The Bailout Plan (standard:fantasy, 5935 words)
Author: Rattan Mann	Added: Mar 12 2010	Views/Reads: 3300/3570	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A story inspired by the global economic meltdown

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

honorary Chief of his tribe.  A pregnant Hispanic called him The Angel 
of Wall Street and begged him to bless her with a son.  A childless 
Pakistani gentleman called him Maula Mann and begged him for a child.  
Everybody was staring at Miss Money as if they had never seen a 
beautiful woman before.  Enamoured by a beauty of the Wall Street, they 
forgot all the beauty-queens of their own street. 

The Main Street had never been so full of life.  His very presence there
gave everybody a new self-confidence, and the beautiful and lovely Miss 
Money stole their hearts.  With the Angel of Wall Street and Miss Money 
on their side, the good folks of Main Street knew no limits to their 
dreams and aspirations.  Everybody started singing and dancing with 
them.  A young reporter who was on his way  to the first day of his 
first job with his first new camera stopped to interview  Prof.Dr. Mann 
– his first interview with a celebrity.  After a long and barren winter 
of discontent,  new buds was quivering in every soul on the Main 
Street. 

And just when everything was going so perfect, every heart so filled
with hope and joy, Prof. Dr. Mann spoiled it all.  He reached for his 
bag, pulled out a sealed bottle, broke the seal open, and let out a 
skunk in the crowd as if he was letting out a genie who would make the 
world an instant paradise. 

In the ensuing stampede to get away from the skunk, many people got
hurt.  The old black lady got a heart attack, the pregnant Hispanic 
lost her baby, the poor old Apache Indian, who had no medical 
insurance, broke his leg, and the young reporter broke his camera and 
lost his job.  Joe, the Plumber, landed in an Intensive Care Unit, and 
the childless Pakistani was trampled to death.  Miss Money disappeared 
from the Main Street and nobody knew where she had gone.  All she left 
behind was her empty purse.  In the blinking of an eye the Main Street 
became a War Street and Angel Mann became Devil Mann.  Not a soul on 
Main Street remained untouched by Prof.Dr. Mann's irresponsible prank 

And ever since then, everybody on Main Street avoided their good and
friendly neighbour, Prof. Dr. Mann.  So when they saw him singing 
again, they naturally ran away to avoid getting hurt again.  And they 
refused to come to his aid when they saw him crying and slapping 
himself like a mad man.  After all, he was indeed a Mad Mann and a 
Party Spoiler and Ravisher of the beautiful and delicate Miss Money. 

Prof. Dr. Rattan Mann had a totally different interpretation of things. 
He claimed to suffer from selective amnesia and so he conveniently 
forgot this whole episode, and blamed the Main Street for becoming a 
den of thankless people who did not appreciate greatness and genius.  
There and then he decided to sell his mansion on Main Street and move 
somewhere else where his immortal contributions to wealth and 
prosperity would be appreciated more.  But first he had to get hold of 
this bloody Bailout Plan to tear a bunch of highly rattled senators off 
his throat.  The Bailout Plan was his Holy Grail and he had to get hold 
of it somehow if he wanted to remain alive. 

Once more the Perfect Logic came to his rescue:  If it was not the Main
Street, it had to be the Wall Street which would bail him out so that 
he could  then bailout the rest of the universe.  The path to the Holy 
Grail lay through the Wall Street. 

Once more he started running pell-mell towards the Wall Street as if the
Main Street was on fire.  On his way he stopped at a Mall , bought the 
best clothes money could buy, and then loaded with tons of money,  
walked towards the Wall Street with the dignity and decorum of an 
emperor. 

As he sauntered up and down the Wall Street, he was sure that this time
there were only pleasant surprises in his store.  After all, he was a 
former Czar of the Wall Street, and many people there owed not only 
their livelihood but their very existence and filthy richness to him.  
Surely they were not as thankless and spiteful as the bad guys of the 
Main Street, and would not run away from him in his hour of need.  Very 
soon a crowd of the smartest and richest men on earth would gather 
round him, embrace him, talk of the good old days when Miss Money was 
everything and the Main Street Damsels nothing, read his mind, feel his 
new troubles, see the pain dripping from the smiles, open their hearts 
and handbags, and there and then present him with what he needed the 
most – a golden  copy of  “The Perfect Bailout Plan” which he could 
then throw at the face of every senator on Capitol Hill. 

And thus would the Saviour of the Universe be saved himself. 

