The Eternal Stalker Named Death-More Bizarre Strikes

She was preparing for her youngest son's marriage 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.

The stalker had entirely different designs. 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 her husband's business 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 kilometer away. At that moment an old family friend turned up. Normally she would have invited him for a chat over a cup of tea. That day she asked him to give company to her husband as she had already decided for the visit. She occupied the passenger seat of her car and set off. Just after eight 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. That January night in the peak of winter season there was no dew or fog either.

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 crushing the accelerator pedal to the limit never anticipated the sharp bend in the road and if he went ahead he was bound to plunge into the drainage canal. So now he crushed his break pedal to the limit and steered to his right. The sudden impact made the wheels on his right (In India we have right hand drives) lift off ground and the truck tilted to his left. Continuing with the momentum the truck now tilted to his right and the wheels on the other side too lifted off ground. With four wheels in air the truck literally flew to his right and into the gap in the divider.

The car just arrived at that gap. The flying truck landed on the 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.

She was conscious when being taken out and to the hospital giving phone numbers and other details. But the head injuries and concussion proved to be fatal. The car driver remained trapped under the truck for over two hours and finally survived.

Thus ended the lovely saga of Anjali Barua. Losing a beloved cousin sister I just wondered why. There was nothing to understand or guess out it. 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 did not know how to differentiate one medicine from the other and when to take what in what doses.

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 night in Mumbai when a drunken young lady taking sips of beer while driving crashed and killed a police sub-inspector and a biker. Ironically the sub-inspector, on a campaign against drunk driving, at that moment was testing the biker for traces of alcohol.

Ours not to reason why, ours but to wait and die. Or, maybe you are not in the stalker's radar, but you don't know who are.