HANGOVER!!- PART 3.( an extrapolation of the 'BEER MAN SERIAL KILLER')

That night, Raghav was the perfect prototype of the ageold werewolf sending out its death howl against the full moon. As if the moon cast an inexplicable lunar force on Raghav's fast deranging mind, he moved aimlessly down the alley. Flashes of his childhood impinged on his crazed senses.

He spotted a sequestered rag-picker, lying on his left side and curled into a cocoon; his ears hidden by his folded, right arm, and the exposed, hollow cheek sedately moving in periodic bursts of a resting pulse. Raghav's stomach sent out tiny growls of anticipation, as if it had been famished for real food. He licked the beads of perspiration from his lips as he found his real victim. The ticker in him moving with a brainsick speed nonetheless, he observed his victim with unrelenting acuity. This was a healthy man with a strong, albeit sparse frame. There was a silent dignity in those dirty, bronze tinged arms. He lay on the ground with not a care about the whole, deuced world.

The grimy roadside drifter (internally heralded by Raghav as 'the roadside romeo') reeked of all the trash in the world. Raghav, on the other hand, somehow obsessed with uncanny olfactions (like the socks in Vichoo's room/ the toothpaste smell of Cocaine), now felt his body transmute into a tiny fly buzzing around an excessively inviting and scrumptious garbage bin, looking for the ripest spot to start feasting.

Raghav picked a pair of special gloves from his left pocket. As part of a warm-up seance, Raghav felt his hand up the rag-picker's fly. The rag-picker, slightly unsettled by the extraneous movement rolled over on his back, simltaneously stretching his right arm by the side of his right ear. Now, both hands were placed above the wastrel's head. The posture tickled Raghav's funny bone, as it resembled a Physical Edcation Trainer raising both his hands on a routine drill. In addition to tickling Raghav's funny bone, this paricular posture also tickled a not-so-funny itch to have the wastrel's hands tied.

Raghav looked around for the ragpicker's petty belongings, and found what he was looking for amidst the rags; a nice and strong rope. He placed the rope around both the ragpicker's hands, nitpicked the knots he cold possibly tie and finally zeroed in on a Double Carrick bend.
The sleeping man was definitely waking up.

Raghav moved around, and sat astride the man who was just a few seconds away from getting yanked into reality from his dreamless sleep. One glance at Raghav's delirious state instigated an instantaneous gander of stark horror in the superficial swirls of the ragpicker's eyes. As if he had swallowed a sharp bone, the ragpicker had himself gagged. It was one of those moments when he wished it only were that sudden awakening jerk brought about by the abonimable culmination of a devious nightmare. Nevertheless, this was far from an imagined mischance conjured by the slumbering mind.It was as real as the Titanic nosediving into the ocean aeons ago, somewhere south of the Grand Banks of New Foundland.

In the meanwhile, Raghav picked a rag from the adjoining mess and muzzled the ragpicker's mouth with it. He now unzipped the poor man's fly and began stroking the latter's manhood with his left hand, much to the utter consternation of the ground strapped man. With the other hand, Raghav fished out one of the metal artifacts in his right pocket. It was as cold as his heart currently was. Raghav momentarily detracted his left hand from the ragpicker's 'baloney' to pop open the Kingfisher beer can. The momentarily misplaced hand went back to 'action'. Under Raghav's viper grip, both the ragpicker and the beer can sent out beadlings of liquid trickling down the surface. Raghav hung on to the can as if he were the one hanging on for dear life. He swigged a portion of the beer can contents. The liquid coursed down his blazing throat, thereby cooling him down.

Raghav soon found out that the ragpicker was ramrod straight (ironic that intense excitement is sometimes caused by fear rather than anything more meritorious; akin to the severe adrenaline rush right before a bungee jumping fall). He then flipped the pinned-down man on his chest, got himself unfastened and forced his partially erect member into the ragpicker's rear. After a few unsuccessful attempts by Raghav, the ragpicker began displaying the first signs of protest. Raghav could obviously not maintain his erection. His frustration began foaming into burgeoning bubbles. He now picked the wayward beer can and gulped the bubbling remnants with a revengeful resolve. It was high time to have this over and done with.

