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No Loki Affair This – The Sequel

By: Ramanujam RS
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“Will you please put your hands behind your head, sir?”

Thor turned around to see two policemen with their guns raised and pointing directly at him.

I am a God for God’s sake. Thor stared coldly at the two puny mortals that had the audacity to demand he submit to their command.

“Sir, please put your hands behind your head. We need to search you first and then there will be some paperwork if you are not who we think you are. That is all,” the second officer said in a tone that bore stark resemblance to that of the first officer. Thor was surprised at this, but soon reconciled as both were from the same department.

“You can search me even without my hands behind my head. I have nothing to hide,” Thor said and took a step towards the men.

“Stop right there or we will shoot,” the first officer said in a slightly raised tone. Thor pursed his lips in exasperation. Odin’s trial awaited him, Sif’s trial awaited him and here were two men trying to scare him with bullets.

“Shoot. You can’t kill me with those toys. I am Thor,” Thor declared and continued to walk. One of them shot Thor on his knee. The bullet ricocheted off Thor and lodged itself in a stump nearby, breathing its last in a paltry veil of smoke. The policemen were mortally scared and Thor’s wry smile unnerved them all the more. They started walking backwards, their guns still instinctively pointed at Thor. Thor shook his head in disbelief.

“I mean no harm. I am Thor, the God of rain and all the bells and whistles that come with it. And that makes me a good God. Go ahead and search,” he went close to the petrified policemen and put his hands behind his head.

After a quick round of frisking yielded nothing, the three men sat by the pier. It was still an interrogation session, but of someone from a different realm and so, the eerie environs were far better suited. In addition, a police station would’ve been a bad choice of place for bullets to ricochet off and get firmly etched into men than in stumps.

“So, you are Thorsten?”

“That’s my assumed name. I am Thor.”

“And you say you are a God.”

“I don’t say that. I am God. Your men for aeons have known me as the one that causes it to rain.”

“Thor doesn’t exist,” said the policeman that had spoken first, mustering some courage. A pot-bellied, middle aged man he was, with a receding hairline and a pockmarked, poker-face.

“Why do you say that?” Thor was amused.

“I am an atheist,” the policeman said in blunt monotone.

“That makes you a non-believer. Your disbelief won’t nullify my existence, boy.”

The unimpressed man turned to his peer and signalled him to continue with the investigation. After all, why would anyone talk to a person whose existence is dubious in the first place.

“You told the barber that cut your locks that you were from Germany. Is that right?” the second officer, a seeming believer, started off.

“Yes.”

“East?”

“No. South.”

“I meant to say Germany is East of this place.”

“That depends which direction you choose to look from and towards.”

“I say East.”

“You may. You have your rights.”

“Although Germany is a western country.”

“Not if you are in the United states. Is that right?” Thor was enjoying his little moment of putting a mortal on

“See. We are on the same page. And so, you are the Eastern God of Rain,” the policeman gave Thor a quizzical look.

“Won’t hurt to say yes to that,” Thor was unrelenting.

“An Indian friend of mine says Indra is the God of rain. He has enough scriptural evidence to prove that. And I don’t know of anyone from farther East than that friend. So, is he lying, or are you?”

“I told you he is an impostor,” the first officer smiled wryly. Thor sighed hard.

“Look. The Indians call me Indra. The Europeans – Those from the Germanic regions for instance –  call me Thor. I manifest with my curls and a mallet when in Europe and with a crown and a vajra when in India.”

“So, you are an Indo-Germanic God who, in the guise of a mortal, has come to arrest his own brother – a bad God,” The second officer summed it up.

“I am the God of … Yes. I am an Indo-Germanic God,” Thor said, knowing very well that it was futile to explain how the whole God concept worked.

“And since this is the United States you dropped in from your heavenly abode in a suit and shades, I am led to believe.” The first cop wisecracked.

“Yes. That is because, I am here in disguise. I came to apprehend Loki, a bad God and failed,” Thor choked as he spoke these words. Scenes of his biting the dust and what lay ahead flashed in front of his blue eyes like a late-night show in an unlit room.

“How do you plan on proving to us that you are a God?” the second officer continued with his incessant questioning without being bothered by Thor’s little moment of disappointment.

