Jumping into the pile of garbage severely injured Simon.
After Realist helps Simon climb out of the river, they both emerge from the water together.
They stink like sh*t literally. There was no river on Earth dirtier than the one they were swimming in.
From Simon's hand, blood is oozing. It is imperative that they rush to a hospital without delay due to the high concentration of infectious diseases in that filthy river. Failure to administer the tetanus injection could result in his death or severe injury, such as amputation.
They need to move quickly, Simon tells him. After spotting a bike cart, they motioned for him to come over. They hopped on board, and they instructed him to bring them to the closest hospital.
He starts to paddle.
Since Delhi has some of the worst traffic in the world, the cycle cart can only go 100 meters in 10 minutes.
"What the f*ck is this piece of sh*t?" Simon screeches out.
An irate rider orders the passengers to disembark from his cart.
Simon screams at him, saying, "F*ck you and your f*cking cycle."
The cyclist approached them just as they were about to depart, then quickly stopped them and demanded payment.
The realist mutters an angry chuckle and brushes him off, but the cycle catches up with him.
Snatching up Simon's shotgun, Realist proceeds to shoot his head off.
Everyone snarled up in the traffic could see them because they were right in the thick of things.
Some start to capture them on tape.
Policemen in the area point their weapons, which date back to the 1930s, at them.
The realist steps behind the cars and gets down on the ground.
The cops couldn't see him anymore.
He dives into the sewers, but they're blocked off, so he emerges from them once more.
He then stands atop one of the cars and cries out, "My friend and I were duped. Someone brought us here to die." Returning to our homeland is our desire.
Yeah, he's right; all we want to do is go home. Simon agrees with him as well.
"We would rather not cause any harm to your sh*tty country," Realist said.
Incredulous, Simon gazes at him.
"Kill him, he called our country sh*t," one Indian said.
Officers begin firing upon them.
"You stupid motherf*cker, why did you say that?" Simon screams as he flees, narrowly avoiding the gunfire.
As the bullets approach, they can make out the buzzing sound as they pierce the sound barrier right next to their ears.
With all their might, they dash forward.
The cops are unable to catch up with them.
Hours of running later, they arrive at a farmhouse.
Its solitary farmhouse stands in the middle of open fields, far from any human settlement.
The sun has set.
The realist informed Simon to remain in this area while he looked around.
An elderly man with hazy vision and a slow speech rate emerges from the farmhouse when a realist knocks on the door; however, his command of the English language is impressive.
This farmhouse belongs to him.
"We need help," the realist asks him.
Without a second's hesitation, the elderly man accepted their entrance.
The realist checks every room in his house for potential danger.
"What are you doing?" the elderly Indian man inquired.
Realist, being Realist, tells them exactly what he's doing.
"The cops are after us," Realist declared.
"My friend here is in dire need of an antibacterial injection; he sustained an injury in the filthy river and must receive one without delay."
"The old man chuckles lightly," I can tell you with certainty, "he won't die."
"I don't know what the f*ck that means, but help us if you can," Realist said.
"No need to be concerned," the elderly man assured, "I served as a military doctor during World War Two."
After injecting Simon with a tetanus shot, the elderly man bandages his hand.
The elderly man reassured him, "He will be all right."
"You two seem like nice folks; I have faith you're being honest about how things are."
What occurred to me was terrible, and your situation is making me think of mine, the elderly man said.
"What happened?" Simon inquired.
"A woman accuses me of murdering her husband, the police detain me, and my wife passed away from a sickness I don't understand while I was in jail."
The elderly man takes a seat.
Though I ultimately prevailed in the case, I wonder how much it cost me because she was the one who murdered her husband and had an extramarital affair. The price of my beautiful wife.
As for whether the police had any sense of justice, the realist asked.
"I am not familiar with the police, but I was the one who murdered her and her lover," the elderly man says.
I hung them from a tree by the roadside.
Plus, they're parents to a wretched child. "I wished I could murder her too, but then I realized it would serve me no purpose," the elderly man confessed.
"Wow, that was quite a journey," Simon remarked.
The realist fished $1,000 out of his pocket, which was soaked and foul-smelling from the river, and gave it to the elderly man.
Money is tossed aside by the elderly man.
"You helped us; you have to take that money as a gift," Realist said.
The old man responds, "That smells like sh*t."
I already informed you about our situation, so there's no need to worry; I'll wash them. The Realist replies.
By claiming, "You are my guests," the elderly man stands firm in his refusal to accept the payment.
The elderly man proceeds to a nearby faucet, where he washes his hands using soap that becomes soiled from the realist's filthy thousand dollars.
Thereafter, he uses the goat's milk that was just taken to make tea for them.
A heartfelt "thank you" escaped Simon's lips.
A bullet shrapnel shatters the old man's chest just as they are about to lift the cup of tea to their lips.
Down he falls, the elderly man.
Hundreds of men accompany Rokiya as she enters the farmhouse.
Hello, Shawn," Rokiya greeted.