The Collector of Time
by Pravan Omprakash
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
In the morning, I was abruptly awakened by a voice. “Wake up! Wake up!” Sancharan Baba was standing over me, his face freshly washed and wearing a different shirt.
I jolted awake and looked around, realizing the sun had just risen and the train was pulling into Varanasi.
“We are here,” he announced, standing up and brushing off his pants. I quickly gathered my belongings, including my phone, and asked about my grandmother’s ashes.
Sancharan silently pointed to the pot on the upper berth. I reached for it, noticing a few of his devotees positioned ahead, likely to clear a path. I gave Sancharan an inquiring look, feeling a sense of betrayal that he hadn’t demonstrated his power the previous night.
With his characteristic laugh, he said, “You should have never climbed that mango tree. You could have become a cricketer.”
As the train came to a stop, he walked towards the door. I was too stunned to respond. How did he know about my childhood accident?
The incident where I fell from a mango tree and injured my shoulder, ending my cricket aspirations, was a secret known only to me. This revelation seemed beyond magical, almost otherworldly. And then I caught myself falling into the very trap he had described before.
Determined to understand, I turned around and called out, “How?”
Sancharan’s voice echoed back as he stepped off the train: “Come to the ashram.” His invitation hung in the air, leaving me with more questions than answers.
* * *
After I stepped off the train, the subsequent events unfolded in a haze. My journey to the hotel, the refreshing bath I took, the solemn trip to the Ganges, and the poignant ritual of immersing my grandmother’s ashes; all these moments passed in a blur. My mind was utterly captivated by the enigma of Sancharan Baba. Every explanation I conjured up was promptly dismissed by my rational mind, leaving me more bewildered each time I pondered over it. Eventually, I reached a point of resolve. Determined to find answers, I hailed a taxi and directed it towards Sancharan Baba’s ashram.
The reality of Sancharan Baba’s ashram was surprisingly modest compared to what I had envisioned. Instead of a grand edifice bustling with throngs of people, it was just a large house with a few individuals gathered at the gate.
Approaching the watchman, who was clearly another devotee, I requested, “I want to meet the Baba.”
“And do you think everyone here is just to watch the crows?” he retorted sharply.
“Please, it’s very important. Tell him Pramod is here,” I urged.
“Pramod who?” he probed.
“Pramod, from the train,” I clarified.
He scrutinized me for a moment before disappearing inside. After a short wait, he returned and informed me, “Guruji will meet you in an hour. Would you like to wait inside or come back later?”
“I’ll wait inside,” I decided.
Once inside, I found myself in a living room that was strikingly ordinary, much like any other home I had visited. My interactions with Sancharan Baba had somewhat prepared me for this unassuming setting. I settled onto a sofa, waiting patiently.
The same devotees from the train were milling about the house, engaged in what seemed like serious discussions. A few of them recognized me and offered polite greetings. As I waited, my anticipation grew, along with many questions that I hoped would soon be answered.
Roughly thirty minutes later, Sancharan Baba emerged from a room on the first floor and gestured for me to come up.
My heart raced with excitement as I hurried upstairs, but before I could utter a word, he raised his hand. “Wait. Let’s go to my private quarters,” he said.
He guided me through a labyrinth of rooms, revealing that the seemingly ordinary house was quite expansive. We finally arrived at a secluded corridor, where he closed the door behind us.
“Now, you may speak. We won’t be disturbed here,” he said softly.
“I need to understand how you did it,” I implored.
“I can’t reveal that,” he replied, leading me into another living room, this one minimally furnished. I took a seat on a chair while he settled on a sofa.
“But last night, you hinted—”
“I got carried away. But I’ve realized I can’t risk everything by revealing too much.”
“I don’t believe you’re a fraud,” I said, trying a different angle.
“Your opinion of me is of little concern. I was merely intrigued by your unique questions,” he responded coolly.
Feeling cornered, I attempted a threat: “But I could tell people—”
“What will you say? That I spoke accurately about your past? Go ahead,” he countered.
His response left me speechless. He was right; my bluff had failed, yet my curiosity remained unsated.
