'Freeze! Nobody move,' the Inspector bawled, as though this was an episode of C.I.D. He saw Vicky Rai's body and bent down to examine it. He felt the wrist and lifted the eyelids. 'He is finished,' he pronounced, before fixing his gaze on the guests in the room. 'I know one of you has done it. So I have cordoned off the entire farmhouse. Now the police will check each and every one of you. No one will be allowed to leave Number Six till our search is over. Preetam Singh, begin frisking the guests.'
I heard this and my hands started turning cold. The American was standing close to me and became the first guest to be searched. A constable asked him to spread his arms and legs. He stood grinning like a scarecrow while the policeman patted him down, and shockingly a sleek black Glock equipped with a silencer emerged from inside his suit. 'What is this?' the constable cried as he dangled the pistol from his index finger.
'Well, dip me in shit and call me stinky!' Larry exclaimed. 'I have no idea how that gun got there. I don't even know how to fire that damn thing.' 'Take him in for questioning,' the Inspector directed the constable and turned his attention to me. 'Shabnamji, if you don't mind, I need to check your purse.' Before I could mouth a suitable protest, he snatched the moccasin bag from my hand. Snapping it open, he sifted through it with the dexterity of a Customs officer. Out came the Beretta. 'Oh! You have a gun too?' he said in the surprised tone of a priest discovering a nun in a brothel.
I detected a sly gleam in the Inspector's eyes as he examined the gun. 'Can I ask you, Miss Shabnam, why you brought this gun to the party?'
'I carry it for self-protection,' I replied icily, hoping he couldn't hear the thudding of my heart as clearly as I could.
He ejected the magazine, examined it and then smelt it. 'Hmmm . . . one bullet has been fired. Are you sure you didn't use it on Vicky Rai?'
'Of course not,' I snapped, adopting the contemptuous tone I use to put down underlings who try to get fresh with me.
'Still, you will have to come to the police station. Meeta –' he gestured to a frumpy-looking lady constable, 'take her away.'
As Meeta was leading me out, I came across Mr Mohan Kumar, now more famous as Gandhi Baba, appearing to have an epileptic fit. He was foaming at the lips and trying desperately to eject something from his mouth. A constable stood next to him with a gleaming Walther PPK, which appeared to have come out of his kurta pocket. I wondered how the apostle of non-violence would explain what he was doing with a gun inside the farmhouse. What new version of gandhigiri was he trying out?
It seemed that Mr Jagannath Rai was having similar difficulties. 'I am telling you, this is a licensed Webley & Scott which I have been keeping with me for the last twenty years,' he was explaining to a constable who was busy reading the markings on a grey revolver with a wooden butt. Finding that his plea was falling on deaf ears, Jagannath Rai turned to the Inspector. 'Someone has killed my only son. Instead of trying to catch the murderer, you are trying to blame me, the father? I am the Home Minister of Uttar Pradesh. I will have all of you arrested.'
'Look, Mr Rai.' The Inspector glowered at him. 'This is not Uttar Pradesh, where you can do as you please. This is Delhi and here you will do as we please. Every person who has a gun on these premises is a murder suspect. And that includes you. Preetam Singh, take him into custody.'
We were all herded into a blue van with wire-mesh windows and taken to the Mehrauli police station. The record room was the dingiest room in the police station, but it was still better than a lock-up. It was here that I met the two remaining suspects, easily the most intriguing of the lot. One was a short-statured tribal from Jharkhand, with the blackest skin I have ever seen. He took no notice of me, but sat alone on the floor, and appeared to be pining for some girl called Champi. He kept asking every passing constable for news of her. The policemen swore at him and made threatening gestures.
The other suspect was a lanky youth called Munna Mobile with long, curly hair. He was handsome in a rakish kind of way, reminding me of Salim Ilyasi, but there was also a disconcerting cockiness about him. He told me he was out in the garden when the lights went out. But he couldn't explain satisfactorily what he was doing in the garden with a Chinese Black Star pistol in his pocket.
A stream of constables kept entering the record room. They pretended to examine the files but I knew they were interested mainly in ogling me, the biggest celebrity to grace their crummy police station.
