went through the bathroom wall only to see her shitting and the smell of her poop nauseated him enough to give up more adventures. In Class X, due to a traffic jam he reached late for a pre-board exam and went through the school wall to get into the exam hall and then crept to his seat, undetected.

During his college days, he tripped off a dapper waiter in a posh restaurant, by putting out his leg through the wall, while he was carrying an exotic dish of lobster to serve a nicely dressed couple. Before the plate crashed on the floor, Indra picked it up with his acrobatic skills and hurried to the restaurant’s kitchen to put it in a take-away bag. He had a feast that night with his buddies.

Most of the adventures were of innocuous nature. In time he got a  clerical job in the Department of MSME at Dalhousie and married. He rented a flat on the first floor of 4/2 Karbala Tank Lane, near Manicktala.

From 2020, the pandemic of Corona Virus and the resultant inability of the Government to control it, formed the root-cause of insurrection in the middle class of India and Indra unconsciously became a part of the movement. A ridiculous rumour soon became viral on Whatsapp and Facebook, Instagram and other social media. The Corona man-made or man-bat-man made crisis was set to bring new restrictions as all others failed. The media carried more credible news. In order to ensure higher mortality to the higher income groups of the population, the Government decided to put the unproductive consumers to temporary death. The  ENT Health Minister exclaimed that in order to break the chain, every adult with an Aadhar will have a right to a certain number of days of life per month , according to their uselessness. The vaccine for this will be compulsory and freely available, in every post office, ATM kiosk and medicine stores. The doses of that will determine the number of days you will not live for that month. In a unique homeland security operation all the different departments of Governments collaborated and issued extra smart biometric cards to every adult citizen which entitled them for the required doses of medicine. Needless to state the cards had sensors which activated or deactivated the different molecules of the vaccine causing one to die or return to life. The exercise would be mandated for six months to start with it.

The vaccine was created by CSIR in conjunction with Wuhan Centre for Contagious Diseases, and was based on the principle of electrons that orbit the nucleus of an atom. The vaccine of 1mg blocked the electrons in their orbit at a predestined time for a certain number of hours, returning you into empty space for the time being. In conjunction with the sensors of one’s biometric card the vaccine had the ability to perform various mortality functions.  

Indra’s ire was however ignited more towards his boss initially, whereby he rekindled his quantum tunnelling acumen, before wider circumstantial manifestations. With this preface, lets start our story.

Indra was forty two years, when this new decree was passed by the government.  He wore a Gandhi styled glass, a pencil moustache and a small black French cut beard and was now an upper division clerk. He would religiously leave his home at 9 am, walk to the Manicktala crossing and take the 9:15 am Minibus from Dunlop to Dalhousie to reach his desk by 9:50 am. During the two months of mild winter of Kolkata, he used to walk back at 5:30 pm from his office to his home. Due to his low libido, his marriage to Anamika Nag was not successful. He didn’t have a kid and was aware of his wife’s extra-marital affair.

One evening, the electricity had gone out briefly while he was standing in the entrance of the staircase to his 1^st floor rented flat and he had put his quantum tunnelling ability to use for a biological emergency Without knocking, he decided to pass through the wall alongside the front door to his bathroom on the 1^st floor and then to the second floor, when he heard moaning sounds from the bedroom. . He knew the owner of the 2^nd floor, Prosenjit Dutta had a glad eye for his wife.  He peeked in and saw his naked wife sitting on the bare body of  Prosenjit.

 Momentarily lost in the display of sex, he thought of doing a queer act. He passed through the wall of the bedroom, crouched under the bed and flicked off his wife’s bra which was lying on the floor. With the prize possession dangling in his hand, he  returned to his flat in the same way —by passing through the wall. The power had just come back. He laughed silently when he saw  his wife’s shocked expression on seeing him perched on the sofa, watching a comedy show on TV. He watched through the corner of his eyes, when she suddenly spotted her bra on the bed . She was in thunderstruck silence as if she had seen an apparition. 

The decree of temporary death was published in all the newspapers and will come into effect from 1^st March 2023. Registration of every adult was mandatory by 15^th January, 2023. With it started a scrambling for finding a job that will uplift one in a higher social strata and enable a full time living. With diabolical foresight the authorities also forbid changes of personnel and new appointments in all sectors after 15^th December, 2022. The political leadership indulged in meaningless rhetoric and blame games. Government, assured every citizen that days one will be dead will be a paid leave and requested private sector to extend the same facility against buying extra-Corona credits.