Unfortunately, things again did not turn out the way he had dreamed. 
His best friends hurried by him without as much as casting a glance at 
him.  People who owed their very life to him turned their faces away 
when he tried an eye-contact.  It was a chilling experience which made 
his spinal cord as cold as the melting Himalayan Glaciers. 

Then he saw his former secretary, the beautiful and lovely Miss Usha
Singh, coming towards him.  He rushed towards her, dead sure that she 
would hug him the way she did in the good old days when Charm and Grace 
competed freely with Beauty.  Unfortunately, instead of hugging him, 
she turned her back on him, and stood motionless as if she had been 
mesmerized by the Statue of Liberty walking on the waters.  She refused 
any eye-contact with him.  As he was about to spit on her, she 
whispered through clenched teeth, 

“ For heaven's sake, what are you doing here, Prof.Dr. Mann, sauntering
up and down the Wall Street like a Gigolo In Red.  You know very well 
that soliciting is strictly forbidden here.   The NYPD bulls love to 
hate anything red, specially  red gigolos , and they are on their way 
to arrest you.  Get lost and change into something more decent as soon 
as you can unless you want tomorrow's headlines to be ‘The Former Czar 
Of Wall Street Under Arrest For Soliciting'. ” 

And then she hurried away without looking at him before her friends
could notice that she was pally with a gigolo. 

His former secretary's words shook Prof.Dr. Mann to the core.  He
started shivering.  He looked at himself to understand her.  Indeed, he 
was attired in all red -  red coat, pant, shirt, tie, and shoes – while 
all his friends were attired in blue or white.  He indeed looked like a 
chichifo trying to attract attention not by the content of his mind or 
character, but by the color of his clothes.  And now that lovely Usha 
had mentioned it, he did hear a faint siren in the distance.  The NYPD 
bulls had indeed sniffed red and were on their way to maul him down 
with the ferocity of  pitbull terriers. 

Prof.Dr. Mann panicked.  He didn't know what to do.  The siren was
coming nearer and nearer and surrounding him completely.  To break the 
circle he started running.  He took out his coat and tie as he ran and 
threw it into a dustbin.  That didn't help much.  His shirt and pant 
and shoes were as red as the NYPD bulls loved to hate.  But getting rid 
of his shirt and pants would get him into sure trouble.  He started 
running faster and faster as he looked desperately for a place to 
hide..  The siren was just round the corner, and soon the NYPD bulls 
would do to him what the Capitol Hill senators had wanted all along – 
lynch him in broad daylight. 

But then an angel came to his rescue.  He saw the public urinal he had
used so many times before and he knew instantly that he was saved  –  
he was assured of enough breathing time and space to think of his next 
move.  He could even spatter his clothes with blue ink to make them 
look more decent.  He rushed into the urinal and locked himself up.  
Before locking the door, he peeped through the key-hole, and saw a NYPD 
sniffing-dog fishing out his red coat and tie from the dustbin as 
evidence of potential crime.  A few moist condoms were sticking to his 
coat and tie.  To put the dogs off his trail, he filled the urinal with 
heavy fumes of the most expensive deodorant on earth, and then 
collapsed on the pot to take stock of his fast deteriorating fortunes. 

Never before had a former Czar of Wall Street fallen so low – shown the
boot by both Main Street and Wall Street, chased by NYPD bloodhounds 
like a runaway slave, with US Senators waiting at the other end to 
scalp him as soon as he was within reach - all because he did not 
possess the Holy Grail – The Perfect Bailout Plan - to save the world 
from immediate meltdown. 

Suddenly an idea struck him like lightening.  The game was indeed over. 
But instead of going down like a villain he could go down like a martyr 
by committing suicide and leaving behind a suicide note which would 
cause a Tsunami on Capitol Hill.  The Suicide Note should turn the 
table on the Senators and make him look like a victim of monstrous 
injustice by Capitol Hill.  But what could a villain say to look like a 
victim and become a martyr?  He started looking for clues everywhere. 

All his life was spent in partying with prime ministers, presidents, and
kings.  He never heard them saying even one thing in their whole tenure 
which would turn them from villains to martyrs in the eyes of the Main 
Street.  Once a villain, always a villain – that was the motto of the 
Main Street.  Where will he find a magic wand which would turn the 
slogan upside-down and  that too in such a short time? 

