'Yes.'
'Do you remember the scene when Gabbar asks Thakur to give him his hands? Thakur refuses and Gabbar chops off both his hands. I am not going to ask you for your hands, but I will ask for your fingers. All ten of them. Will you give them to me?' He grins, showing uneven teeth stained with betel juice.
I shiver as a chill runs down my back, which by now is completely soaked in sweat. Natu takes hold of my left arm from Brijesh. Then, grabbing my wrist, he lifts up my forefinger and begins arching it backwards. Brijesh hurriedly stuffs a handkerchief into my mouth, smothering my scream. Flesh and bone are stretched to breaking point till the joint pops, accompanied by a sound like that of a hole bursting in a sheet of bubble wrap, and my left index finger droops down. Natu grins and begins to work on my middle finger.
The only good thing about pain is that it empties your mind of everything else. It fills your brain so completely that all feelings of love and hate, envy and jealousy are bleached from it and you are left simply with an excruciating agony filling each and every pore of your body, till even the agony disappears, to be replaced by a dull ache. By the time Natu breaks my left thumb, I have surpassed pain. But that is when the terror begins. Champi wanders into the room, wearing a light-green salwar kameez with no chunni. 'What is happening, Munna?' she asks in a sleepy voice.
Brijesh looks at Champi and averts his face. I can see that he is revolted by her ugliness. But Natu seems entranced by her. 'Oh ho! Who do we have here?' he whistles wolfishly as Champi tries to feel her way towards me through the altered geography of the room.
'Who is she? Is she your sister?' Brijesh barks at me, pulling the handkerchief out of my mouth.
'Yes. You leave her alone. Your business is with me, not her,' I speak quickly, taking in mouthfuls of air. 'Moreover, she is blind.'
'Blind?' Natu peers at Champi's eyes. 'She doesn't look blind to me.'
'She is, I am telling you,' I say, trying to hide the desperation in my voice.
'OK, let me test,' says Natu and taps her left breast. Champi whimpers in protest and moves her head from side to side, trying to determine the location of her tormentor. Natu claps his hands. 'This is fun. She has solid tits. What do you say, Brijesh, do I have your permission to enjoy a little?'
'Don't you dare touch my sister.' I glare at Natu and strain against Brijesh like a dog on a leash. 'If you touch her I will kill you, motherfucker.'
Natu slaps me across the face with his open palm and Brijesh stuffs the handkerchief back into my mouth. This is all the encouragement the short man needs. He grabs Champi and clamps his hairy palm over her mouth. With his free hand he begins lifting up her shirt as she flails against him like a goat about to be butchered.
Terror, like toothache, cannot be described. It can only be experienced. I stand in Brijesh's grip like a quivering lump of flesh and watch Champi about to be raped.
I wish the earth would open up and swallow me whole, because I know I am directly responsible for the scene unfolding before me. And I have a good inkling of what will happen to Champi after Natu is through with her. She is already blind, now she will become deaf and dumb as well. The whole day she will just sit outside, fanning herself slowly, with a demented look on her face. At night, she will suddenly scream in her sleep. Nightmares will plague her all her life. It is a fate I would not wish on my worst enemy.
For twenty-one years I have lived without faith in God, but at this moment I become a believer. I start praying – to all the gods I know and even those that I don't – making just one appeal, to please, please save my little Champi. I remember all those films in which God responds to prayer and works his magic. But I don't hear the pealing of temple bells; I don't see the floor shake.
Denial is the final refuge of the powerless. Even as Natu is fumbling with the cord of Champi's salwar, there is a voice in my head repeating like a stuck record, 'She is not my sister, She is not my sister, she is not my sister . . . She's a worthless Muslim whore.'
All of a sudden, an image flashes through my mind. It is of Lallan strung upside-down in the police lock-up and being tortured by the Butcher of Mehrauli. I had been unable to save him either. But if he was closer than a brother to me, then Champi is closer than a sister. Ties of the mind are stronger than ties of blood.
