Destiny Exposed

The Master was pounding on the darkroom door. "Four minutes to the deadline Vicky," he shouted.

Vikram closed the lightproof developing unit, started the timer and opened the door. "It'll take ten minutes Master. Tell them, I think I have captured the explosion. Hurry up and help me print the copy."

"They don't like to hold the first edition, my boy," said the Master.

"I don't like to work on my day off either," complained Vikram. "Go on tell them they better hold! I have the best in there," he said as he pointed towards the darkroom.

The Master departed, grumbling, as usual, at anything that upset the working rhythm as the paper neared its deadline. He was an obese old man who had been with the paper for the better part of 29 years. His idea of a good news picture was just 29 years behind the times, but in the darkroom he was the master. Vikram was not even sure what his name was. Everybody called him 'The Master', half in respect and the rest because they never knew his name. It mattered the one called Master the least. He was one who had seen journalists and photographers come and go, he was always 'The Master' for them.

Vikram watched the timer carefully. He had an odd feeling about this roll of film, he wished he could inspect it first alone, but it was too close to deadline for that.

The Master returned as Vikram took the film from the fast drier. "They will hold," he said. "The last news is that three have died, the digging is still on and may continue the night long. An explosion and fire."

"I know, I was there," Vikram said. He then instructed the Master to print just the last eleven frames. The others, he told him, was personal.

The old man took the strip of film. "I know. Art stuff! Nudes, with discreet shadows as element of censorship," said the Master with a sly smile directed towards Vikram.

"No, not nudes," Vikram defended.

The Master with an expression of distaste cut off the last eleven and threw the other 25 into a corner on the enlarger table. His big, soft hands began their gentle swift motion with the negative, to bring out the best possible print in the shortest possible time. He fed the film into the enlarger. The bright lights went out. A cone of light came under the enlarger, projecting the first of the 11 frames.

"You'll have ten prints," said the Master. "The first shot is a double exposure."

"A double exposure is impossible with my camera," objected Vikram.

"Nothing is impossible with a camera. Nothing! You got a double exposure, two pictures on the same frame. Here!"

Vikram took the exposed paper from the Master's hand and slid it into the tray of the developer. Before the image had started to emerge on the first print, the master thrust another in his hand.

"How they look Vicky?"

The image on the print materialized quickly, and Vikram caught his breath. "On the button!" he gasped. "You can see every brick. There's a stove flying through the air - there's a piece of machinery - no my God, it's a human body!"

The master went on working - the last picture was in the developer and the first ones were in the dryer.

"Not bad," he conceded. "That's a man flying through the air, all right - or what's left of him. He has sure got the hell mashed out of him, hasn't he?"

"I felt the concussion myself," said Vikram. "It was unbelievable."

"Too bad you ruined the first shot."

"A double exposure is impossible with my camera."

"Make a print. See for yourself. You have one picture superimposed on another." The master blotted the prints dry on a blotter and hastened towards the editorial section. Vikram ran the strip of the film backward on the enlarger till he came to the first one. He turned out the lights and studied the projected image.

It was a double exposure - the explosion superimposed on the face of the girl. He did not remember taking a head close-up of the girl, but she had him so rattled that he might have. He decided to print one and see for himself; a suggestion from the Master was worth the try. He had it printed and in the fix by the time the Master returned.

"Lucky boy," said Master, "they are giving you a picture story page. The news so far is, four more bodies dug out, the dead have reached to seven. Lucky you, lucky, lucky, lucky."

"Master," said Vikram, "what do you make of this."

The Master picked up the wet print up by the corner. "It's all right! Explosion perfect. Girl perfect. Only one is on top of the other. Better get that shutter and the film transporter checked. You cannot depend on these gadgets any more."

Vikram removed the camera from his bag. He opened the back of the brand new 'gadget' and checked the shutter and the transporter, gears, movements, as he clicked and forwarded a few times. It was perfect, it was brand new piece which he had recently bought for some twelve thousand rupees from an authorized customs clearance shop."

"Try it yourself Master," said Vikram passing the camera to the Master.

The Master repeated the procedure at least four times and when satisfied passed the 'gadget' back to Vikram, and retrieved the wet print from the water and patted it across the blotter. Both men then leaned over to study it.

