The computer screen continued to blink oblivious to Raj’s steady gaze. He frowned at the keyboard as it did not fulfill his wish of starting to type on its own.

Raj was one of the prolific Tamil writers of the generation. His stories had found their way into the hearts of millions of readers. He had about twenty stories of fiction to his credit. He was so popular among the youth that he was hailed as, ‘the heartthrob of the youth’. They seemed to lap up whatever he dished out to them.

The other senior writers, would however, attribute his status of stardom, to his sensuous style of writing. “His vivid description of the anatomy of his female characters and an inevitable ‘bed room scene’ in all his stories are what made him famous”, they would whisper in undertones. Nevertheless, Raj ruled the tides of commercial literary world like a monarch. Such was his success, that he left his regular job as a cashier in a local bank to dedicate himself fully to the cause of commercial Tamil literature, or in crude terms, ‘pulp fiction’.

Raj’s smooth literary career was suddenly jolted by what the literary world knows as a ‘writer’s block’. For the uninitiated, writer’s block means the condition of being unable to think of what to write or how to proceed with writing. At first, Raj brushed it aside as a temporary situation which would vanish before long. He even welcomed it as a well-deserved break. So he took off to Kodaikanal with his wife to unwind for a short while.

But the problem persisted even after his return from Kodaikanal. He was panicky and resorted to various measures on his own to overcome this situation. He even tried to swap his sleeping and working hours. But that change only made matters worse. He became dull and dry. Days rolled into weeks and weeks into months, but Raj’s condition did not improve even an inch. Seven months passed by, but Raj could not write even a single word.

What Raj brushed aside as a transient phenomenon stayed put, shattering his self confidence. As he had left his lucrative job in favor of commercial writing, his savings got eroded and he had to tighten his belt to keep things going.

Then one day, the editor of a famous Tamil magazine called him up with an assignment for a serial story. The remuneration promised was handsome and Raj was asked to meet him with the synopsis and the first chapter of the story. Lured by this offer, our writer sat in front of the computer hoping some miracle to happen. That brings us back to the first line of this narrative.

Hours passed by with no progress. Raj became dizzy and felt the urge for a steaming cup of coffee.

He went to a famous coffee shop downtown and ordered a coffee. While he was waiting to be served he heard a familiar voice calling out his name. He turned his head and found Mr. Sagar beckoning him to join at his table.

Sagar belonged to the genre of famous Tamil historical novelists like Kalki, Sandilyan etc. Though historical novels have lost their sheen to the commercial and crime novels, Sagar still commanded sizable readership population.

Raj joined Sagar at his table and instructed the person who took his order to bring over the coffee there. After exchanging pleasantries, Sagar took a penetrating look at his younger literary colleague.

“Hey, Raj! What is wrong with you? You look so drained! What is the matter man?”

Raj kept quiet.

“I know you, man. If I can be of any help, please don’t hesitate”, Sagar persisted.

With great hesitation, Raj confided to Sagar about his writer’s block.

Sagar fell silent. He took out a cigarette from a pack which he kept in his pant pocket, lit it and took a deep drag.

“Well, there is a way out. But….” he stopped in the middle.

“Sir, please bail me out. I am ready to do whatever it takes.”

“Okay” said Sagar and snubbed the cigarette. Then he rummaged through his sling bag and took out a business card and handed it to Raj.

“Raj! Please take time and visit this place. They are sure to help you out”

While accepting the card, Raj noticed that Sagar had a bandage covering the whole of his left hand.

“Sir, I am sorry I did not notice it earlier! What happened?”

“Oh, it’s a minor accident” Sagar side-tracked his question with a wave of his bandaged hand. “Make sure you visit them”

So saying, Sagar left that place abruptly.

Raj studied the card carefully. It had the barest of details he had ever seen.

In the middle of the card, the number555 had been printed in bold font and an address below that. Just that, nothing else, not even a telephone number!