Like a wounded soldier making his last stand, I muster every ounce of my remaining strength and lash out with my right leg at Natu, catching him at the knee. He is startled into releasing Champi, who tumbles down with a piercing scream. Natu snarls at me and takes out a bicycle chain from his trouser pocket, wraps it around his fist and swings it hard at my face. I try to duck and the metal crashes into the back of my skull. I imagine the door bursting open before I sink into that deep oblivion which is black and fathomless and very, very welcome.
When I come to my senses I find myself in a hospital room. My left hand is in plaster and there is a throbbing pain in the back of my head. I feel it gingerly, expecting to touch sticky blood. But my fingers graze soft fabric. They must have bandaged it. I see Mother lying in the bed next to me, being tended to by Champi, who is wearing a black amulet around her neck.
'What . . . what happened?' I ask Champi groggily.
'A miracle,' she replies cryptically.
A doctor comes in and tells me that I am lucky to be alive. 'You have suffered severe concussion. All five fingers of your left hand are broken. You will need to keep them immobilized in plaster for at least six weeks before they can heal.'
'Is my mother OK?' I ask him.
'She will live,' he says and begins examining a chart attached to the side of the bed.
'How long have I been in hospital?'
'Two days.'
'How much do I need to pay you?'
'Nothing,' he smiles. 'This is a charitable hospital where everything is free, including the MRI scan, the X-rays and the medicines.'
'Thank you,' I say. 'Can I go now?'
I walk back from the Dayawati Hospital to the temple, ignoring the doctor's warnings and the searing pain in my head. My room looks like it has been visited by a hurricane. Even the wooden desk is in pieces. I take the two first-class train tickets from the pocket of my Benetton jacket and proceed to the railway booking office to cancel them. I am not going to Mumbai any longer. Like Delhi, it too is a show-off city, flaunting its Mercedes and mansions. And it belongs only to the rich. There is no place for the poor in our metropolises. Doesn't matter how honestly you earn a living; you can still get accused of thieving and thrown into a cell simply because you are poor and powerless. As long as I had the briefcase full of money I had power. I knew I could take care of Ritu, fulfil my dreams. With the briefcase gone, so have my grand dreams.
Life suddenly seems brittle and pointless. Surprisingly, I don't feel much anger towards my tormentors, the people who took away the briefcase. It wasn't mine to start with. My rage is directed instead at Vicky Rai. The man who dared to hurt Ritu. The man who took my father's life. Love can make you blind, but despair can make you reckless. I decide to buy a gun.
The biggest criminal gang in our area is the one run by Birju Pehelwan. I know several gang members who swagger through the Sanjay Gandhi slum, flaunting their revolvers like fashion accessories. It is Pappu, a recent entrant to the gang, who directs me to Girdhari, an illicit arms-dealer in Mangolpuri.
The arms-dealer does not display his wares in an airconditioned showroom. I have to go to a smelly alley and climb three flights of stairs to a dim and dingy cubicle, where he sits in front of a massive steel safe. 'I need a cheap gun,' I tell him. He nods and takes out a desi katta, a locally made improvised pistol with just one round. 'This costs only eleven hundred rupees,' he grins.
'I want something better,' I tell him.
'How much have you got?' he asks and I produce the 4,200 rupees returned to me by the railway clerk.
He opens the safe and takes out something wrapped in a white cloth. He carefully opens the cloth to reveal a black gun inside. 'This is a
lso a katta, but a very good one. Looks just like a Chinese Black Star pistol, but costs only four thousand. Try it.' He hands me the gun, butt first.
I hold the gun in my hand, feel its weight, its raised edges, its long, smooth barrel. It gives me goose bumps. I am fascinated by its promise of violent, instant death. 'I'll take it,' I say.
'Unfortunately I have run out of bullets,' the dealer says regretfully. 'At the moment I have only five cartridges for this gun. Can you come again tomorrow?'
'No, I am happy with five bullets. Actually, I'll need just one.'
10
Operation Checkmate
'Hello?'
'Hello.'
'Is this the residence of the Home Secretary?'
'Yes.'
'Is he there? Home Minister Jagannath Rai will speak to him.'
'One second, Sir. I will pass the line to Home Secretary Sahib.'