Mohan Kumar, a.k.a.Gandhi Baba, wandered around the room like a lost boy before sitting down beside me. He leered at me in an odd way. 'So, Shabnam, have you finally decided to appear in Plan B?'
He sounded so eerily like Vicky Rai that I almost jumped out of my skin. The guy really creeped me out.
I shifted immediately to the next bench, where Larry Page sat brooding. The Master's words came to me: 'Of all men's miseries the bitterest is this: to know so much and to have control over nothing.' For the first time I realized what a prisoner on death row was up against. How powerless he must feel against the might of the State. As the uncouth constables undressed me mentally, a lump of fear formed in my throat. I was convinced that sooner or later they would discover the body in Azamgarh, find out that the gun recovered from me was used to kill him and charge me with murder. I would be at the mercy of these lusty-eyed cops, who were already salivating at the prospect of interrogating me. I would certainly be stripped and quite possibly raped.
And even if I managed to survive the murder rap, I wouldn't be able to avoid bankruptcy. This morning I discovered that Bhola has taken money not only from Jugs Luthra, but from at least four other producers.
Jagannath Rai was standing in a corner, busy speaking to his lawyer. But I knew that I didn't need a lawyer; I needed an escape artist.
In the face of my rapidly shrinking options, I reappraised the American sitting next to me. He claimed to be a humble forklift operator, but after the recovery of that Glock from him my hunch was that he was an undercover agent. To earn a reward of fifteen million dollars and get a commendation letter from the US President, he must be the smartest FBI operative in the business, yet he put on a brilliant act of appearing to be dumb, aping those bumbling detectives of film and fiction. He could be my ticket to safety and sanctuary.
I sidled up to him. 'Larry, you said you were in some kind of Witness Protection Programme. Do you think I might be able to join you?'
He almost fell off the bench. 'Say that again?'
'I was thinking, could I come with you to the States?'
'Now you're reading my mail. I'll find out right now,' he trilled and punched a number on his mobile phone.
Within ten minutes he had an answer. 'I've spoken to Lizzie, the CIA Station Chief. She told me she'll pull some strings and get you included in the Witness Protection Programme. She's already working, as we speak, to get us out of here. A USAF Boeing 757 is standing by to fly us to the States. But there is one hitch.'
'What?'
'Lizzie said you can enter the programme only as my lawfully wedded wife.' He fell to his knees and clasped his hands. 'Tell me, Shabnam, will you marry me?'
I gazed at his lovesick face and stood up from the bench. I walked towards the grille window and looked out. The rain had stopped, but a pale mist hung in the air. The earth was awakening, its fertility rejuvenated. It smelt of mud and grass, fresh and new. The night had ended and the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, heralding a brand-new day. It touched me with its simple promise and my decision was made.
'Yes.' I let out a deep breath. 'I will marry you, Larry.'
'You've made me happier than a pig in sunshine,' he said, swooning with joy. 'So will you leave films for me?'
I smiled. 'For you, I will even leave the country.' I liked this man. In time I might even come to love him.
Larry did a little jig, then stopped, as if remembering something. 'Lizzie said there was one other thing.'
'What now?'
'You cannot remain Shabnam. Everyone in the Witness Protection Pro
gramme has to acquire a whole new ID. You gotta pick a new name and Lizzie will get you a new passport in a jiffy.'
I thought about that new name. Something neat and simple, yet one that would mark a complete break from my filmi past. A name that would be the exact opposite of Shabnam Saxena. And it came to me in a flash. 'I've got my new name.' I snapped my fingers.
'What is it? Tell me, tell me,' Larry clamoured.
'Ram Dulari,' I said triumphantly.
SOLUTION
'If you want to live in the city you have to think ahead three turns, and look behind a lie to see the truth and then behind that truth to see the lie.'
Vikram Chandra, Sacred Games
20
The Bare Truth
Arun Advani's column, 27 March
MURDER, SEX AND AUDIOTAPE
There was a time when solving murders was easy. They fell into predictable patterns of cause and effect; were slotted into neat categories of motive like jar, joru or jameen. Money, woman or land.
Nowadays you have serial killers, sex maniacs, junkies and psychopaths stalking our streets. Sick people who kill just for fun. And the graph is rising constantly. A violent crime is committed in India every three minutes, a murder every sixteen. Worse, of the ninety murder cases recorded every day, the vast majority never get solved.