Since Indra was a Central Government Employee he was automatically registered and given a biometric card valid for two doses of the vaccine which entitled him to die only for four days in a month. However, here his luck ran out as Rajeev Mehta, the Secretary of MSME, was transferred and replaced by Atri Banerjee, another IAS, who spoke in short, clipped sentences and wore a pencil moustache with a French cut beard. From the very first day, the new Secretary was highly displeased to see that Indra had a French-cut beard, and he made a great show of treating him as an obsolete nuisance. Once in a departmental meeting he openly snubbed Indra for not being active enough to push a scheme that had been recently launched. Atri shouted at staff and used red chalk on a specially mounted blackboard in the conference room to drive home his points.   Much to Indra’s chagrin, Mr. Banerjee relegated the Biometric card entitlement of Indra by increasing the dosage of vaccine and now Indra had to die for eight days in a month.

Indra’s only friend, Rotno had to die on 14^th March for two days. On 13^th evening, Indra had dinner with Rotno and his wife, Jui. Then on 14^th March morning he rushed to Rotno’s house to understand how he died. Jui was sobbing and said that they were in bed and at a minute to midnight, Rotno was holding her hand and giving her some advice. On the stroke of midnight she felt her companion’s hand melt away inside her own. All that remained beside her was an empty pair of pyjamas and a banyan. Rotno came back after two days, stark naked when he strolled into the kitchen as Jui had given his pyjamas and banyan for washing.

That evening Indra’s wife was supposed to die for five days. Since she was very afraid, Indra secretly set back her mobile clock by ten minutes. Fifteen minutes before going under, she had a fit of weeping. Then, believing she had still ten minutes to go, she took the time to redo her make-up with a flirtatious impulse that was quite touching, She was in the midst of laughing at a Whatsapp joke when, suddenly , her laughter broke off and simultaneously she vanished as an illusionist had conjured her.

Indra himself wanted his death to happen in his office. The day was a Friday night and he stayed back and walked through the wall of his boss’s office, when death happened discreetly. To his great joy he figured even though he was dead and can’t be seen by anyone ( unless he wants them to), his quantum tunnelling prowess didn’t allow the vaccine to work to its full potential and he could move freely with full mental cognition. He was scheduled to alive on April Fool’s Day.

He used it for his nocturnal visits to several houses in the city and by Monday morning had enough cash and jewellery, stashed in the wall, to buy a sedan car. He found himself daydreaming, imagining Atri Bannerjee as the victim, while he was resting inside the storeroom of his office on Sunday, when he had an inspiration. He moved through the wall of Atri’s office on Monday at 10 am and was careful to move only partway through the wall, so that just his head emerged on the other side, which he wanted to be seen. Atri Bannerjee was seated at his work table, his ever-twitching finger typing out a document on his laptop. Hearing a quiet cough , he looked up, and discovered to his unspeakable alarm the head (just the head) of Indra stuck to the wall like a hunting trophy. What’s more, the head was alive. It looked over its Gandhi glass at him with deepest hatred. And then it began to speak:

 “ Sir,” it said, “you are a terrorist, a maniac, and a rascal.”

Gaping with horror, Atri Bannerjee couldn’t take his eyes off this doppelganger. At last, tearing himself out of his chair, he leapt into the corridor and raced to Indra’s desk, finding it to be empty. Obviously, as per rules, Indra is supposed to be dead this week. He rang up HR to confirm this and after gulping a glass of water, he sat down, but at that moment, the head reappeared on the wall.

“Sir, you are a terrorist, a maniac, and a rascal. Have you taken bath by pouring Gou Mutra over your body today ? ”

In the course of a single day, the dreaded head reappeared on the wall eight times. Indra became rather good at this game, and he no longer contented himself with shouting silent abuse at the Secretary. He uttered veiled threats; for example, he would cackle demoniacally and groan in a grave voice:

“The Tiger on the prowl! Beware! (laughter) No one’s safe—he’s everywhere! (laughter)”

Indra continued his act on sticking out his head on the wall several times that week. As the week wore on, one could practically see Atri Bannerjee melting away. He avoided calling anyone to his room and had  stopped yelling at his staff. Murmurs of his failing health filled the gossip of the department. In a meeting with the Honourable Chief Minister, he mumbled when he was presenting the departmental plans, causing the irritable Chief Minister admonish him in front of others. The news spread like wildfire in the corridors of power. On 1^st April, he was replaced by a mild mannered Tamilian IAS.

During the nights of his death, Indra tried different textures of surfaces.  ATM Machines posed initial challenges, but he conquered it finally. The trick was to blend with the floor and then enter the ATM machine through its mounting. He tried three deserted ATM kiosks at night on a single day. He tried roads and next he tried to walk through a tree. The degree of concentration was different in each case.   

He contemplated building his brand image here-after in the balance of the week.