Raj decided to go there immediately. He paid the bill, exited, took a cab and proceeded to that address.

It was a nineteenth century building couched in the side lanes of Broadway.

There was a girl standing at the basement of the building, with enticing looks and exotic costume. Raj gathered from her that 555 was on the first floor. He carefully climbed up the dark wooden stairs (half of them either missing or dangling precariously) and reached the first floor. There he found a door with 555 written on it. He knocked twice and peeped inside. There he saw a scantily dressed girl sitting at what seemed like a reception.

“Yes?” she asked him without raising her eyes. Raj gave her the card. On receiving the card, she glanced up at him and waved him towards another door.

Raj eagerly opened the door not suspecting even for a second that he was sealing his own fate.

A man in his early forties was sitting on a straight backed chair. On the table in front of him, were some files and he was reading a file when Raj entered.

“Who sent you?” he shot his question directly.

“Mr. Sagar”, Raj politely replied.

“Oh, that old history brag…Well, what’s your name?”

“I am Raj”

“Oh, you are the guy who writes hot stuff! Dude, you really write way too much of that stuff as if you have had firsthand experience in these matters. Well, leave it aside. Did that old brag tell you anything?”

Raj instantly took a dislike to that person. How could he address Mr. Sagar in this derogative manner?

“Sit” he gestured towards a chair.

“See our aim is not making money” he started as Raj sat in one of the chairs. “Our Chairman is a person who likes literature. I have heard that he himself was a writer once. Anyway, his concern for the writers is unparalleled.

Earlier in his career, he too suffered from writer’s block like you are suffering now. Though it was a temporary situation, it put an end to his writing career. So, he wanted to help writers who suffer because of this. 555 is his way of helping them.

See your situation may improve in a short time. But you must understand that the demand for your works may not remain as before. By the time you recover, you would have been forgotten and new players would have beaten you out of the game.”

Raj interrupted and asked “How would you help me out then?”

“I’ll tell you. We will help you be in the race. You will be given five stories now. You are free to edit them to your style of writing and publish them in your name. But as soon as you are out of your WB, the first five stories you write should be given to us. That’s the condition”

It slowly dawned on Raj what the first two 5s of 555 probably meant. The man studied Raj’s eyes hovering over the card.

“What does the third 5 denote?”Raj was eager to know.

“You stick to your end of the bargain and give us your share of five stories. In case you fail to do so, you yourself will come to know what the third 5 means”. He smiled at me showing his cigarette stained yellow teeth.

Raj left the building with folders containing five stories. He rewrote the first one and gave it to the Editor who had asked for it. The Editor took an instant liking to it and he arranged for its publication. The story was a runaway hit with his already established readership.

Raj got the other four stories also published. That re-established his position as the number one writer of Tamil commercial literature.

Then one fine day it happened. The writer’s block vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Immediately he hit upon a plot which he developed into a great novel. He worked on that and finished the synopsis and the first chapter.

He approached his favorite magazine editor and requested him to take a look at it. The man was overwhelmed with joy upon reading it. He immediately gave him an assignment for a serial story.

Raj was happy. He was at peace with himself. When he came out of the magazine’s office his cell phone started ringing.

“I did not expect this from you, dude” the voice on the other end said. He immediately recognized that voice. It was the man from 555. “I made it very clear to you that the first five stories you write after you are free from writer’s block should be handed over to us. But you seem to be suffering from memory loss now. You better finish that story and give it us latest by tomorrow evening and the rest four stories as and when ready.”

“Dude, you asked the other day what that third 5 meant. If you fail give us five stories in lieu of the ones you have taken from us, we will chop off all the five fingers from your left hand. Five fingers for five stories. Now it is up to you to decide whether our office will be richer by five of your stories or your fingers.” The line went dead and Raj froze.

Suddenly he remembered Sagar’s bandaged left hand. First time in his adult life, without actually registering the act, Raj gave in to a child's instinct when frightened to death.