Finding no solace in the dry and insipid present, barren of all great
thought, his mind strayed into the greener pastures of the past.  And 
he began to see light at the end of the tunnel.  He remembered how 
emperor Nero stole victory from his enemies by committing sucide and 
predicting the decline and fall of the Roman Empire in his Suicide Note 
long before Gibbon talked about it.  Then he remembered that the Turks 
had barely entered Constantinople when Pope Nicholas stood before the 
mighty Sultan Mehmed and predicted the decline and fall of  the Ottoman 
Empire and gladly bartered martyrdom for foresight.  Marx predicted the 
demise of communism even as Lenin and Stalin were intoxicated with its 
Magic Powers.  That is called thinking and foresight – not the cheap 
and silly publicity stunts of all those spineless leaders and 
politicians of the present who were unfortunately also his personal 
friends. 

Even without a Bailout Plan Prof.Dr. Mann could acquire a permanent
place in History along with Marx and Pope Nicholas just by predicting 
something great - the inevitable law of  Newton that anything that 
rises must fall.  His Suicide Note was ready – he had turned the tables 
on the senators. 

He had decided to predict the decline and fall of the Western
Civilization in his Suicide Note hundreds of years before anybody else 
would have an inkling of it and go down in history as that Mann who 
knew the future – a Mann wronged by the Senators for being ahead of his 
times. 

He took out paper and pencil and wrote: 

The Suicide Note of Czar Mann 

Upon second thought he didn't like the title.  “Suicide” was always an
exciting term for the media.  Some media moguls had even paid huge 
amounts to people who agreed to commit suicide on TV.  But it was no 
good compared to other immortal titles like “The Bible” or “Das 
Kapital”. 

So after much deliberation, he changed the title to: 

The Prophecies of a Wronged Mann 

The Chinese and Indian civilizations survived for thousands of years. 
Even the Roman Empire lasted for a thousand years.  But the British 
Empire couldn't make the 200 year mark, and the American Empire is 
tottering on its feet before its 100th birthday.  Why?  Why twice.  And 
Why for a third time. 

After his initial euphoria, Prof.Dr. Mann fell into a pit of depression
again.  He fell on his nose just as he was planning to conquer the 
future once and for all and put the senators on the run.  He couldn't 
answer why, and unless he answered why, History won't look at him twice 
and the senators would be back in their citadels..  All the answers he 
could think of were contrived, partial, and lopsided.  Parts never make 
up the whole.  Life is whole and death is whole and so the Suicide Note 
had to be whole.  And if he didn't answer ‘Why', nothing but ‘Why', and 
the whole ‘Why', the Inquisitors of Capitol Hill would lynch him the 
way the Inquisitors of Madrid could never have imagined.  And once more 
Prof.Dr. Mann started sauntering up and down the winding alleys of 
Time, waiting for a new Usha Singh to come to his rescue.but Cruel 
Thoughts, like NYPD bulls,  chased him away.  After losing the Main 
Street and the Wall Street, he now lost the Time Street.  It was his 
third major defeat in one day. 

Suddenly he heard heavy footsteps in the urinal, and then a heavy knock
at his door.  The Time Machine threw him back on his stinking shit-pot 
and vanished in thin air.  The janitor was knocking harder and harder 
on his door and screaming that it was time to close the urinal.  If he 
didn't come out soon he would break the door and eject him out with his 
pants down because he was tired and in a great hurry to go home and 
sleep after a tiring day. 

Prof.Dr. Mann realized that he had been sitting in the urinal for hours,
fighting  zillions of demons who had declared war on his brain.  He 
collected himself, looked around to see if his nerves were still 
intact, and whined, 

“Please give me a minute, lovely janitor.  I returned from Hong Kong
today and I am suffering from diarrhoea.  I am wiping my bottom and 
will be out in a minute.” 

By the time Prof.Dr. Mann was on the road again, it was indeed night. 
The Wall Street was deserted, the NYPD bulls had left for greener 
pastures – like the lush-green corn fields called The Mafia – leaving a 
poor, dried potato called Prof.Dr. Mann to his own fate.  Nobody 
noticed that he was still in red.  He felt safe again. 

He looked around to take his bearings.  He stood at a crucial
cross-road. His life was moving towards the Final Act.  Like all other 
Acts, it was going to be an act which should solve all problems of his 
life.  The Last Act was simplicity itself: 

He would walk to Capitol Hill, hand over the Suicide Note to the janitor
along with a hundred dollar note so that next morning it falls into the 
hands of the media instead of lying unnoticed on the table of the 
senate committee.  Then on his way back, he would stop at a mall to buy 
the best hanging-rope money could buy.  Then at home he would slowly 
pour the most expensive whiskey in New York in the most expensive glass 
on Capitol Hill, enjoy every Last Sip of it, then put the noose round 
his neck, and, with the zillion demons of his mind as witnesses,  
salute the crumbling western civilization before pulling the rope in 
style.  The Time Machine would then throw him on the other side of 
Eternity. 