Indra’s first important burglary took place at PNB on Metcalfe Street, a short walk from his office. He passed through a dozen walls and floors and let himself into various vaults, where he filled his pockets with currency and gold coins. As he left, he signed his work in red chalk, using the alias “The Tiger”, underlined with a distinctive flourish, which made it onto the front page of all the newspapers the following morning. Within a week, the name ‘ The Tiger’  had gained extraordinary celebrity. Public sympathy was unreservedly behind this prestigious burglar who so thoroughly flouted the police and electronic surveillance. Every night he distinguished himself with some new exploit; sometimes his target was a bank, an ATM, other times a jewellery store or some wealthy apartment in New Alipore or Ballygunge.  Very soon his exploits spread from TV channels in Bangla to National News. He was compared to heroes and soon became a folklore in the times where people needed an icon to ostracize the government. Songs were made, lyricists and comedy scriptwriters worked overtime to catch the wave.

There wasn’t an urban woman who, in her daydreams, didn’t nourish a fervent desire to belong to the fearsome Tiger, body and soul. After the theft of the famous Copper Coin of Tipu Sultan ( 1782 CE) from the Indian Museum, this enthusiasm reached a fever pitch. The Home Minister of Bengal  was forced to resign, and he brought the Police Commissioner down with him. Special budget was given to Lalbazar to buy stealth gadgets from Israel to track the Tiger.  

Indra came back , alive on the 8^th day. He came out of the wall, went home, greeted his wife. The idea that his wife could have been cheating on him during  these eight days seemed metaphysical. He remained perfectly punctual at work and took great pleasure in listening to his colleagues discuss his exploits of the week before. He saw with satisfaction his wife devouring the news channels with gaping eyes, where his heists were being aired.  “The Tiger” they said, “a great man, Superman, a genius!” Indra blushed with embarrassment.

He took on rent a small flat in Rajarhat, where he bought four Godrej Steel Almirahs to keep his booty, which he had hidden in the walls of the office. The flat was locked, windows barred and  a surveillance camera linked to his mobile was installed.

He soon got invited by Rotno to a party, to celebrate temporary death. Rotno was again to die that night along-with two of his new found friends. They stood at the stroke of midnight and as soon as they moved to oblivion, their clothes dropped in a heap on the floor. It was quite funny.

The new IAS Tamilian officer, restored some parity and from May, Indra had to die only for five days. Just a day before he was to die , he joined his colleagues for lunch at the canteen and announced in a modest voice, “As it so happens, I’m the Tiger.” Indra’s confession was greeted with loud and long laughter, and it earned him the derisive nickname “The small Tiger”. In evening, when it was time to leave work, he was the butt of endless jokes from his colleagues.

This time he died in a wall of a famous diamond jewellery shop. The wall had termites and rodents who gnawed at his clothes. He then went after different diamond shops in Kolkata and within next four days amassed a good collection. He came alive on the 5^th day at the stroke of midnight, stark naked in the same shop and walked out of the wall, to be picked up by the night patrol police who were patrolling diamond shops on a 24*7 basis. They threw a towel at him in the van.

The newspapers published Indra Nag’s photograph on the front page and electronic media went gaga over him. His colleagues  bitterly regretted underestimating their brilliant colleague and they all saluted him by growing little French-cuts.

 Indra was put in a cell at Lalbazar and the outside was thronged by media. His mummified wife was gasping for words at the thrusted microphones, amidst flashing cameras.

When Indra was taken to the court the next morning for a remand, the judge looked at him quizzically before announcing a seven days judicial custody. He could see his wife, his neighbour and his neighbour’s wife in the courtroom. There was a police picket outside 4/2 Karbala Tank Lane and the downtown middle class area became a tourist spot with vendors setting up makeshift stalls after bribing the local thana. Indra was promptly suspended by the Department of MSME.

When he was taken inside the cell, he felt as though fate had smiled upon him. The thickness of the walls was a veritable treat for him. The guards complained of receiving mysterious kicks in the behind which seemed to come from nowhere; it seemed that the walls didn’t just have ears anymore, but feet as well. The Tiger had been in jail for one week when the new Police Commissioner found the following letter on his desk upon entering his office in the morning:

“Dear Commissioner,

Hope you are doing well. Since I have finished the works of Vivekananda at the the library, I want to escape tonight between 11:25 p.m. and 11:35 p.m.

Sincerely yours,

Tiger ( Indra Nag).”

Despite being under close surveillance that night, Tiger escaped at 11:30 pm . He walked down to the office of Ananda Bazar on Prafulla Sarkar street and had his smiling face clicked by the journalist who was having a smoke outside. Indra then caught a cab to sneak off to his Rajarhat flat. When the news spread, it was greeted everywhere with great enthusiasm. Indra slept for two days in his flat, taking home delivery of food and using the spare mobile , which he had dutifully kept as a fall back for emergency. Three days after his escape he went to office at 9 am with an application for revoking his suspension, and his shocked colleagues called the police to get him arrested again.