It showed the same picture as that on the film. Only that it was of half a second earlier as the body had not flown way out nor had the stove. The bricks seemed to yet not having left the mortar. There was also the blur between the bulging roof and the distorted body of the human in white overalls - that was actually a photograph of superheated air expanding so violently that nothing could stop it. He had photographed the explosion itself.

But over it, perfectly framed and in focus, was the girl's face, more childish than Vikram remembered it, and more beautiful, too. The eyes looked straight into his, in them a look that made him turn away guiltily.

"Very sweet face, Vicky," the Master murmured, watching the picture. "Would not give nude, right? Who is she any way?"

"I've got her name," Vikram said. "Got some other shots to print too, for her mother."

"Go ahead, with her kind of face. Any way you are a big guy here after today. Lucky, lucky, lucky."

Vikram then printed the rest of the film, but none of the pictures of the girl were as perfect and as good as the one that had been exposed along with the explosion. She looked like a hooker in all the other pictures, a hooker that she was. ***

Vikram had this desire to shoot the pigeons at the 'Marine Drive' (Queens Necklace, Bombay). With the sea as the background and the beautiful sky above he knew that he could always get the best pictures of the flock of pigeons as they settled time and again to feed on the seeds and then would fly together the moment they were disturbed, he wanted to capture their this moment in the mid air. He came to a spot that was best for this kind of picture and set his camera, the lens at 90-mm, while shutter at 1/1000 of a second.

He trained the camera over the pigeons and then around, but he abruptly stopped at a young girl who was standing a few feet away from the pigeons. She was waving in his general direction, and then he realized that she was waving at him. The girl came towards him walking with a sway that was not natural, she wore a lot of makeup and was not all that good-looking either. She came and stood before him grinning, she had worn a T-shirt with a deep neck over cheap jeans. Her cleavage could be seen through the neck of the shirt, while the jeans productively brought out the expanse of her shapely bottom and wide hips. Her unruly hair waved down to the small of her back.

"Take my photos," she said in Hindi.

"No, I am not the street photographer, I don't take people's photographs for the album, I am from the press," said Vikram trying to frighten the young hooker away.

"Fine, but you can take mine, I would pay you if you wish, take mine along with the pigeons."

"It would be an expensive affair for you, you would not be able to pay me that kind of money."

"I can pay you in kind then," she teased as she moved her tongue over her lips, making it clear to Vikram her means of payment.

Vikram suddenly felt a savage desire taking over his senses, "Fine, but where will you pay me and when," asked Vikram.

"So, you will take my pictures?" she asked unsure that she heard Vikram right.

"Yeah if you pay me the way you suggested," Vikram answered.

"Sure, I will," she said and came closer to Vikram, there is a place I know where it would neither cost you a penny nor me, and I would give you what I promised. Once today, after you take my pictures and once more when you come to the same spot to deliver it."

Vikram started to take the pictures of the girl, directing her consciously stiff body to move with grace as she posed shyly for his camera. A crowd gathered around, and Vikram suggested to the girl that he would have to call it off.

Vikram and the girl then started to move away from shore, took a lane to a railway bridge, Vikram again trained his camera on the girl and took a few shots as she walked laughing ahead of him. They came to a shed, a municipal shed that was locked up with a board that read in Marathi (local language of India) and meant that it was 'store for pipes'. The girl looked up at Vikram and told him to follow behind the shed, a passage that was created by the shed on one side and the railway station wall on the other. The girl parted a certain sheet of the shed and a gate was formed to the shed. She entered inside and invited Vikram to enter as well, Vikram hesitantly entered.

The shed was dimly lit; the only light that came was from the vents and the cracks formed in the sheets. It was warm inside, yet it was bearable. The girl pulled out an old wooden chair with armrest that is often seen in municipal and government offices. She removed her handkerchief and wiped it of the settled dust. Vikram knew that the girl had probably used this government property for countless number of times.

