The Eternal Stalker Named Death - Bizarre Strikes

Late Anjali Barua (Biju Baideo)

She was preparing for the marriage of her youngest son to be held within a few days. That day was really hectic. She visited nearly fifty households around the city and extended personal invitations to them. She reached home just before eight in the night.

She was not at all aware that the stalker had entirely different designs ready for her. A unique plan at that.

She was a bubbly girl from childhood days and was immensely popular. She was also a talented singer. Though she did not pursue it to professional levels she never left it either-continuing to perform in private sessions and family functions. She got married to a business stalwart and immediately set about putting her new home in perfect order. Her home was always abuzz with guests and relatives from all sides and of all connections. The one storied bungalow was lovingly named 'canteen' by many due its staggering hospitality at any time of the day or night. Slowly she got into the business of her husband and showed her magic there too.

Somewhere within or outside the city a truck was being loaded with packets of incense sticks. It was to reach a destination within the city that night.

She decided to end the eventful day by visiting her ailing elder sister just one kilometre away. At that moment an old family friend turned up. Normally she would have invited him for a chat over a cup of tea. But at that moment she really wanted to see her sister and so she asked her guest to give company to her husband. She occupied the passenger seat of her car and set off just about eight-thirty in the evening.

The stalker gave the finishing touches to the proposed timing, the expected impact and other details. He sat back contented and smiling.

The two-lane city street was not known for heavy traffic and it was quiet that evening too. There was no dew or fog either in that peak-of-the-winter-season January evening.

Farther down the road the truck ignored a no-entry sign and accelerated beyond set limits.

There was a sharp bend ahead and a break in the divider for side crossing and u-turns. The car was nearing it with its driver and passenger thinking nothing much about anything in particular.

The truck driver crushed the accelerator pedal to the limit never anticipating the sharp bend in the road and if he went ahead he was bound to have plunged straight into the drainage canal. So now he crushed his brake pedal to the limit and steered to his right. The sudden impact made the wheels on his left (In India we have right hand drives) lift off ground and the truck tilted to his right. Continuing with the momentum the truck with its all four wheels in air literally flew on to his right and into the gap in the divider.

The car had just arrived there. The flying truck landed on top of the car and crushed it instantly. Thousands of awestruck pedestrians and onlookers descended on the site offering a helping hand and wanting to lynch the truck driver. As the police station was nearby a law and order situation was prevented.

Miraculously, she did not seem to have any apparent injury as she sat inside with both the doors broken and jammed; she was more concerned for the driver who was trapped hopelessly. She even started calling her husband and relatives giving details of the accident with the advisory ‘not to worry’. She was conscious when being taken out and to the hospital. The eternal stalker never erred in His plans. The head injuries and concussion proved to be fatal for her as the lovely lady lost her consciousness on way to hospital and died an hour later. The car driver remained trapped under the truck for over two hours and finally survived.

Thus ended the lovely saga of a lady named Anjali Barua. Losing a beloved cousin sister I just wondered why. There was nothing to understand or guess about it. Why was it necessary for her to die so unnecessarily, so unexpectedly, so meaninglessly? The stalker always had His ways. Anjali Barua's husband, Pabitra Jivan Barua—a pioneer of the printing industry of Assam—just sat there staring out helplessly at the devastating loss of his life partner, support and solace. Beset with his own health problems he hardly knew how to differentiate one medicine from the other and when to take what in what doses. His life partner would no longer help him sort it out.

Even if we managed to meet the stalker that would hardly help as by that time He would be on numerous other projects and one particular victim would not be remembered. Like that same night farther west in Mumbai a drunken young lady taking sips of beer while driving mowed down and killed a police sub-inspector and a biker. Ironically at that moment the sub-inspector, on a campaign against drunk driving, was testing the biker for traces of alcohol.

Ours not to reason why, ours but to wait and die. Or, maybe you are not yet in the radar of the stalker, but you do not know who are.