Watermelon Diaries - Episode Eight

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Click To Read Episode Seven

By the time it was noon, I returned home, only to be greeted by my mistress's sharp words.

"Where were you all of yesterday? I had to buy four mangoes, two peaches and six bananas myself."

I went and sat besides her. That's what I always did, whether she was in happy mood or foul. I didn't know where else to go. This has been my home since long.

She patted my back and I licked her feet. The familiar scent greeted my nostrils, but, there was something different. I could sense the blocks amiss. What was fate hinting at?

I focused, and recollected the events of the past few hours. The bank, the empty vault, arrival of police, and me sniffing the ground, acting innocent.

There! Like a bolt of lightening it struck me. Hard! A little too hard for my liking.

Before I could assemble my thoughts, and complete the puzzle, I heard the sharp wail of siren. It was the Police Car. It could only mean one thing.

I have been chased all this while.

I panicked. I didn't want to go back to that jail. They didn't serve any watermelons there. I scurried for cover, behind the shoe rack, underneath the cupboard, beneath the bed. However, my confusion turned into conviction as I saw my mistress too going through a similar palpitation. She was sweating profusely, was running helter skelter, and muttering, "Why is the Police coming? Have they found out? Oh My God?"

It all became clear now. The scent, the bank, and home.

The puzzle had completed itself.


Click To Read Episode Nine

Watermelon Diaries - Episode Six

  

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Click To Read Episode Five

Story Ahead ...

I was in jail. This wasn't something to be proud of, but it was a different experience altogether, and hence, the thought - "I am in jail!". My cell, or cage, was brown in colour, with patches of stains all over the wall. There were two more animals in the same cell, both of them feline creatures, a species I hate. They stared at me from the other corner of the room, and whispered among themselves.

I closed my eyes and counted till ten, took a deep breath, and counted again till ten, this time in reverse. Being with cats irked me. Firstly, they lacked manners. They did what they wanted to, without thinking of others. Secondly, they spoiled stuffs, milk, and eggs, and rice puddings, and most often even my watermelons. I hated them.

And thus I kept to my corner. Quiet.

"Did he really rob the bank?"

"He is too tiny. How will he?"

"But what if he did?"

"That makes him a criminal."

"Like us?"

"No. We only chased mice. His crime is greater."

"Meow!"

"Meow! Meow!"

I could hear their conversation. Clear. I have had enough. I barked in anger, "Shut up you two! Else I will teach you a lesson you will forever remember. I did not rob any bank, though I intended to. Someone had already escaped with all the money before I went, and the Police, thinking me as an associate of the accused, put me in this cell."

The two cats smiled nonchalantly among themselves, and the larger one spoke, "My! My! That's a sob story. Don't worry. We can help you out of here. We can set you free."

"Really!" My eyes lit up in amazement.

"Yes, really. But we do have a condition," the smaller cat spoke, licking his whiskers.

"What is that?" I eyed them suspiciously.

"We need no interference from you when we enter your owner's house in search of food. Deal?" both of them said in chorus.

This was a rough proposition. I was loyal to my Mistress. All of us dogs are. And to betray her would mean violating our morals. I was in a dilemma.

"Take all your time, but remember, the longer your think, the larger is the delay."

I took my decision. "I agree to your offer, only because I need to find out the truth and bring the robber to the forefront. But how will I get out of here?"

Click To Read Episode Seven

Watermelon Diaries - Episode Five

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Click To Read Episode Four

 

Story Ahead ...

I jumped at the open window, and immediately heard shouts.

"What is that?"

"A dog?"

"Whose dog is it?"

Always an attentive species, we have been conditioned to lift our ears and listen whenever we hear someone speak. I did the same, sitting on the window sill, grasping every words spoken. I imagined that they would help me, and bring back all the money to the bank, and next weekend, I would return to loot them all.

But no, I was woken up from my stupor by the firm hands that held me, and put down on the floor. I looked up, and what I saw were not voices of hope, but angry faces. The Police personnel surrounded me, growling and muttering among themselves, while I, acting as an innocent little chihuahua, sniffed the floor, their shoes, and socks.

All of a sudden, it struck me. Hard. Like a bolt. A lightening.


Before I could join the broken pieces of my thought, I heard a booming voice, from the Chief of the Police, "This dog must be an associate of the thieves. Probably they left him behind on hearing the sirens. Take him and lock him in the prison. We will see what we can get out of him."

And then, like the twists in stories I have heard of, I too had become part of one. Though I did not rob the bank, I was a culprit to be put behind bars, my primary concern being "Do they serve watermelons in prison?"

If not, then I had certainly dived into a deep mess. How shall I get out now?

Will the real culprit be arrested?

And will I get a second chance at changing my fortune?

I had no answer today. Probably, tomorrow.

Woof ! Woof !

Click To Read Episode Six

Watermelon Diaries - Episode Three

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Previous Chapters

• Episode 1
• Episode 2

Story Ahead

It was a Sunday. Just another lazy Sunday. People on the streets were immersed in their newspapers, tea and pets, while I, another pet, was strutting on the 7th Avenue, alone (but that was what I preferred now, 'cause I couldn't afford to have a company at this hour. Nope, I wasn't going to share my loot, neither my watermelons).

Soon, I turned around the sideways, and the large metallic gates of Regional Bank of Hoofs and Paws smiled broadly at the sun, reflecting the excitement stored within me. I was excited, and nervous, and joyous, and afraid, all at the same time, a conglomeration of emotions burdened my thoughts, but I was determined to not let my resolve dissolve. And thus, I walked around the building, grey and red, and golden in rays, searching for a window, or a small gateway.

And my eyes lit up. There was an open window (how could the bank be so careless?)

I jumped towards the opposite wall, and then at the window. Wow. I was flying (and would soon fly out with money, hurray!). Watermelons started revolving around my eyes! Slurp!

The bank was dark. The lights were turned off. But who needed light. I smelt the floor, trying to identify the fragrance of fresh currency notes, and then followed the trail. I had to be careful though. No alarms should be turned off. Not that it mattered. No one could imagine a dog robbing a bank. Let alone accuse one.

Gradually, I reached a large door, the vault, the types I have seen in movies, with revolving handles, and pristine white in colour, as if painted in ivory. But, something wasn't right. I racked my tiny chihuahua brain, nodding from left to right, wagging my tail from north to south, thinking, jumping, thinking. What could be wrong.

And, woof, this was wrong.

The door was open. It wasn't locked, nor was it wide ajar, but it was open, a bit. As I peeped inside, my eyes walloped out in horror. There was no money.

There was not a penny to be robbed.

Woof ! Woof !

Read Episode Four Here.

Watermelon Diaries - Episode Two

Previous Chapters

1. Episode One

Story Ahead

I know it has been a long time coming, but I have been busy. Really busy. In thoughts, and cats, and mice, and the occasional dragonflies.

And of course watermelon.

I look at the painting on the wall, and the sunset beyond the window, and all I see is red and green. Juicy pulp flowing through my tongue. Slurp.

Woof ! Woof !

I wag my tail in excitement, running round and round, and hit a table, returning back to my senses immediately.

"Remember, there is no watermelon," I sound harsh to myself, and rude, and obnoxious.

And pathetically poor.

And that's when I device a plan. The plan. To earn money, lots of money, so much that I do not need to beg in front of my mistress with droopy eyes. I will be able to buy my own water melon, hundreds of them, or perhaps even more.

Yes, I was going to be rich.

I had decided finally. To. Rob. A. Bank. You heard that correct.

This Sunday.

The Sunday.

Woof! Woof!