An Illegal Alien's Strangest Tale

'Soon it became inexplicably bizarre'

*

I closed my lap top and put it back into its case. I had 14 more of a 15 hour non stop over-the-pole flight from Dubai to San Francisco and I had to be careful not to use up the battery power for at least another 10 hours of flight.

"Are you a story writer," asked the man next to me. He was in his middle thirties and strikingly handsome. "I couldn't help glancing at you screen. There was that picture of you on the story page."

"I do," I said.

"I have a strange story to tell, a true story. I would not like the story to die with me. Are you in a mood to listen?"

"I would be pleased to," I said.

"Would you publish it?"

"Certainly if I think readers will like it."

"Even if it is unbelievable?"

"That is for the reader to decide. Anyway true stories have to be stranger than fiction."

"My story is strange, so strange that at times I myself doubt if it happened. So far I told it to a few close friends. I had to keep it to myself but now after ten years it may be safe to do so."

"Safety for whom?'

"Me."

"You mean that telling the story could at one time have put you in danger?

"I could have been killed."

"You are getting me interested. If you feel it's now safe why not tell it."

He told the story in several sessions. When he started the story we were crossing the Caspian Sea; when he ended we were over Seattle.

*

I am Ranjit Singh. I am from the Punjab. The first time I went to the US ten years ago I did the final stages of my journey across Central America and Mexico inside the damp and pitch dark chamber of a large container truck amidst the overpowering smell of fresh mud and vegetables. In short I was smuggled in. My co-passengers (whom I had only glimpses of) spoke a language I did not understand. I thought it was Spanish but later I came to know that they were tribals from Central America speaking their native language. After three days eating horrible food and sleeping on bags of bumpy hard vegetables I was sure that my end had come. On the third night when the door opened a gruff voice speaking in heavily accented English called my name and asked me to come down. The others remained. It was a deserted place and dark. Another man who was standing by took me to the only building where I heard the sweetest sound I will ever hear in my life—a greeting in Punjabi. My countryman took charge of me. I got into his car and we drove for several hours non stop. After almost a month with strangers who did not speak any language I knew I was in a mood to chat. My companion was not. After one or two one word answers he asked me to stop talking. When we passed through crowded towns I had to lie flat on the car seat. 'Cover yourself with that sack cloth and lie still,' he said.

Late that night we come into a town where he stopped the car. I think that even after 10 years it is better I do not tell the name of that town or any other town I have lived in. He asked me to get out and follow him. We went into a house and down steep stairs. It was a big underground carpeted room that they call the basement. There were four men sleeping on the carpet. Later I found that none of them were from India. They like me were illegally in the country. The man who brought me handed me over to another man who said he was the manager for team of workers. He was a man from Hariyana in India. He told me that we will be working for a contractor who brought in illegals like us to the country to work for low wages. He said that though the wages were low by American standards it was good pay by Indian. The contractor himself arranged for the money to reach our homes. Later I found that the food, chapatti, rice, dhal and meat, was good. The contractor was a Mexican. He gave me one day to rest and then sent me to a person who mowed lawns in homes. The work was easy. We travelled in a lorry with lots of equipment. We did grass cutting, clipping, sawing, even trimming lawn edges with motor driven equipment. I was soon adept in looking after lawns which every house seemed to have in the front yard. I was quite happy for six months, and then this happened.

Sundays were off days. In the evening I usually took a walk. One evening I was walking along a road I usually take for it was not a busy road. I crossed a freeway bridge and walked down a slope towards a culvert over a canal. At one point the concreted pathway was missing. I had to walk about 20 metres between hedges before the pathway resumed. I had covered half the distance when strong hands seized me from behind. Another threw a sack over my head. I could hear a car stop on the road and I found myself in the car. I was struggling to free myself when I felt a prick in my thigh. I continued to struggle and then I knew no more.

