Architecture, Art & Beyond

The blistering summer sun blazing down the grey of the roof top concrete is of little help in my endeavour. Crammed up on top of the water tank I gaze through the scope towards the beauteous structure in beige sandstone. This is no time for distractions, I have been in this business long enough to hold still for hours, be it in Marrakech, Beirut or Addis Ababa, but there is something about this heat today, I almost feel petulant.

Last month in Köln was different; it was chilly, strong winds and a constant chatter. The odd gulp of brandy steadied my senses, but the long wait took its toll; when time came I missed and raised an alarm. Although I managed to blend in the crowd; what would have been my last assignment was prolonged by one month. Joachim Demarkus is no ordinary man. He runs a mafia ring in three countries, has deep rooted underworld connections but maintains such a clean record that he may well sits in the panel of judges for the Nobel Prize. They call him the Robin Hood of the eastern frontiers in the department. I see him as my ticket to Hawaii.

It is deathly still in this time of the year in the capital city. I wonder what made this man come here out of all places in the world. Stuck in the terrace I have little hope of any comfort, but the best location for a clear shot. Three days back when I reached here I had the plans laid out perfectly. Joachim would be here with his lady for a business venture and would visit the mausoleum. The file said he has great admiration for monuments, being one of the most well preserved buildings from the Mughal Dynasty; there was every possibility for him to come here. The raised terrace of the central building is an ideal location, seen clearly through the scope and perfectly within range. When I arrived at the Nizamuddin station, I went forth looking for a suitable place. The dinginess of the Islamic titled roads seemed just the right set-up. I checked into this house feigning a reporter covering the story of the Mughal Dynasty’s glory days and was here to study the building. Having done the same over the years I sometimes feel it hard to remember what my name is in original. With my changing appearance the only part of me that remains constant is my chin pressed hard against the sniper and peering through the scope in search of the opportune moment.

Last night; since I got the wire for Joachim’s time of arrival all I have wanted is to pull the trigger and call it quits. Now that the whole thing seemed to be in place I had to wait and hope everything went just right. I still had some twenty minutes before he arrived at the scene and some more before I could see him and him alone.

As I look through the cross hair, I veered my vision through the mass of red and white. The white dome sitting atop the red mass, resplendent with curved motifs in white shone in the afternoon sun like a gem. Illuminated by the sunlight it seemed like some ancient secret encased by the chattris on its sides. The large entrance niches rising over the raised terrace looked like the keepers of glory of the civilization which shaped it. Strewn across the terrace the tourists seemed awed by the scale of the building; they looked diminutive, subjugated by the majestic structure. I felt like them; I looked away.

This is not guilt is it? I resent the thought, turning my head and looked straight at the building. The giant niches bordered by the white luminous marble were darkened by its depth; suddenly seemed like a veil. The false outer persona engulfing the vainglorious deceitful soul – hiding within itself a barrage of exasperations, awaiting to explode. The sweat trickling down my brow accentuated this feeling of anguish and notoriety. Shifting the scope to view the lawns, the four entrance ways that surround the quadrangle with the mausoleum at the centre, the surrounding tombs, the trees fixated in the stillness of the day, the liner channels of water leading to the square pools with fountain. I was searching something frantically, I felt something rumbling in the pit, I wonder if this is the end of me; I wonder if this is where I rediscovered my true self. I wonder if this is where I tear apart the shell of my persona and come out in the basking sun, as an infant. I am getting confused. I have lived like a king, unmatched in my profession, untouched by enemies and victorious in every venture and today the day I bid adieu to this existence I wonder why my hand shakes and my spirits flutter. I somehow feel like the king falling from the stairs to his death, and being buried in the midst of this edifice, but I don’t know why. I cannot let this happen to me.

I take a deep breathe and focus again through the scope. As the clock ticks by it is even more important for me to concentrate and finish what I am here to do, but my mind is clouded and the red of the building façade seems like a haze. Suddenly I feel the vibration in my arm; it is time. I frantically look for Joachim all across the terrace but he is not there, perhaps still on his way up the stairs. I try to comfort my self in thinking that this will never happen again. I will quit and move on in life. And then in a moment he emerges from the floor, surrounded by his confidants and in the embrace of a maiden. I know this is the moment.

I steady my nerves, loosen my shoulders and look hard for one last time. Something in me is screaming for me to run, run as far as I can almost as if I am the one at the centre of the cross hair. But then I feel that this is nothing but the fear of failure. Failure in accomplishing the task will disrepute all I have done till this day. The misadventure in Köln was probably to blame for it, or am I really fooling myself with this thought. I cannot argue any more, every second is precious.

I look at Joachim one last time, the sniper clicks and a shudder runs through my shoulders; suddenly there is a flutter, the woman shrikes; now I know for sure I have retired.