Luckily, the murder of Vivek 'Vicky' Rai will not meet this fate. Because true to the promise I made earlier in this column, I have solved the case, uncovered the bare truth.
I must confess, though, that in this exposé there has been some divine providence at work. People tend to think that the main tools which we investigative journalists use are hidden microphones and miniaturized recording devices. But that is not true. The biggest resource we have is not a piece of electronic equipment; it is the support and cooperation of members of the public. They are the ones who provide the anonymous tip-off which becomes the lead in a murder case. They are the ones whose observant eyes and alert ears often result in the seizure of a suspect. It is the vigilance and diligence of a concerned citizen which has helped me blow the lid on India's most high-profile murder case.
Yesterday morning a thick packet arrived at my flat. It was yellow, nondescript, with just a typewritten label giving my name and address. When I tore it open, I discovered eight audio tapes nestling inside the bubble wrap. I spent the whole of yesterday and most of last night listening to and transcribing the tapes.
The entire transcript will be published in tomorrow's edition of this newspaper. Reserve your copy now, because the evidence on what I have named the 'Jagannath Rai Tapes' is nothing short of explosive.
There were six suspects in Vicky Rai's murder, but only one murderer. As I write this, the ballistics report has yet to come. But there is no need for it now. I can announce the name of the murderer: it is Mukhtar Ansari, a well-known contract killer whose main base of operations is Uttar Pradesh. And the man who gave the contract is none other than Jagannath Rai, the Home Minister of Uttar Pradesh. Vicky Rai's dad.
The Jagannath Rai Tapes are not just a chronicle of a father reaching his nadir. They also document the depths to which our polity has descended. They lay bare the cynical machinations and brazen wheeler-dealing which oil the creaking wheels of democracy in our most populous State. They expose the sordid mess in Uttar Pradesh, which the probing beam of investigative reporting has either not reached or has warped into the pallid light of yellow journalism. The message of the tapes is a bleak one. There are no heroes in shining armour. We are all naked in the hammam. But the buck stops with us, citizens and voters. It is our apathy and indifference that has led to the criminalization of politics and allowed mafia dons like Jagannath Rai to win elections, become MLAs and ministers, and convert the entire State into their fiefdom, where they can break the law with impunity. The Home Minister's involvement in Vicky Rai's death is only the tip of the iceberg. For a fuller record of his murderous (and amorous) activities, readers will have to wait till tomorrow.
Extrapolating from the tapes, I shall now put forward a hypothesis of what really happened on the fateful night of 23 March. Jagannath Rai had decided to get rid of his wayward son to secure the support of his wayward flock of MLAs and become Chief Minister. He gave the contract to his trusted hitman, Mukhtar Ansari. The plan was simple. Jagannath Rai left the service entrance of Vicky Rai's farmhouse unlocked, which enabled Mukhtar Ansari to come in undetected. He had the farmhouse lights switched off at precisely five minutes past midnight. Mukhtar finished off his work in that instant and raced out through the service door before the police swooped down and sealed the exits.
I can only speculate over what the six suspects were doing in Vicky Rai's farmhouse with guns in their possession. But I can say this with complete certainty: they did not kill Vicky Rai. The killer – Mukhtar Ansari – is out there, at large. He needs to be caught before he kills again.
To the Good Samaritan who sent me the tapes, I say 'Thank You'. To Jagannath Rai, I say 'Good Riddance'. The publication of the transcript should signal the termination of both his political and criminal career. It should mark the end of a sorry chapter in the history of the State which has the largest proportion of elected representatives in our Parliament.
It is my fervent hope that the publication of the Jagannath Rai Tapes becomes a clarion call to our leaders and to all citizens of our country. Let us resolve to cleanse the political system of criminal elements and ensure that law-breakers do not become law-makers. That is the only way to safeguard and strengthen our democracy. That is the only way to ensure a future worthy of our children.
21
Breaking News
Aired 28 March – 10:07
THIS IS A RUSH TRANSCRIPT. THIS COPY MAY NOT BE IN ITS FINAL FORM AND MAY BE UPDATED.