“Do you see the mallet there?” Thor pointed towards the mallet that lay few yards away from them. He had not picked it up after slamming it against the ground in disgust. And it lay there uncared for, like a rose abandoned by a jilted lover.

The two men nodded in unison.

“Can I ask you to go and pick it up please?” Thor asked the non-believer policeman. The man got up, pursed his lips, lifted his sagging trousers and walked lazily towards the seemingly harmless mallet. He laboured on and on for what seemed eternity while Thor and the other man watched. In the end, he came back, his acceptance of defeat written all over his now sweat-drenched face.

“Now do you want to make an attempt?” Thor asked the second man. This man being a believer, gave up much quicker as he was inherently certain that anything divine was out of man’s reach. He returned defeated, and yet much more cheerful and reassured.

“Now may I show you I am Thor?” The two men nodded in unison like they did a while ago.

Thor walked up to the mallet and wrapped the palm of his right hand around the grip. He turned to look at the men and smiled. His gesture from that far seemed to say, “now watch me do it.” The two men looked on as Thor bent his right knees slightly and shifted his weight onto his right hand. He exhaled and flicked his wrist, as though plucking a flower off a plant. The eyes of the two men were glued to Thor. God or otherwise, they had a reason to keep an eye on him. They would either witness a divine miracle and would have stories to tell their grandchildren or they would know that he was a phony and so had to have an eye on him for the sake of apprehending him.

“It must be the wet sand,” Thor tried to reassure himself. For the first time in several millennia, the mallet failed to budge. It lay there, as though it were Sif. “Come on,” Thor’s cheeks went pale with embarrassment. The very thought of being stood up by his own divine weapon and that in front of mortals hurt him more than the getting away of Loki.

Loki at least is a God, my half-brother. Someone at par. But these mortals? What will they say if I fail to lift this infernal hammer? Oh! Look, the rain God couldn’t lift his thunder-bat. Will they say so? Will I be a laughing stock?  

With such thoughts muddling his already tired brain, Thor continued to labour much harder than the men to lift the mallet. It wouldn’t budge. When he finally gave up and stood upright, he felt the breath of two men on his back. It was the cops.

“So much for being a God that doesn’t have control over his own weapons. Look at us. We are mere mortals. And when I pointed this at you and shot, it sent a bullet your way, God,” The sceptic was all smiles, as he flashed his gun in front of Thor’s forlorn eyes. The other man joined in to taunt Thor.

Thor hung his head. It wasn’t his day. A doomed mission, an angry wife awaiting my arrival, an elusive creep of a brother and now, my own mallet deserting me. I would rather not go back to the heavens and become a recluse. A mortal jail is a far better choice. I can be Thorsten, a mortal among mortals, eating what they have to give until such time it is my time again.

“Ready to wear the orange, Mr. Thor-sten?” the policeman asked, interrupting Thor’s train of thought.

Thor nodded. “I am Thorsten. Arrest me,” he said and extended his hand to be cuffed.

With an uproarious cracking of thunder and a blinding streak of lightning that seemed to divide the sky into two, the mallet tore free of its earthly predicament, knocked the first policeman out cold and flew itself into the palm of Thor.

“Goodness me. How on earth did I forget I had redesigned the mallet to fly into my arm so I needn’t run and fetch it. How did I forget that?” Thor heaved a sigh of relief. The face of the other policeman who barely escaped being torn through by the mallet by jumping out of the way in the nick of time, went pale. He started calling in for reinforcements and reported a dead colleague. “German God killed cop on duty. Need reinforcements,” he kept shouting into the walkie-talkie. He then proceeded to shoot indiscriminately at Thor.

I’ve had enough for one day, Thor decided to find some peace and bolted out of the scene. I need to find this sage Viswamitra and ask him to construct this transient heaven for me. I heard he did that for some eastern mortal, he thought as he tore through the air and flew over the Pacific Ocean, with the ‘woop-woop-woop-woop’ of a hundred sirens fading with distance, replaced by the sound of waves crashing onto the shore. He needed a place to rest, a place to grow his hair back for Sif’s sake and finally a place that he can call home until Odin’s tempers would come down to the levels that Thor deemed as manageable. Loki was forgotten for the moment.

No Loki affair this!

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