Fiction (From the Mishaps of Pran Chopra) : Toxic cash!

Pran Chopra was cursing his luck, as he trudged along the busy streets of Port Louis.  When he was near Victoria bus station, A No-To-Crap (NTC) Company bus suddenly let out a jet of black fumes, which left him in a coughing fit. His eyes were watery as he gasped for air, until he felt a phlegmy lump forcefully make its way up his throat.  At the same time, he saw a few police officers, who were busy threatening the street hawkers.  Usual routine of the day.  Pran Chopra gulped and tried to force the sticky lump back in but it stubbornly refused to obey.  With a magnificent roar, Pran Chopra spat on the pavement.  Pairs of eyes of the police officers suddenly turned on him.  Spitting in public is a punishable offence in Mauritius and Pran Chopra swiftly made a run for his life! Heavy footsteps followed him but he was determined to put up a fight.  After all, it was the fault of No-To-Crap (NTC) Company with its badly maintained fleet of buses.
As he was running, he had the idea of cutting a sharp detour into the one of the narrow streets.  Before he knew it, he was lying face first in a canal, his orientation all messed up. He tried to sit up painfully, moaning when he felt his fingers touch something plastic-like.  Puzzled, he looked down and saw a little dirty bag, which was carefully tied up nevertheless.  It looked like it had been deliberately dumped. Intrigued, Pran Chopra tried to undo the knot but to no avail. He looked left, then right and proceeded to chew the knot, like a rabid dog.  In a matter of seconds, the job was done and he found himself staring at wads of crisp bank notes, arrogantly bearing the stamp of the Bank of Mauritius.  There must have been at least Rs 500 000!
Consumed with an electrifying thrill, Pran Chopra was overcome with emotions.  That money was a godsend indeed! He envisioned the things he could do with the cash; having a nice Indian buffet at Namaskar Restaurant, a few beers at Beerbic Pub, buying the ladies a few drinks in the evening at Frenessy Park Hotel….He started salivating at the mere thought of it all! Clutching the bag tightly to his chest, he again looked left, then right and made a dash for Beerbic Pub.  However, in the midst of his excitement, it had escaped his mind that there was the Central Police Headquarters just a few feet away.  Just as he was about to step into Beerbic Pub, he felt strong hands clinching his shoulders.  To his horror, it was the horrible police officers again! He ran, ran and ran till he once more reached Victoria Bus Station.  There was an old dilapidated building just opposite or was it the siege of the Mutton Lamb Party (MLP)? Whatever, there was no time to waste! He heroically pushed open the door and for the second time of the day, fell face first…but now into the party headquarters.  He breathed a sigh of relief until he felt strong hands dragging him by the feet till he found himself outside, greeted by a swarm of police officers, who wasted no time in opening the bag to find out about its contents.
“So, what do we have in there? Aha, so much liquid cash in broad daylight? Did you steal that?” they sniggered.
Our unfortunate hero had nothing to say.  He was trapped like a caged lion! No-one would believe his story! Who would swallow his tale about finding money in a canal? It made no sense at all. So, he was taken to the Central Police Headquarters, given a good roasting (let’s not get into nasty details here) and released after a couple of days, all battered and left to lick his wounds.
Needless to say that he grew allergic to the sight of cash in canals from then on. Ah, the impact of some toxic cash!