ESCAPE ON A WHEELCHAIR FROM HELL AND HOSPITAL: DOWN, BUT NOT OUT

Chapter 9: BLOODSTAINS AND COBWEBS

Hari found himself being churned forcefully out of a whirlpool and falling face down into a three-walled green chamber in a pool of blood and a strange hyena-type animal ravenously licking his hurtful leg entangled in a cobweb. He tried to close his eyes, but could not, He tried to wave his hands at the animal, but failed.

Watching him with a distraught expression was Anne Spenser, peering at him perched on top of a solitary dark cloud being devoured by a bigger and darker cloud. Is this some kind of hell, he thought. Pain even in death, he wondered; Hell of some kind? He remembered the party: Caliph Ali aiming his walking stick at Hari's third eye, but the bullet piercing his leg, just below the knee. The impact was such that it sent the victim a few feet up and then crashing down on the floor, face down, semi-conscious.There was a chaotic stampede. His head, shoulders, back, shoes, boots, sandals, parading all over his body and human bodies piling on top of him, crushing him into Neverland.

He knew he was hallucinating when he began to visualize bloodstains, cobwebs, spiders and hyenas -- a sure sign of his chronic Obsessive Compulsive Disorder syndrome. "Oceans of blood, Carnage. Bloody massacres. Festering wounds on humankind's collective soul. Master plan to bisect the world into a Union of Islamic States (UIS) and scattered remnants of Kafirs misruled by cowardly hypocrites," he blabbered, clearly delirious. Then something hit him on the head. He passed out.

Someone groaned into one of his ears. He stirred. Then, a scream of agony on the other side. He tried to open his groggy eyes. Heavy lids. He tried to move. No success. Paralyzed? No. He could lift one arm ever so slightly.

Then, a groan to his left and a moan on the right, a child crying out in pain somewhere in the vicinity and a woman howling as if in labor. He tried hard to open his eyes. 'We are in bloody hell," said the groaner.

"It's worse," moaned the moaner; "They dumped all the wounded guests into Qutab Hospital in the nearby Muslim area."

Hari was able to open his eyes, but he was unable to move his head because of, possibly, a stiff neck. The audacious historian of the impending Clash of Faiths eventually found himself trapped between two heavyweights, literally and figuratively: the moaner, Director-General of State-owned Audio-Visual Conglomerate (AVC) Kumar, and Family Welfare Minister Khan.

Kumar presided over the world's largest propaganda machine ell-equipped to transform a billion India a nation of nincompoops. Khan was Madam's insurance as custodian of the world's second largest Muslim vote bank after Indonesia, both potentially integral part of Hari's scoop of the century crusade, which was currently suffering from uncontrollable hiccups.

Uppermost in his mind was to free himself from the shackles of a festering wound just below the need and to get out of the bare hospital bed. It wasn't going to be easy. He closed his eyes in concentration and the shouted: ""I must take a crap! Fast!"

On the floor, a woman in burqa had just delivered a messy offspring with all the din associated with an unassisted delivery and the two obese men holding Hari down involuntarily catapulted themselves from the bed and their wounded captive crawled forward on the bed, fell crashing into the filthy doorway and beyond into a filthier corridor, not having the foggiest about his eventual course of action.

Ahead, he saw a contraption which looked remotely like a distorted version of what may once have been a self-propelled wheelchair. The corridor was littered with patients, Hari to reach it in spite of his painful leg and agony all over. He saw a man, a doctor by virtue of a stethescope in his hand and whispered: "lease help me into that thing."

The moment the man saw him, he kicked him in the chest and signaled another man. "Hold this kafir and drag him into that cubicle. Keep an eye on the rascal, He was trapped. But to give up! The question did not arise. He saw a spent hypodermic on the floor and a rubber band besides it. He picked up both. Sling was the only weapon he could use scaring pigeons off his study ventilator at home. He threw the needle at the doctor and using the rubber band as a sling, aimed the body of the injection at the roughneck orderly. "Brilliant!" he screamed and propelled himself into the wheelchair seat.

"Let's go, my dear injured Jaguar!" It worked and Hari sang:

"God's in his heaven,

All's wrong in Lucifer's hell!"

Just as he propelled the wheelchair out of the main gate, he saw his media-baron employer stepping ut of his custom-made Mercedes.

Hari waved at him, but the tycoon shouted: "You are fired, Hari Nath Rai!"