(Music.)
'Hello. Baglay speaking.'
'One second, Sir. Minister Sahib will come on the line.' Beep. Beep. Beep.
'Hello. Gopal?'
'Good afternoon, Sir. I am sorry, Sir, I couldn't call you in the morning. My fax wasn't working. But now I have the data. Since yesterday we have had seven cases of murder. Two dacoities have been reported from Hardoi and Moradabad. There have been four rape cases in Azamgarh, Bahra—'
'I am not interested in your daily crime report, Gopal. I am calling you about something much more important. Tell me, have you heard of an American film called Donchi?'
'Donchi?'
'Maybe Vinchi . . . Vinchiko?'
'Do you mean The Da Vinci Code, Sir?'
'Yes, yes. That is the film. Have you seen it?'
'Yes, Sir. It's rather good.'
'I want you to immediately ban this film in Uttar Pradesh.'
'Ban it? But, Sir, this film is quite old. It has already completed its run.'
'Doesn't matter. Just ban it. I am told that it has offended the Christian community in the State. It makes all kinds of wild allegations, like Jesus was having an affair with some prostitute. How can we allow such films to be screened?'
'Don't you think you should see the film, Sir, before we ban it?'
'Since when has it become necessary to watch a film before banning it? Don't we ban books all the time without reading them?'
'But Sir, there are other issues, such as freedom of speech. Article 19 of the Constitution—'
'The Constitution be damned, Gopal. Hardly anybody reads in this State. Who has time to read the Constitution? Have you read the full Constitution?'
'Er . . . No, Sir. May I ask, Sir, who mentioned this film to you?'
'It was Father Sebastian. He is a good man. I like Christians. They are such nice, docile people. Always dressed immaculately and they speak such wonderful English. He told me that if I ban the film our party will get some Christian votes in the local elections. That can do us no harm. But I don't want to lose other votes into the bargain. So tell me, if we ban this film will the Hindus in the State be unhappy?'
'I don't think so, Sir.'
'Will the Muslims be unhappy?'
'Unlikely, Sir.'
'Will the Sikhs be unhappy?'
'No, Sir.'
'Then there is no problem at all. Just ban the wretched film. It is my order.'
'As you say, Sir. I will have the gazette notification issued today.'
'And Gopal?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'I believe you have still not carried out my instructions regarding that Superintendent of Police Navneet Brar. As long as I am the Home Minister he is not to be given any medals or awards.'
'Sir, I wanted to discuss this with you. Navneet Brar is a very meritorious officer. He has single-handedly liquidated two major Naxalite outfits operating on the India–Nepal border. If we remove his name from the State Republic Day Gallantry Award winners, it might demoralize the police force and—'
'Gopal . . . Gopal . . . Who is the Minister, you or me?'
'You, of course, Sir.'
'And who gives the orders, you or me?'
'You, Sir.'
'Then carry out my order this very minute. Otherwise from tomorrow you will not be Home Secretary but Secretary of the Child Welfare Council. Understood?'
'Yes, Sir.'
*
'Good morning, Bhaiyyaji, this is Alok Agarwal speaking.'
'Good morning. It is my great fortune that a big industrialist like you deigns to remember me once every three to four months.'
'Please don't embarrass me, Sir. I always try to keep in touch with you, but what can I do? Work is such that I have to visit my international associates quite frequently. I got back from Japan just last night.'
'Arrey, you businessmen are always jet-setting around the globe. Japan today, America tomorrow. And people like me, we just sit and rot here in this State.'
'Don't say that, Bhaiyyaji. You are doing so much for the welfare of the people of Uttar Pradesh. I have been following your campaign for the local elections. You seem to be drawing huge crowds everywhere.'
'I am glad you recognize this. The newspapers are always criticizing me. I have now stopped reading them.'
'You cannot say the same about our TV channel Mashaal. I have personally given instructions that it must cover all your rallies.'
'Yes, yes. Mashaal has been doing a terrific job. True to its name, it is a torch. The torch of truth. And you have got a perfect reporter. What's her name, Seema?'