I woke up I know not how long afterwards. It was pitch dark. The only thing I was aware of was a splitting headache. My brain was in a whirl but slowly I could recollect my walk and the assault. And them more confusion—I was lying on the softest of beds. For one who laid on string cots in the Punjab, on sacks of vegetable on the journey to the States, and on the carpet flooring since, the bed was a luxury. Victims of abduction as far as I knew from stories and movies were usually tied hand and foot and thrown on the cold floor. Here I was quite free of any restraint. I sat up. My eyes gradually accommodated to the darkness. It was not pitch dark. A tiny bulb high on the ceiling was throwing a faint light in one corner of the room. I walked towards the light one step at a time. The light was in the bathroom the door of which was wide open. My bladder was full. I attended to that and came back and lay down. I must have been in that drug induced sleep for many hours.

I was thirsty and hungry. I walked to the bathroom to drink water from the tap. This time I noticed a paper packet on which was written 'Headache tablets' in thick black felt pen. By now I was certain that I need apprehend no physical harm from my captors. I swallowed the tablets, Soon the headache vanished. I was now in a state of mind to examine the situation I was in.

Why should anyone want to kidnap me? My worth as an object for ransom was zero. What other reason could there be? They could have mistaken me for someone else. I could not think of any other reason. The next question was the possibility of rescue. My contractor cannot of course go to the police. As one who sponsored illegal immigration he is sure to land in jail. My manager had neither the resources nor I fear the desire to rescue me. I decided that my only ploy was good behaviour and expect them to respond to that. Criminal classes when their interests are not involved can be quite honourable.

I examined my room mostly by feel. The one door was of thick wood and was unyielding, and the only window was barred. The bathroom had no door. Other than the cot the room was quite bare of furnishing. The steel cot was screwed to the floor. As I was crawling about the room I suddenly realised that I was wearing pyjama and shirt and not the loose pant and T shirt I had on. My only possession, a small purse with six dollars in notes and quarters, was missing. I sat down on the cot. I was feeling hungry. I was sure there was someone in the house guarding me and he was sure to give me food. I tapped at the door. I was always a quiet type. I was not given to anger easily. I did not bang the door and shout as many would have done. No response. I tapped again. I counted fifty and tapped a third time. No response. I lay down. There was nothing more I could do. From time to time I tapped reminding my captors if any where about of my existence. I briefly considered the possibility of my captors abandoning me to starve to death and rejected it at once. They needed me for some purpose. If it was a case of mistaken identity I would get early release, hopefully.

I had no idea of how long my captors had driven me. Seven or eight hours on American roads can be anything up to 500 miles. On the other hand I might be a few miles out of my town. If they kill me and bury me my family will not know. Another son or brother whose has disappeared in a foreign land. A memory soon distant and after my mother is gone I will be totally forgotten. Momentarily I was depressed and then I felt the soft mattress on which I was laying and that cheered me up.

I cannot say exactly how but I could sense that it was day. I heard clicking noises at the door. I stood up waiting for the door to open. The door did not but a 6 inch slat at floor level opened and someone on the other side pushed a tray through that. The slat closed and I could hear it being bolted. I took the tray to the light and removed the paper towel covering it and my heart leapt with joy. Warm parattas, six of them, dhal and mutton curry was the fare. I ate with gusto. I washed the plate and placed the tray on the floor against the opening at the door. Some hours later when I woke up I found the tray there again with parattas. My captors fed me twice a day. In fact that is how I counted the passing days. The food varied but it was always Indian food. I had rice occasionally and once puri was on the menu. But the staple was chapatti and there was always meat, mutton or chicken.

It was a silent house. I never heard the sound of cars. Very rarely in the silence of what I assume was the night I could hear trucks in the distance. I was apparently imprisoned in a god forsaken remote place. But why? And why are they looking after me so well? It would need a lot of effort on their part to provide me the food they were supplying. I had no explanation. Then I had one and it sent shivers down my spine. Suddenly all the pieces fell into place. I could explain everything, the abduction, the soft bed and the excellent food, everything. My organs were what they were after. Disappearance of an illegal alien will cause no ripples. I was the sole owner of two top class kidneys, liver and heart in near perfect condition and I do not know what else. Of course it makes sense to keep the organ donor in good physical condition. When hundreds of thousands dollars of merchandise is at stake chappaties and a few bits of chicken should be excellent bargain.

