The War of Water
Written on June 10th, 2022 by {"login"=>"jcbphc21", "email"=>"f20181005@hyderabad.bits-pilani.ac.in", "display_name"=>"Journal Club, BPHC", "first_name"=>"Journal Club", "last_name"=>"BPHC"}K and M slowly walked up the stairs, hearing the muffled noises of excitement and laughter as they whispered their plan between themselves. They were going to infiltrate the dunk fight, posing as VK students, and collect as much evidence as possible to evict the entirety of the hostel from their rooms. It wouldn’t be easy, as the VK boys had a strong brotherhood among themselves, but surely they wouldn’t suspect two innocent students like them, right? There had been numerous reports of the VK residents retaliating against the Gautam migrants (they called them refugees) for occupying the top floor, the haven with the balconies and the scenic views of the Campus (or Malviya, if one got the telescope positioning right). They had one sole objective, to make life a living hell for the Gautam residents. This retaliation was multi-faceted, from cat-calling them out on the open streets to covering their floor with soap water and then living out their ZNMD fantasies, only without the tomatoes, the pretty girls and Hrithik Roshan. A JC source had floated a whisper to the reporters about a plan to lock all the doors and then have a dunk fight in the open corridors.
Hearing this, the Journal Club Editor had ordered them to take part and make a detailed kompromat about these wrongdoings. Then, she would order A and X to make a detailed exposé regarding the same. To keep the efficiency at a maximum, they were assigned alphabets as their aliases, and everyone within the society referred to them with said alphabets. Word on the street was that this was done to dehumanize the employees, but no one was sure. There were rumors in the JC fortress that she needed the support of the Gautam migrants for a political reason, one that she hadn’t disclosed to even the closest of her lackeys, the Joint Secretary and the Treasurer.
Turning their minds to more present matters, the two reporters reached the top floor. Immediately, they saw a scene beyond their wildest nightmares. Hundreds of students, running, slipping, falling, and even flying through the halls of the hostel as if it were the climax of some popular superhero movie. The only difference was that they were all shirtless, so it had become a Sylvester Stallone epic now. Before they could even process what was happening, another crowd descended upon them from behind. The mob was looking at them from every angle with amused and interesting faces, treating them as if they were an alien species. Behind them, they heard someone shout, “Who dares to compete in the conquest to claim the throne of the Vishwakarma Bhavan?”
They turned their heads to see a hooded figure, perched atop the shoulders of several students, on a pseudo throne of some sort. His voice was thick and hoarse, and it appeared as if he was their leader.
Suddenly, all the students started chanting, “WHO?” “WHO?” “WHO?”
And before they could answer, the crowd moved in closer and tore their t-shirts apart.
“Would you look at that milord? They have the Gautam emblem on their chests!”
As everyone came together for a closer look, they could see a Phoenix, emblazoned in flames, breathing fire on the sigil of the Vishwakarma Bhavan - a Bow with a flaming arrow. K and M were now looking at each other nervously, for they knew they were in deep trouble now. Even if the Gautam students could come to their help, they would be outnumbered 3 to 1.
“I see! We have infiltrators among us, brothers! Look around you; what do you see? You see your family; we care for you, feed you, give you a roof to sleep under! And then look at these Gautam degenerates! They come into our home, on our turf, and dare to look down upon us? Why? Just because they live on the top floor? I say we need to show them their place! Who’s with me, boys? Let’s show these degenerates the true hierarchy once and for all so they never make the mistake of underestimating us again! WHO’S WITH ME?”
The entire corridor filled with the roars of post-pubescent teenagers, and it seemed like hell was about to boil over within the hostel’s walls. K and M were scared out of their minds; they had no clue what would happen to them. They just hoped that they would make it out of it alive.
“What say you, boys? How shall we give them a taste of the Vishwakarma hospitality?”
Many people in the crowd raised their hands, and their leader gave each and every man a chance to speak their mind.
“Milord! Milord! I say we give them a taste of the blood boiler!” The leader shook his face in disappointment.
“Milord! I say we hang them from the balconies!” Their leader waved his hand in disgust. “We have to torture them, not kill them, my brother. At least not yet,” he said, with a smirk on his face.
“Milord, I say we give them the iceberg treatment.”
“Now here’s a man with some intellect! Come forward, brother. BRAVO! You read my mind, slave! In reward, you shall have an extra bone for dinner tonight!” he said as he slapped the slave on his chest, impressed.
“Thank You, milord. I shall be forever grateful.”