'Seema Bisht? Yes. Seema is quite good. She narrowly missed the Reporter of the Year award.'
'I am sure she deserved it more than anyone else. She is really very pretty. And so fair. Why don't you ask her to interview me one of these days? Just a – what you people say in English – one-to-one.'
'Certainly, Bhaiyyaji. I will ask Seema to make an appointment with your office.'
'That will be nice. But don't involve my office. Tell her to call me directly on my mobile. Now what can I do for you?'
'Well, Bhaiyyaji, you know we have put in a bid for the second power plant near Dadri.'
'Yes. You mentioned it to me last time we spoke. But you know that you are competing with Tatas and Ambanis. And Singhania of the JP Group is there too.'
'I know, Bhaiyyaji, and that is why I need you. You promised me the first power plant in Rewa. I thought we had a deal, but the contract went to the JP Group.'
'Yes. Mohan Kumar, the former Chief Secretary, tried his best, but the Chief Minister double-crossed us at the last minute. Everyone knows he is in Singhania's pocket. Now Mohan Kumar has retired, so we have to fight that much harder to keep your competitors out.'
'But I hear on the grapevine that Singhania is already acting as if he has got the plant. If this contract also goes to the JP Group I might pull out from Uttar Pradesh completely. '
'Arrey, do you think this State is the Chief Minister's fiefdom? He cannot award contracts only to his people. We all have to have an equal share in the spoils. Don't worry, this contract will definitely go to you, on the same terms as we had finalized for the first plant. Agreed?'
'Agreed, Bhaiyyaji. So can I go ahead and tell my international partners to start preparing for the shipment of the machinery?'
'Yes, yes. No problem. Just don't forget about Seema, OK?'
'Not at all, Bhaiyyaji. She will meet you. This week – I will see to it.'
'OK.'
*
'Hello. This is Rukhsana Afsar. Can I speak to the Home Minister?'
'Jagannathji is not at home. He is out addressing an election meeting in Gopiganj. Today is the last day of campaigning for the local elections.'
'Who are you?'
'I am his Private Secretary.'
'Jagannathji is not answering his mobile either. What is wrong? He has not taken my call once in the last two weeks.'
'Madam, don't you know that Bhaiyyaji changes girlfriends faster than you change your hairstyle? (Laughs.) You should have got the hint by now . . . Hello? . .
. Hello?' (Disconnect.)
*
'Dad?'
'Yes, Vicky? You sound worried.'
'I received a letter in the post today. It is from the Maoist Revolutionary Centre, a Naxalite outfit, threatening to kill me if I proceed with the Special Economic Zone project in Jharkhand.'
(Laughs.) 'And you have started shitting in your pants? Arrey, never forget that you are the son of Jagannath Rai, the most feared name in all of Uttar Pradesh.'
'But my project is in Jharkhand. What if the bloody Naxalites really do something to me?'
'Don't worry. I will get a police battalion posted to your house.'
'Your police force is absolutely third rate, Dad. I am going to write to the Delhi Police Commissioner, requesting commando protection.'
'You are needlessly over-reacting. The Naxalites have not killed a single industrialist so far.'
'I don't want to be the first, Dad. Bye.'
(Disconnect.)
*
'Jagannath, have you seen the results of the local elections?'
'Yes, Chief Minister Sahib. They are not as good as we thought they would be.'
'Good? They are a disaster. Our party has lost seventyone seats. How did this happen? You said everything was going fine.'
'I will do a full investigation. My hunch is that the opposition bribed the election officials. A lot of independents also muddied the waters.'
'Well, my information is that the Muslims deserted us. They cost us at least fifty seats.'
'But why would the Muslims do such a thing? We have done so much for them.'
'Because of the communal riots you instigated in Kanpur. You said it would help us get the Hindu votes. Well, we did not get even one extra Hindu vote and the Muslims deserted us completely.'
'Don't worry, Chief Minister Sahib. I have worked out a new strategy which will help us at the next elections.'
'And what is that?'
'I am going to woo the Christians. I have already taken some steps to ensure that even if we don't get the Muslim vote, we will compensate by getting the Christian vote.'