So he started walking towards Capitol Hill. 

It was going to be a long and dangerous journey, up and down countless
hills and valleys guarding the Capitol Hill like sentinels.  But he was 
prepared for everything.  After he had decided to commit suicide he was 
no longer afraid of anything.  His feet were on the ground, but his 
mind was in the sky with the Time Machine.  He was thinking of his Last 
Drink minus the Last Supper on earth before escaping to the other side 
of Eternity. 

As he ascended the winding road, lost in his Last Thought, a rolling fog
descended down the Capitol Hill and engulfed him.  He lost his 
bearings. But that did not bother him too much.  He knew the way by 
heart because he had gone there so many times  to testify before the 
endless Senate Committees about so many things he did not care to 
remember.  The only thing he remembered now was that he would be there 
within an hour. 

But after walking for hours he seemed no nearer to The Hill than when he
started.  Something was wrong.  He saw no buildings, no cars, no tired 
senators going home after burning the midnight oil.  That is not how he 
remembered the way was supposed to be.  He lost a feeling of where he 
was . His instincts seemed to have deserted him.  He wanted to turn 
back but he had forgotten from where he was coming.  He felt as if he 
had been dancing round and round The Hill for ever in a Witch Dance 
without touching The Hill.  Had the senate got inside him too and made 
him utterly ineffectual and directionless.  If so, his only option was 
to keep on tangoing with the senators for good or for bad. 

Suddenly he heard faint sobs in the distance.  That instantly gave him a
sense of direction and a new motto – to abolish all tears from the face 
of the earth.  He remembered Miss Money had now been missing since a 
while. He had found her!  She was in trouble.  She had fallen into the 
hands of thugs.  Now his Last Act would be to save Miss Money and 
deliver her into the safe hands of Senator Kennedy before committing 
suicide.. He moved towards the sobs, full of apprehension about her 
condition .  His mind conjured up horrific images of the most beautiful 
and lovely Lady on earth being  hacked to pieces by Jack, the Wall 
Street Ripper, and stuffed into secret lockers overseas. 

“Hang on gracious lady, hang on for a second.  I am coming to rescue you
from the clutches of your ravishers hell-bent on dumping you into a 
black hole after ravishing you to their heart's content!” he shouted as 
he ran like Don Quixote to save the most precious damsel in USA from 
the clutches of her ravishers. 

But as he reached the scene of the most heinous crime on Capitol Hill,
brandishing his mental sword with the dexterity of an Agatha Christie, 
all he found was a poor little immigrant sitting on the sideway and 
sobbing quietly.  Even as she wept she exuded a courage and dignity 
many politicians would have envied. 

Prof.Dr. Mann's thoughts and feelings took an instant somersault – a 180
degree U-turn.  The weeping girl threw him into a Lost World.  The Time 
Machine dropped him somewhere he had not been before.  It had thrown 
him into the Land Of The Dead.  He forgot all about himself and his 
Crumbling Reserve Bank , and felt that the Time Machine had united him 
with his dead daughter and showered him with feelings of  tenderness 
and love he had not experienced since ages.  He picked up the little 
girl in his arms and said tenderly, 

“ Oh deary,  what are you doing here, sitting alone and crying in the
night.  The Hill is safe, but not so safe as you think.  Where is mom.” 


The little girl didn't even look at him.  She kept her face on his
shoulders and kept on crying. 

Before he became the head of the Reserve Bank Prof.Dr. Mann had a
daughter.  She died that very day he was anointed the Czar of Wall 
Street..  But before leaving him for ever, she had taught him how to 
metamorphose a Cry Baby into a Laughing Princess.  He tried the charm 
he had borrowed from his daughter on the soul of a little stranger in a 
distant land.  And that did have an instant effect. 

The little girl still refused to look at him, still refused to laugh but
now she was narrating her pain through her sobs. 

“First dad lost his job, then mom lost her medical insurance, and now
Raja too has run away from home.  When dad drove to the hospital to 
bring mom home because the doctors won't treat her without an 
insurance, Raja couldn't take it anymore and ran away.  He is my best 
friend and I can't live without him.  Nobody understands me except him 
and nobody understands him except me.  We speak a language which only 
we two can understand.  I can't live without him.  Either I will find 
him, or I will die in the woods.  I won't return home without him.” 