"Please sit down sir!" she told Vikram, smiling as her hands went back to gather her hair and knot them in an untidy bun. Vikram walked over to the chair and sat on it. Once Vikram was settled in the chair, the girl began her work, she pulled out an old newspaper from some pipe that lay there in the shed, spread it on the floor near Vikram's feet and then knelt on it. She then touched the bulge in Vikram's trouser. She smiled at Vikram and undid the buckle of his belt with her practiced fingers and the proceeded to undo the top button of his trouser followed by unzipping his trouser. Vikram felt uncomfortable and wriggled in the chair, "Shooo! Sir be comfortable, I will help you with this." She said as she caressed the bulge in his underpants, grasping it, as it grew harder. Then ever so gently she pulled back the elastic of his undergarment from the top delved her hand inside and brought out his enormous manhood.

She then savagely tightened her grip on it and jerked it roughly bringing Vikram to wriggle again and shriek out, "You bitch! What are you doing leave it?"

She looked up at Vikram and smiled, did not say anything but lightened her grip on his cock. Her fingers then curled at the base of his cock-head as her thumb caressed the bulb. She then kissed his cock-head and looked back at Vikram for his reaction. Seeing Vikram's eyes pressed tight in anticipation, she licked the head with the flat of her tongue. Vikram made a hissing sound and she took that as an approval and collection a good amount of saliva in her mouth, positioned her mouth over his cock-head and drooled out the saliva out of her mouth to hit his bulb. With her fingers still curled around at the base of his cock-head, she used her thumb to spread the saliva all over his cock-head and then eased her curling fingers to let the remainder dribble down the base of his cock, and she the started to masturbate him.

Vikram could not control himself and his hands went to her head, reached her bun and griping it he yanked her head to force her face to his lap. She did not complain, but obliged Vikram by taking his manhood in her mouth. She took his cock all the way in till his cock-head touched her throat and then she brought it all the way out till only his bulb remained in her warm mouth. She started to bob her head thus making slurpy sounds, as her fingers kneaded his balls through his underpants.

Vikram moved his hand from her head to grab on her huge breasts. She broke herself away to remove her T-shirt, jiggled her breasts for Vikram and then went back to her work. It was but a few minutes later that Vikram came to the point beyond control and with a moan came in her mouth. She half swallowed and half spat out his semen on the shed floor. She then tore a part of the newspaper and wiped Vikram's cock with it.

She then stood up, jiggled her breasts in Vikram's face as a tease and told him he would get more when he got the pictures. Vikram grabbed her hand and told her to stand still as he admired her breasts under the ray of light that was passing through the crack on the roof, which fell on her breasts, her taut nipples looked exotic in that light.

"You will have to pay me if you want to picture what you see," said the girl.

Vikram's mind raced at the prospect of the proposal...

The girl interrupted his thoughts, "you can come down to my house and take my naked pictures," she said, "pay me a thousand rupees for them, and sex. Sex is on the house." She giggled and shook her breasts again provocatively.

"Where do you live, I need your name, parent's name, proper address and then you need to sign papers."

"You can come and take the pictures now," she insisted, "my mother has gone out for work and would not be back for at least two hours."

She gave him her name, Kismat Bibi Khan, and her mother's name as Khatoon Khan and the address of a slum that was situated close to the shed where they were now sitting. Vikram was not sure that the girl would come out all that good in photographs, he wanted to be sure once he had seen the results of the pictures.

"No, not now, I have other work, maybe tomorrow when I come to deliver the pictures."

"It has got to be today, or never," she said. "I am in a mood to have a good time with you today, who has seen tomorrow, have you seen tomorrow?" she asked Vikram, her eyes a shade of sorrow.

Vikram did not have the kind of money she demanded, nor was he sure of the result, nor of her place, where she was proposing that he could photograph her. He did not want to do a bad job, then there was also the fear of the legality of the proposal, he knew he could get in the soup. A blowjob on the sly was one thing and a shooting in nude at her place was altogether a risky proposition.

Vikram promised her that he would be back the next day with the result and then they could think about her proposal for the nude. The girl sadly promised him that she would pay him for the photos she had insisted, but seemed no more enthusiastic about doing the naked pictures the next day.

