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Far Beyond the Dead End
They called it the mound of dead. In other words, Mohenjo - Daro! But beneath those layers of ruin, once flourished a town pulsating with life. There lived Koli with her enigmatic charm, Sindhu with an eyeful of dreams, Girad with his raging passion, the decrepit priest prophesying the doom and many others. They loved, hated and chased their fixations in manic rage. A series of mysterious deaths ensued from such frenetic hunt for lust, riches and glory. Yet, the inexorable game of destruction did not cease to play, until they ventured Far Beyond the Dead End, only to be discovered under a heap of rubble four thousand years later. About the Author Saikat Baksi, a mechanical engineer by qualification, is an explorer of unseen alleys of life. On his way through the human jungle, he picks up drops of tears and flashes of smiles and notes them down. History, literature and art add spice to his world. Far Beyond the Dead End is his fourth novel.
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Did You See The Joker?
The girl whispered, “I love you.” It took a while for the words to sink in his consciousness. When they did, he broke into a brief silent smile. The trace of dismissive scorn did not miss the girl. She repeated, “I loved you . . . from the moment I saw you there at the corner table.” He watched her with an amused mocking glint and said in a slurred voice, “It's okay. I paid you already.” “You know, he looked exactly like you, calm, serene, simple, sitting at that corner hidden in the darkness watching me. He was the one who took my virginity.” He stopped for a moment and listened. In a stupor of inebriation, it sounded like a true account. “He said he loved me. He used to come every night. He bought me this gold chain you see.” The girl pointed at her neck. There was a scar at her neck and there was also a thin gold chain resting on her bare chest. Ceaseless flow of life swirls around the bends of tears and laughter, vengeance and passion, hatred and love. Yet it flows . . . nothing can stop it. Nothing can block it. The eternal flow holds the wavering reflection of the joker . . .