Prof.Dr. Mann's borrowed magic had worked.  The little girl had bared
all her soul in one go – except the part that contained her name.  For 
an instant he felt like giving her his daughter's name.. 

“Oh little darling, don't cry anymore.  Look, you found me.  And now we
both will find Raja.  I promise.  Now tell me your name before I  start 
calling you Maria.” 

Exactly as Prof.Dr. Mann had predicted – his second major prediction for
the day – the girl stopped crying.  For the first time she looked into 
her angel's eyes and asked, 

“ My Guardian Angel, would you really help me find Raja.  I know where
he is hiding.  He always hides there when he runs away from home.  But 
I am afraid to go there alone.  It is a real spooky place.  Nobody 
except Raja and me have ever been there.  Would you come with me, 
please, please.  Then I won't be afraid.  But never tell anyone about 
our secret place.” 

The next moment they were on their way to find Raja.  By now the girl
had forgotten that she had ever cried.  And finally and belatedly she 
introduced herself. 

“ I am Princess Rashmi.  That is what Raja calls me.  He was a Prince,
and I was a Princess in our previous lives.  So I call him Raja and he 
calls me Princess Rashmi.  Raja knows everything.  If you ask him about 
your past, he will tell you.  If you ask him about your future, he will 
tell you that too.  You can ask him anything, and you will get it.  If 
you don't understand his language, I will interpret it for you.  I will 
tell you what he is saying” 

Prof.Dr. Mann was not superstitious.  The Head of the Global Reserve
Bank was not supposed to be.  But there was so much he still did not 
understand that often he wanted to believe in things that never met the 
eye.  Of course, he kept these feeling well hidden from even his best 
friends, for if the senators got an inkling of it, he would be lynched 
in Medieval style for being a superstitious Medieval Mann, unfit for 
Modern Times and Global Banks.  Today, for instance, it struck him as 
very odd that a runaway Czar manages to outwit the bloodhounds on his 
heels, then meets a runaway princess, and starts on a royal hunt for a 
Lost Prince who knows everything and can give him anything he wanted.  
And he knew what he wanted – and wanted really badly. 

“Little Princess Rashmi, could your Prince Charming give me a golden
copy of ‘The Bailout Gospel According to Mann' which was lost a 
thousand years ago?  The search for this lost treasure is our Holy 
Grail.” 

Rashmi didn't know what a Bailout Gospel was.  She couldn't even
pronounce the words correctly.  But she jumped up and screamed, 

“ Raja can give you whatever you want.  Just ask him and you will get
it. I promise.  I am sure he knows where it is buried.  He will take us 
to the spot.  But first we have to find him.” 

So with Little Rashmi on his shoulders,  Prof.Dr. Mann started the
search for Raja., the Wise Prince Who Knew about the Holy Grail and the 
Bailout Gospel.  But the more he walked, the less he seemed to be going 
anywhere.  Rashmi had only the vaguest idea of Raja's Hiding Place.  
She kept on talking of a huge rock which was Raja's favourite.  Where 
it was and what it was called, she didn't know.  But there was 
something in what the girl said.  As they continued walking,  the roads 
and foot-paths started disappearing.  And then even the trees and 
scrubs disappeared.  And finally, after a seemingly endless walk, they 
were entering a lunar landscape with nothing but golden sand and barren 
rocks all around.  The trouble was that there was no single huge rock 
but zillions of them and Rashmi was having trouble in picking up Raja's 
Rock. 

She looked as lost as Raja but she kept on talking of a huge rock with a
little tree near it, the only tree on her moon.  She knew about it 
because it was she who had planted it.  That made things easier for 
Prof.Dr. Mann. There were huge rocks everywhere, but not a tree in 
sight.  So it was easier to look for Rashmi's Tree rather than Raja's 
Rock. 

Prof.Dr. Mann had grown very tired.  Rashmi was not heavy, but after
carrying her for hours, his shoulders were aching.  So he put her down 
and they both rested on a sandy rock for a good half hour before 
starting the new search for The Tree. 

He was the first to spot it in the distance, and point it out to Rashmi.
 The Little Princess got very excited.  She had found here prince.  She 
knew he was lying under the rock, very sad and quiet, waiting for her.  
As Prof.Dr. Mann started walking faster, Princess Rashmi stopped him. 