Raghav tossed the ragpicker on his back once more. It was more like an expert chef flippantly flipping a full fish in order to have the 'masala' slotted into the open slits. All the same, there was nothing flippant about Raghav. The ragpicker saw the full throttle wolfman now. To lend a dash of eeriness to the horror show, he hopelessly watched the moon rise right behind Raghav's head like a frightening halo. Raghav now fished for the other metal artifact in his pocket. He looked at the Swiss knife that he had picked as a souvenir from an earlier sojourn to Sodom (on a f#$@ with a rich guy from the past).

And then he jabbed the ragpicker's chest once.. twice.. thrice... It was going to be a never ending spree...

Raghav's mind was like a sheet of frosted glass where laser beams were burning fresh holes and creating ambiguous patterns.

The first time he had been sexually ravished as an innocuous child, by a 'Muslim' Conductor in the backseat of a bus...
The first time he had seen his father sleeping with his brother's amah(wet-nurse)...
The first time he had seen his mother slashing her wrist, her gushing blood slashing his heart...
The first time he had felt the blood gushing to his serpent, at the sight of a full blooded man...
The first time he had discovered that he could just not get to doint 'it'...
The first time he had felt the fear and exasperation of being left 'high and dry'...
The first time he had resorted to the absolute vitalizing Ganja..
The first time he had been to the land of Utopia to experience the shattering climax of life...
The first time he had seen death after an excessively bad drug 'trip '...
The first time he wanted to feel that Utopian delight again, by exciting another man and bashing the man to death before the latter could get to an orgasm...
Every first time, Raghav wanted it to be the flaming 'last time'..
Could stinking garbage ever hope to become pritine water- dribbling cabbage?

Raghav, alias Jitesh, Umesh, Ramesh amid a torrent of others was a despairing man who suffered from severe derangement, on account of fear, drug abuse and most potently, a disease of severe erectile dysfunction.Erectile dysfunction, sometimes called "impotence," is the repeated inability to get or keep an erection firm enough for sexual intercourse.

Raghav reveled in these diabolic thrusts preceding his Utopian climax. Each jab led him closer to that inexplicable pleasure awaitin to embrace him at the end of the tunnel , walking him towards a peaceful white light. Raghav opeened his eyes; his pupils adjusted to a different white light- a strained beam of streetlight. The ragpicker was long dead.

Considering the aftermath of his divine encounter, Raghav knew that the forensic team would have no clues whatsoever. Not a trace of semen could ever be found, infact the real semen only coursed as notional elixir through his veins. As for fingerprints, he had his 'handy'gloves for his hands. Raghav found this very amusing;it being a given that this was a 'bloody' place to think about anything remotely funny. Bloody? With all the 'blood around? Raghav's insides were ready to burst at the seams. Raghav tried to divert his 'amused'mind to the 'deadly' smell around. Raghav couldné help but give out a deep chortle. He was clearly in his element today. Deadly??? And with a 'dead' body around? '

Raghav got off the corpse and began muttering "hand.. handy.. blood.. bloody.. dead..deadly.."

Then Raghav noticed the Kingfisher beer can. He no longer needed it; he was completely satiated. Besides, leaving it behind would lead the police to be very clearly misguided, as though the beer can were part of some modus operandi. Modus Operandi describes a criminal's characteristic patterns and style of work.

The kingfisher had swooped down onto the water and baited its fish. Now, the Kingfisher beer had to leave its characteristic trace by means of the inevitable 'hangover'. Raghav knew that the hangover was not going to be his; this hangover was clearly going to loom over the residents/investigators/police/ media of south Mumbai the next day. The only thought on Raghav's mind: to catch the first train from Churchgate.
Where to? Home of course. Home? The open skies were beckoning him...