I was sweating. My mind was in a whirl but soon I had a plan. There was a chink in their armour. I had no idea how they are going to harvest my organs but at some point they will have to take me to a hospital and a highly advanced one at that. I was sure that a hospital of that size would not be a participant in this murderous scheme. That was when I will make my move. Till then I will be a good boy so as not to arouse their suspicion. I was confident that I had the measure of them.

On the third day by my reckoning I had biriyani. A sixth sense told me that something will happen soon. Under the effect of the heavy meal I must have slept. I woke up and was suddenly aware that I was not alone in the room. I cannot say what made me think so but I was sure that there was another in the room. I lay still shivering with fear. I lifted my head from the pillow and looked around. It was pitch dark. The dim light over the bathroom was off.

"Ranjit," said a voice, "stay where you are and you will come to no harm." The voice was a surprise. It was a woman's and the tone was gentle. The accent was not quite American but not Indian. My tongue stuck to the roof of the mouth and I was unable to speak.

"Are you OK," said the voice.

"I am," I said finally disentangling my tongue. "Why have you imprisoned me?"

"Stay where you are." This was her response to the creaking sound of the cot when I moved to get into a more comfortable position. "I know you have many questions but I am not going to answer any of them. How is the food?"

"OK." I replied.

"Only OK?"

"No, it is very good."

"What more do you want."

"I want to see sunlight."

"I understand it should be difficult to be in darkness for three days. I have been. Have you been before this?"

"I have for three days when I smuggled into this country inside a container truck. But we were allowed out twice a day but only when the sun was down."

"Interesting life you have led."

"I am leading," I corrected her and she laughed. "If you travelled three days in darkness you must have been an illegal immigrant too."

"Smart you are. You may be right. How is your family in Punjab?"

"So you know about me. But I fear you have the wrong man. I cannot imagine what use I can be to you."

"We have our plans. We have the right man. Be assured of that. Now tell me about your family."

"I have a mother and two younger sisters."

"You English is too good for a grass cutter."

"I am convent educated up to seventh. My father died and we became poor. I have come here to make money when this happens to me. Without my money mother and sisters will starve."

"No need to get emotional. Nothing bad will happen to them."

"Thank you."

"You have so far been good. No banging of the door, you eat what you get and return the plates polished; no trouble at all. You must continue that. Anything you want other than sunlight."

"If it is not too much trouble a cup of tea once a day would be welcome.

"It will be done. Now put up one hand." I did so and a soft hand briefly held it and pressed it and said, "We'll meet again." I do not how but I could sense that I was alone again. I think the door was opening into another equally dark room.

Have my captors sent the woman to lure me into a false sense of security? I could think of no other reason for her appearance but a sixth sense told me that I will come to no harm. But things soon became inexplicably bizarre.

2

Nothing happened the next day but the day after may be in the afternoon I am not sure I was snoozing when the same girl woke me up by calling my name

"Ranjit, stay where you are," she said.

"What's you name," I said.

"Call me Amy."

"Amy," I said, "this mystery is making me almost mad with confusion. You should help me." She laughed a sort of mischievous giggle.

"I fear that even when everything is over it will remain mystery. On the other hand the mystery can only increase. Now sit up and make room for me on your right." I did so with excitement and alacrity as you can imagine. I could hear rustling of clothes and then she held my offered hand and settled by my side. She brought her other hand across my back to my shoulder as she rested her head on my chest. And she said this:

"Ranjit you must give me a baby." If I had fainted it would have been quite excusable but I had sufficient control over my emotions to respond.

"I will do my utmost to give you a beautiful baby," I said. She thereupon hugged and kissed me. We were together may be for an hour. She came every day for the next four days. I kept my promise not to ask questions about my imprisonment or about her and though our two bare bodies were as one for the total of four hours we were together I could glean nothing.