“Wait here.  Don't follow me.  Raja doesn't talk to anybody except me. 
If you come, he would run away again.  I told you he can answer any 
question, and fulfil any wish.  But only one at a time.  You ask him 
one question, the question that is troubling you the most.  I will 
carry your question to him and come back with the answer.  That is how 
Raja works and nobody can do anything about it.” 

Prof.Dr. Mann was taken aback by the harsh conditions that were imposed
on  him.  His mind was deeply troubled because he was living in a 
troubled time.  Everything was crumbling around him.  Everybody had 
deserted him.  There was trouble everywhere and of every sort.  No 
king, no president had any answers.  The Golden Book “The Bailout 
Gospel according to Mann” was the only hope in these hopeless times.  
At last there was someone who knew where it was buried.  But then why 
did he insist that nobody could see him, ask him questions, and discuss 
the answers.  He had so many questions to ask, so many answers to hear, 
so much hope to glean, that it was plain injustice to be allowed only 
one question, and that too through a conduit.  Raja was acting like one 
of those kings or presidents he knew too well.  And knowing them, he 
kept his mouth shut, smiled, and accepted what he was offered. 

The only thing he wanted was a copy of  “The Bailout Gospel”.  That
would save his neck all right.  But was it really that Holy Grail he 
had made it to be?  He began to doubt it.  It was only a short-time 
solution of a recurrent, cyclic problem, like seasonal droughts and 
floods.  The Golden Book was nothing but a temporary reprieve.  If he 
could ask only one question, that question had to be something more 
timeless, something that would bring him immortality, not reprieve.  He 
would write Raja's answer in his Suicide Note, and the rest would be 
history.  So he thought and thought and after what looked like 
eternity, he finally said to Rashmi, 

“ Ask him ‘Quo Vadis, Capitol Hill?' ”. 

Princess Rashmi disappeared down the lane of time to unburden before
Raja the heavy weight Prof Dr. Mann had thrown on her delicate 
shoulders.  How would she be able to bring back a heavier answer? 

Prof. Dr. Mann heard whispers behind the rock....and more whispers...and
more ...till the whole lunar landscape became a huge whisper in a 
language he could not understand.  Then those whispers turned into 
sobs, those same familiar sobs of the same familiar girl sitting under 
a tree on Capitol Hill and sobbing before the eyes of every senator, 
president, and king none of whom bothered to understand. 

Prof.Dr. Mann could not stand still anymore.  He broke his tryst with
the Princess and went to the Rock.  Rashmi was sitting alone and 
weeping.  There was no Raja around.  Rashmi was so happy that he had 
come in spite of her orders that she rushed and put her arms around his 
legs. 

“ I don't know what Quo Vadis means.  Never heard these words.  So I
cannot answer your question.” 

Prof. Dr. Mann looked around and saw that Rashmi's Rock  was no ordinary
rock.  It was a grave.  He went round it in search for an inscription, 
and found it in a small obscure corner. 

Here lies Raja, Little Rashmi's little puppy forever. Journeyed through
this earth for short six months. 

Prof.Dr. Mann got his answer.  He picked up the little girl who could
create so much out of nothing, create the moon out of a puppy's grave, 
and started walking home.  She had lost a puppy, but he had found a 
lost daughter which no Wall or Street would separate from him anymore.  
He took his Suicide Note from his pocket and threw it at the face of 
all those who created nothing even out of everything.  Without hitting 
anybody, the Suicide Note fell on Rashmi's Moon, and a lunar wind blew 
it to Raja's grave where, with Raja, it became something for ever and 
ever.  Prof.Dr. Mann still did not know where Capitol Hill was going, 
but he knew where he was headed. 

Rashmi was still crying and saying again and again, 

“ I miss Raja very much.  I really miss him very much.  Why did he have
to go without me?  We always went together.  He used to talk to me, 
tell me beautiful stories, fly with me to the moon, and share secrets I 
have never shared with anyone else. He always knew what I was going to 
say before I uttered a word.  He knew everything.  And then one day mom 
told me he was gone, run over by a car, and he won't be coming back.  
Why?  Tell me why?” 

For the first time in his life, Prof.Dr. Rattan Mann, the head of Global
Reserve Bank, the Czar of Wall Street, triple Nobel Prize winner in 
economics, physics, and literature, did not know what to say or how to 
react. 

The End 

Copyright @ Rattan Mann, Åsbråtstien 15, 1251 Oslo, Norway, 
rattan.mann@gmail.com 


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