They came out of the shed from the same opening that they had got in, and after walking up the road in silence; they parted ways with a silent nod. She seemed to be in a hurry to reach somewhere as she rapidly paced her steps in a different direction. While Vikram walked casually in the opposite direction.

Vikram had a beer on the way, and then his feet wandered towards the direction that the girl had gone in. He walked some more distance and then stopped before a pan shop to buy cigarettes. He was suddenly aware of a hard flash of brilliant light behind him. His new camera, luckily ready for anything, dangled from a strap around his neck.

He turned quickly, just as a hard gust knocked him down. He found himself sitting on the footpath and about 12 feet above and a short distance away he saw a building being blown up. He was pressed back, but without as much as a thought he trained his camera to his eyes and started to shoot, cocked and fired, cocked and fired, like a soldier shooting down the enemy with a sten gun in circumstances of close combat. He had finished the remainder of the roll in five seconds flat.

He had used up the whole roll before the debris started to fall, and fall it did around him. He escaped injury and found himself trembling and his body had lost all sense for balance. He fell again, rose again and ran for safety, while his mind could think of only getting in touch with the paper he worked for. It was his day off, yet he ran towards his office which was at least a mile away from there, as though he would lose his job if he did not.

***

He printed the 25 pictures of the girl rapidly. Not one had the quality he had been seeking. They were photographs of a young, ugly hooker who was trying to look sexy. It would never do, he thought, to take her nudes. She had a good body figuratively, but then he had seen it in the badly lit shed. She was good at hooking, he thought again, she had given him the best blowjob he had received in ages, and the promise of yet another one waiting was a good remuneration for his hard work in the darkroom.

"Nine dead so far, it was a chemical works, somebody goofed up with some highly explosive chemicals and this caused the explosion. A proper enquiry is supposed to be carried out after the fire is brought down and safety factors taken," the Master announced as he came back from the editorial section.

The Master sat on the stool, and Vikram passed on the rest of the 25 prints for his perusal. "What do you think Master?" he asked. The Master looked at the prints, merely glancing through them before returning to the double exposure. "This is still the best, son," he said "too bad you screwed up. 'Best of the explosion and the best of the girl.' The others are snapshots, merely. But this is the one, one of an angel."

"The other?" Vikram asked again as a reassurance of his own conviction.

"Snapshots, dear Vicky, mere snapshots of a whore, nothing more."

"Where does she live?" asked the Master.

"Somewhere around that chemical works, but walks the street some half a mile away."

"So, I was right, a whore she is, take my word Vicky, she is not worth the raw material for nudes, she does not have the charm, but somehow this one with the explosion has her looking like I said, an angel." ***

It was almost dusk; firemen were still grubbing through the debris, trying vainly to look for someone who was still left behind, even 24 hours after the incident. Vikram passed by giving a slightly interested look at the site. He came to the neighborhood of the slums, not exactly a slum, but a bunch of old dilapidated buildings, with doors and windows hanging on old worn out hinges, clothes more like rags hanging from them. Leaking sewers and gutters emitted a deadly stink too hard even for the likes of Vikram.

"Where does Khatoon Khan live?" he asked a middle aged hulky lady.

"Why, are you a reporter?" she asked.

Why, another, he played it safe. "No, I just want to deliver this and talk to her," said Vikram.

"You can give me that, I would deliver it," said the lady bringing her open palm out.

"No, its just not that, I have also to give her some money and take a receipt from her."

"Oh, that will help, she needs all the money that she can, and she has lost her job and her earning daughter too. Both in the fire that broke out yesterday at the chemical works." Vikram felt the same weakness that he had felt when the debris was falling around him. "Dead?" he asked. "You mean, her daughter Kismat Bibi?"

The woman began to weep, "Her only child. She was the bread earner for the old lady who worked evenings at the works to sweep the floors."

"Let's get this straight," Vikram, said, "a thin girl about twenty."

"Yeah, she looked old for her age, she was only eighteen, and used to work in the streets. She had just gone to help her mother back home. Khatoon escaped without a scratch, but the girl was blown up. We concluded her death from the bits of her clothes that were found scattered all around the building and the street outside. She was blown into bits of pieces, no body for the funeral either. And all this happened before the eyes of the old lady. Only comfort is she died painlessly."