It may be surprising but one cannot make much of a person's appearance in total darkness even when one is in intimate contact as when making love. Her body was soft and her skin taut. She was young. There was no doubt about that. Her nose was not flat like that of the Chinese or broad based like the Afro-Americans. It could be Indian, West Asian or European. Skin colour anything between the whiteness of blond people to coal black. During her visits the lamp was always off. Height may be an inch or two shorter than my five nine. Her figure was good, very good. But her voice was distinctive. I cannot describe it but I can pick hers from a thousand voices. She was an immigrant. I was sure of that for her English was different from anything I have heard before

But why should she choose me, a poor grass cutter and an illegal alien from a distant country to be father for her child and why this criminal secrecy? Sherlock Holmes in a similar situation would have had a dozen explanations but not Ranjit Singh. I was not able to think of any reason at all. In all modesty I have to admit that I am fair and handsome. Many have remarked on my good looks and some have advised me to try my luck in Bollywood. I hope no one will accuse me of pride when I say that in that department at least I may be a deserving choice. But that is about all. After some time I decided not to burst my brains thinking about it.

She did not come the fifth day though I waited and waited. I assumed she was having her periods and I expected her after the lapse of four or five days. But she did not appear. I was not bothered for I knew she was coming because of a slight change in the menu. To boost up my energy no doubt my menu in addition to meat now included a hardboiled egg.

Amy came again after 10 days. I did not ask her the reason for her absence and she did not offer any. For the next eighteen days she came with no break. Then my adventure came to an end. After five days absence she appeared. Even in the darkness I could sense a change in the air. Speaking formally she apologised for the trouble she has caused me. She used the word abused which under the circumstances I judged to be too harsh, and then she thanked me. Was she missing her periods? I was greatly tempted to ask but I did not. When you are dealing with a class of people who kidnap from the middle of a highway it serves one's safety to know as little of their secrets as possible. I assumed she was with child and left it at that.

"Ranjit," she said, "do you believe that I am your friend?"

"Yes Amy I do." We hugged what was clearly a farewell hug.

"Now drink thus." I felt a cup with something warm in it. I brought it to my lips. It was milk. The milk obviously contained one of two things, poison or a sleeping draught. The significance of her question was now apparent. Without hesitated I drank it in one go.

"You have been a good boy from beginning to end," she said. "You will wake up somewhere near where you live. Speak to you manager and get away to some place a thousand miles away or more. The further you go the safer you will be. I'll say that again, a thousand miles. This is life and death matter. Now lie down and compose yourself to sleep." I lay down. She kissed me on the lips and was gone. I was feeling something funny in the head and then I knew no more.

3

It was dark when I woke up but the sky was lightening. I sat up. I was in a corner of a covered parking lot that I later recognised as a mall near where I live. I was not alone there. An African American sat smoking; he got up and slowly walked past me.

When he was abreast he spoke. "It is the first time I see a drunk come to my corner in an ambulance," he said as he walked past. So that was how I came there. Whoever kidnapped me must be one with considerable resources. I had to take Amy's advice seriously or I will, as the Americans say, be soon a goner.

I was now wearing the clothes I was in when I was kidnapped. The purse was in the pocket but now there was more money in it, a little over 100 dollars, the money presumably to help me get away. My eyes could not stand bright light. With difficulty I walked to a McDonald near my house. I used the rest room and freshened myself. I drank tea and was ready to confront my manager. I had sense not to venture to my room in the next building that I shared with my grass cutter friends not one of whom was Indian. I tapped and at his request I entered. He looked at me as if I was an apparition.

"What happened," he said, "you are missing for 38 days. I thought you got yourself smuggled back to Punjab."

"It is a story so strange that at times I am not sure it happened."

"Tell me. I'll see if I can believe it" I told the story. Surprisingly he listened attentively without interruption. He kept a serious face even when I expected him to snigger. Finally I ended my story.