K slowly looked towards M. “What’s the iceberg treatment?” he whispered. Before M could answer, they were both picked up and carried through the corridors until they arrived at Water Cooler X-A34, the coldest source of drinking water on the entire Campus. It was infamous for the number of sore throats and runny noses it was responsible for. Official schematics showed that this water cooler pumped out water at a whopping 6 degrees Celsius, almost 3 degrees cooler than average. Suddenly, two people with pliers took their positions on either side of the cooler and broke the measly locks in one quick go. They opened the tank cover with smirks on their faces. A trickle ran down K’s spine. He had figured out what the iceberg treatment was.
Their leader slowly descended from the shoulders of his slaves and crouched down to look K directly in the eye.
“After this, go on running to your masters and tell them that this is the declaration of War!”
More roaring and cheering. “Vishwakarma is going to fight for its freedom! We’re going to reign the streets! We will be unstoppable once we get rid of the weaklings within us. And until then, the halls shall be covered with your BLOOD!”
Suddenly, K felt hands on his ankles and wrists, picking them up until he was completely horizontal. The slow and loud chanting started to cover the entire hostel. “JUSTICE FOR VISHWAKARMA!” “DEATH TO GAUTAM!” “LONG LIVE THE LORD!” “BLOOD!”
He desperately looked around, searching for M, but he had disappeared. He was on his own now. He felt hands on his back, pushing him upward until he was level with the water cooler. As he was held in the air by his arms and ankles, their leader kept his palm on his torso and slowly pushed him in. K closed his eyes, trying to resist. He moved his appendages, but to no avail. Everyone was cheering on at this point, and he realized there was no point in fighting the inevitable. He gave in and waited for the sensation to hit him. Suddenly, his entire body was on fire, his nerves kicked into overdrive, and his lower back vibrated more quickly than humanly possible. Everything seemingly became a blur, and he lost all sense of time. The last thing he remembered was their maniacal laughter; it chilled him to his core.
He woke up with a startle, feeling sweat on his forehead. He looked around, his eyes blinded by the sudden encounter of light. As his pupils shrunk, shadows of people on the ground became clearer, and he realized he was in the Journal Club safehouse, surrounded by some of his colleagues. He looked to his left and spotted M, tied to a chair with duct tape pasted across his mouth.
He looked down to see that he was also tied to a chair, wearing the same clothes he wore on the day of the dunk fight. A quilt covered his upper body, and he still felt the chills from the night before.
“Well, well, well, look who’s finally awake.” K heard a hoarse voice, and he turned to his right to see the Editor sitting on a high-back armchair, a bright light kept on a stand behind her so that only the silhouette of her upper body was visible. A tall and bulky man stood beside her. It must have been Z, the brute who did the Editor’s bidding and spoke for her everywhere.
The Editor was not in a good mood. Understandably so, as the mission had been an epic failure, and the Journal Club’s credibility had been compromised in the process. Plus, they had not been able to gather any valuable information, other than the names of some of the students involved, but they had no evidence to support those claims either.
“We didn’t have a chance! The operation was a suicide mission from the very beginning, and you knew it! You just treated us as guinea pigs to see how far Vishwakarma was willing to go. I can see right through you!” K said in a tone of desperation and anger.
“What do you mean I treated you as guinea pigs? I gave you every single resource we had at our disposal! All you had to do was to maintain your cover! But surprise, surprise, you couldn’t even handle that.” the brute said after the Editor took some time to whisper into his left ear. It was all an obvious scheme to intimidate K into admitting his fault. Several people started laughing at him, and he closed his eyes and tried to escape his bonds, but to no avail.
“You knew! You knew they would recognize the emblem the campus officials tattooed on us the day we arrived! Yet you said nothing!” K screamed, sweat covering his forehead and falling onto his lap.
“It’s not the Club’s fault that you were stupid enough to let them take off your shirts!’ he scoffed on her behalf.
She then stood up, talked to Z face to face, and walked towards the exit. Most of the people followed her out. Z looked towards the door and shouted to someone outside.
“Take them to the dungeon. They are of no use to us anymore. As for the Vishwakarma Bhavan, if they want a war, they might as well have one. Also, send salt packets to the Gautam floor. I think they’d know what to do with them.” With this, he turned around and walked out of the room.
Suddenly, two masked men entered the room and slowly walked towards them. As K and M screamed out for their lives, they were taken away. Sadly, no one would hear their screams now.
The next day, the entire Campus would again wonder what was leading to the constant disappearances of Journal Club reporters. Sadly, the truth lies buried deep within the walls of this dungeon, uncovered for eternity.
This is the Journal Club, reporting on Campus.