BARKHA DAS: The publication of the Jagannath Rai Tapes by Arun Advani has come like a bombshell. Politicians in Lucknow, whose names are featured in the explicit transcripts, are scurrying for cover . . . In a day of fast-moving developments, Jagannath Rai, the Home Minister of Uttar Pradesh, was arrested for the murders of Vicky Rai, Pradeep Dubey, Lakhan Thakur, Navneet Brar and Rukhsana Afsar, and the abduction of Gopal Mani Tripathi's son . . . We have our Lucknow correspondent, Anant Rastogi, standing by. Anant, what's the latest?
ANANT RASTOGI: Barkhaji, it looks like the end of the road for Jagannath Rai. For twenty years he has kept the State in his iron grip, conducting a reign of terror and oppression, but finally the law has caught up with him. I think the People's Welfare Party is now paying the price of keeping criminals like him in its fold.
BARKHA DAS: But Jagannath Rai is claiming that all these cases are fabricated, that there is no evidence, and that this is a conspiracy by the Chief Minister.
ANANT RASTOGI: He cannot deny the evidence on the tapes. Now his voice has been confirmed by experts. The Chief Minister has, therefore, moved swiftly to limit the damage.
BARKHA DAS: Very true, Anant. In fact, a short while ago we managed to speak to the Chief Minister himself. This is what he had to say:
CHIEF MINISTER OF UTTAR PRADESH: My party, the People's Welfare Party, is deeply disturbed at the charges laid against Jagannath Rai. If they are proved to be true then he deserves the severest punishment. Jagannath Rai has not only been removed as Home Minister, he has also been stripped of his membership of the PWP. The entry of criminals into politics is an unfortunate reality and every political party is equally guilty. I take this opportunity to call for soul-searching by all political parties. As a first step to cleanse public life, my party, the PWP, has taken a decision that henceforth no legislator with a criminal record will be made a minister.
BARKHA DAS: Well, those are welcome words from the Chief Minister and we hope other political parties will follow suit. Meanwhile, full-scale efforts are underway to track down Mukhtar Ansari, the contract killer hired by Jagannath Rai. A Special Task Force of police is believed to have obtained some vital clues in the case. We shall keep you posted on the latest d
evelopments. For now, this is Barkha Das signing off for ITN Live.
22
Breaking News
Aired 28 March – 14:35
THIS IS A RUSH TRANSCRIPT. THIS COPY MAY NOT BE IN ITS FINAL FORM AND MAY BE UPDATED.
BARKHA DAS: There have been dramatic developments in the Vicky Rai murder case. Police have reported a breakthrough in their hunt for Mukhtar Ansari. His badly decomposed body was discovered earlier today in a house in Sarai Meer on the outskirts of Azamgarh. Forensic experts have confirmed that he died of a gunshot wound, and that his body had been lying in the house for at least a week. If this is correct, there is no way Mukhtar Ansari could have been in Vicky Rai's farmhouse on 23 March. So who killed Vicky Rai? To answer this question, I now have the Police Commissioner of Delhi, Mr K. D. Sahay, joining us via videolink. Thank you, Sir, for talking to us. I believe you have some news in the Vicky Rai murder case?
K. D. SAHAY: Well, Barkha, first of all I want to caution your viewers that they should not believe all that they read in the papers. The great investigative journalist Arun Advani's famous hypothesis has been exposed as a fabric of lies.
BARKHA DAS: With due respect, Arun Advani couldn't have known about Mukhtar Ansari's murder. But have you got any more leads, Sir?
K. D. SAHAY: Leads? We've cracked the case! I am in a position to tell your viewers who killed Vicky Rai. You see, we had six suspects who were all found to be carrying guns on the night of the murder. And we managed to recover the bullet, which passed through Vicky Rai's body and got lodged in the wooden bar. The final ballistics report which came in yesterday showed that Vicky Rai was killed by a .32 bore bullet. And the gun which matched the bullet was recovered from Jiba Korwa, a tribal from Jharkhand. He was carrying a locally made improvised revolver of .32 bore, popularly called a katta, and that has been conclusively proven to be the murder weapon. Jiba Korwa was seen lurking near the mains switchboard. It was he who first switched off the lights, then ran into the hall and shot Vicky Rai.