“Why do you continue this?” I probed. “You seem to have incredible power. You could do anything else.”
“And do what, exactly? No, this life suits me. I can pursue my interests.”
“What interests?”
“It’s time for you to leave now,” he said, ending the conversation.
Feeling utterly disappointed, I realized I had come all this way for nothing.
“In the end, doesn’t it sadden you that your secret will die with you?” I asked, resorting to emotional appeal, though not proud of it. To my surprise, this seemed to strike a chord with him.
Sancharan thought about my question for a while with a grave expression and then replied, “Alright. With one condition. What you see today must never be told outside. If you do, then know that I can mess with your future and your past as well.”
His words had a chilling effect on me as I felt a shudder pass through my spine. I nodded quietly.
Sancharan got up and walked towards a wall on the far end. I followed without a word. He produced a key from his pants and stuck it into the wall. It turned out to be a cleverly designed door, seamlessly blending into the wall. Sancharan smiled at my shocked look and said, “Nobody will ever know of this room if this door is closed.”
Inside was a room like nothing else that I had ever seen. It was modestly sized but filled with shelves. On the shelves were objects of various sizes. Some were glittering while others were covered behind a cloth. I stared at this unique exhibition, waiting for an explanation.
“This is my passion,” Sancharan said proudly. “I collect important objects littered all through time.”
“Time travel?” I asked meekly, unable to believe my ears.
“Yes. I told you it’s a science.”
I walked towards a crown and picked it up. It looked beautiful, made of gold, studded with rubies, sapphires, and pearls. I stared at it with amazement. I had never seen a crown before.
“This is the crown of the queen of Poland,” Sancharan said.
“Could be a forgery. How do I even know it’s the truth?” I said, placing it back. I was not going to be convinced so easily. All this could be a very elaborate con. After looking at the room, I felt more convinced that it was so.
“This crown was destroyed in 1809. I took it from the treasury in 1750,” Sancharan said matter-of-factly.
I quickly whipped my phone out and searched for the crown. What he said was true, and the crown looked very similar to a few portraits from the time.
“Still doesn’t change the fact that it could be a forgery,” I objected.
Sancharan didn’t reply. I walked around the room inspecting the other possessions. There was a huge canine tooth, a dagger, a long sword, a weirdly shaped egg and much more. My head was spinning looking at all this, but I knew all this meant nothing if it was just some madman hoarding forgeries.
I turned around and looked Sancharan Baba in the eye. “I don’t believe you.”
Sancharan pointed at a table behind me. There was a curiously shaped object on the desk. It was rhombohedral in shape, black and gold, polished on all sides, but seemed to reflect and absorb light simultaneously. It was probably the size of a hardback book but looked like it weighed a lot more.
I took a step closer to see it, but Sancharan stopped me. He picked up the object gingerly and said, “This is my time machine. On this side, you can see a hole. If you tell a coordinate in spacetime into this hole, you will get transported to that place. It also has another feature: if it touches a person, it can list the important dates in your past.”
He was talking very seriously and earnestly, but I started laughing loudly. “What an absurd thing to say. Now I surely don’t believe you. Even badly written science fiction has better devices.”
Sancharan grew annoyed by this and retorted, “No matter what I tell you, you won’t believe me. What do I do?!”
For the first time, I could see him get flustered. He was probably getting angry because I was belittling his life’s work.
“Okay, tell me how you got this first. Did it fall into your lap?”
“One day, another time traveler came in front of me and handed it to me. He told me a couple of things about the device. He told me that I would perform the greatest robbery of all time, and then went away.”
This was an even more absurd and childish story. I started laughing again: “Then how did he go back after giving you this thing?”
“He had another one.”
I stopped laughing, trying to take poor Sancharan Baba seriously. I did not know how to reconcile the facts in front of me. He was either a raving madman or a wasteful conman. I thought about all of it for a while and asked him, “So you collect things that have been lost to time?”
“Yes.”
“But what if they are present even today?”
“I don’t touch those items. I don’t want to mess with time.”
Then there would be no proof that he was indeed telling the truth. It was a pointless matter.