Indra was this time taken to the Alipore Central Jail  and triple locked in a dingy solitary cell; he escaped from it that same evening and spent the night in the empty guest room at the Jail Superintendent’s apartment. He took a fancy to the voluptuous body of the superintendent’s wife and saw her bathing by sticking his eyes through the bathroom ceiling. Around noon, the prisoner went off to have lunch at Aminia at Chowringee, and when the bill was presented, he phoned the superintendent using that of the restaurant’s reception, to come and pay the bill.

A police officer showed up in person immediately and took him to custody after paying the bill. He shouted obscenely at Indra. Indra’s pride was wounded; he escaped the following night, never to return. The Jail Superintendent was promptly suspended.

This time he took a few precautions. He shaved off his French cut beard and traded his Gandhi spectacles for a flashy red coloured Armani. He dyed his hair a shade of deep brown. Next he went to the showrooms at Quest Mall for a pair of  Gucci shoes,  Lacoste golf trousers and a blue checked Tommy Tee to complete his transformation.  He then went to the showroom of Audi at Park Street to come out with a brand new Q3 to drive to his home. At last he could put his driving skills to use and ticked off one more item from his bucket list.  The policeman guard in front of his house saluted him as he entered his own house. His wife was busy watching a serial when he entered, and he put a finger on his lips to silence her. Then he had a good meal and slept. Prosenjit came with his family in late evening and all of them looked at him with a new-found admiration. He simply smiled at them, told them to keep mum and did not speak much.

Next day he drove in his Audi before the sun rose and the police guard was snoring . He packed all the designer jewellery, diamonds and the coin of Tipu into a sack in his Rajarhat flat and went to the nearest police station. He dumped the bag on the nearest table with a handwritten letter addressed to the Police Commissioner, of which he took a photo and sent by whatsapp to the journalist at Ananda Bazar for another fodder of ‘Breaking News’. Before he was noticed by the police guys at the thana, he walked off and drove to the airport to buy a business class ticket to Kathmandu. He had checked the schedule before. He changed the Indian currency to USD and boarded the Air India flight of 13:55. He had earlier bought some biometric cards in the black market to give him extra days of death. The privileged class now felt that absence of  temporary death is not making their month exciting and a new black market of ‘non-livable’ days have thrived. 

Indra checked into Casino Royale on Lal Durbar Marg and splurged in the luxurious ambience. After dinner he ventured to the floor and was quite taken in by the display of the ostentatiousness. People engrossed around the roulette table believing in magic. The music from the slot machines and the occasional exultation. The different shades of a rainbow , one merging to another, creating the impulse to play the bet and believing that this time their luck will out do their fallacy.

Indra played, drank, slept with the available beauties on three nights. He went to the casino office and hid in their walls to understand the profits they raked in. The amounts were obscene. He wondered what the casino owners will be making in Las Vegas or Monte Carlo. Indra got a funny idea. His previous experience of getting into an ATM machine was leveraged by him to get into the base of a slot machine. The casino was almost deserted around six in the morning. He also noticed the absence of surveillance cameras at a particular stretch of the hall. He chose his timing well and merged into a slot machine through its mounting, where three bars is the jackpot. Then he died for a long ten days.

He just fiddled with the levers a bit and on two occasions was successful to award jackpots to two winners. One was a very middle class looking Indian housewife. Another was an old Russian. He tried to merge in different slot machines on that particular stretch of the hall over the next few days. The casino makers changed the software settings to cut their losses in the slots, as to their dismay they discovered that over the past week they had incurred small loss in slots. In one particular incident the player was a woman and she got three jackpots in an hour and walked right out of a loveless marriage after encashing her earnings. Indra became the unknown script writer for a whole lot of gamblers, from one initiating divorce to another  raising funds for a business to becoming debt free. Word spread around and crowd in that area of the hall mounted, perplexing the owners.

One fine day, the ninth day of Indra’s death, the  pandemic stopped. It became a normal flu having lost its intensity. New ordinances were passed overnight, laws changed and biometric cards settings were changed to make them null and void. Those who were temporarily dead when the configurations changed became permanently dead as the sensors of the cards stopped activating. Government mentioned that it’s a small collateral damage.

The temporarily dead Indra Nag got immobilized inside the machine R 331, as he permanently died. He is there to this very day, imprisoned in that slot which gives jackpot returns to the people he loves.  

( Inspiration : Marcel Ayme)