“I am sorry, Sancharan; I can’t believe anything you say. You have to time travel in front of me. Or I am leaving right now.”
Sancharan shook his head. “I just went back last night to see your past. I cannot do it so quickly again.”
“Did this thing touch me?!” I asked, suddenly understanding the ice pack on my forehead.
“Yes, I know about your accident. Your first kiss, and—”
I stopped him immediately: “Show me.”
“I can do it only once per person.”
Yet another story. I shook my head, “Sorry, Sancharan. All this looks like a fun game for you. You have had great fun at my expense. Now I will be going.”
I turned around to leave, when Sancharan shouted, “Wait!”
I saw that the man was very disappointed that I didn’t believe in his passion. He seemed angry that I was alluding to him being a fraud and a madman. I wanted to believe him, but how could I? I knew nothing of history to inspect the artefacts he had, and he wouldn’t allow me to touch the object. Moreover, I was feeling very spooked and felt that something could go wrong.
“How can you explain all my predictions?” he protested. “About everyone and you, too?”
“There must be some reason. I am not smart enough to figure it out, but I can’t entertain this nonsense anymore. My word is my word, though; I will not let your secret out.”
“Wait! I will prove it to you right now.”
I stopped moving and watched intently without a word. I was curious about what magic trick he was going to pull. He thought for a while and then nodded. “I will go to Da Vinci’s studio in Florence and borrow the half-finished Mona Lisa.”
“But that exists even today,” I objected, reminding him of his own rule.
“Once you believe me, I will put it back.” He looked like a child determined to show his parent that his story was true.
It made me feel sorry for the man, so I decided to humor him. “Go ahead.”
I could see the hope in his eyes as he whispered something into the object. He then closed his eyes for a minute. Nothing happened. But I was completely bought into his theatrics and acting. I waited patiently.
And then it happened. He just disappeared. Into thin air, within the blink of an eye.
I looked around, shocked. There were no trap doors or false walls. No smokescreen of any kind. I scratched my head, impressed more than anything else. Then I shouted, “Come out now. I am impressed. You can stop the acting.”
No reply.
I looked around the room and the room next to it. There was not a single soul around. He had disappeared.
Was Sancharan Baba truly a time traveler? Were all these objects from the past?
I wandered around the room dazed by the events before a thought suddenly brought me back to reality. It had been more than fifteen minutes, and he had not come back. His devotees knew that I was inside. What if they were to look for him? What if they thought I’d done something to him? The thought made me panic and, in a fit of anxiety, I closed the door of the room behind me and ran out quickly. I made my way down, where I lied flatly to one of the devotees: “Guruji doesn’t want to be disturbed for an hour.”
* * *
I ran out of the house and took a taxi straight to the hotel. I packed my bags swiftly and hurried to the station. Then, I took the first train going back to Delhi. I could visit Varanasi properly some time later.
During the full train ride, I was shivering with fear, excitement, and shock. I didn’t know if Sancharan Baba had come back. Or if he would come back at all. If he didn’t, then there would be a huge hue and cry. I would be the first suspect. The police would come searching for me. They would track my ticket and then put me in jail. Oh my god! Jail. I couldn’t even think about it.
When I reached Delhi, I rushed home and locked myself in the room. Then I searched for news about the Baba. Lo and behold, an article had been published about Sancharan:
Sancharan Baba of Benares has left earth. Devotees say that he has taken the final trip to the Himalayas.
What was this now?
I read on with hope in my heart. Sancharan had already instructed his disciples that if he ever went missing, he had decided to leave the bounds of earth and take his final walk to heaven.
I started laughing maniacally, thinking how God had saved me from jail time.
God? Had I taken His name in vain? Then I remembered what Sancharan had told me about faith, and I smiled wide.
Then another question popped into my head, and I searched the Internet again. I found the news article that I was looking for. It had been published a few hours back.
The Mona Lisa was stolen from the Louvre this morning. The police have no clue how it was done. People are already calling it the greatest robbery of all time.
Copyright © 2024 by Pravan Omprakash
