Kumbhpur Rising Page 3

  Ragini shook a cigarette free from a crumpled pack of Classic Milds and lit it with a match.

  “I have promised her that we will come to help, you will be there won’t you?” Rajat pleaded.

  After the other side of her life had been discovered by the group, Ragini had always avoided socializing with them. But this was different. This was for a man whom Nishant had stabbed, and even then he had testified in the court for Nishant, not against him.

  “Yes, yes, sure who else have you called?”

  “Rakesh and Sanjeev”

  “Let me guess, Rakesh is coming, Sanjeev is not,” she said and blew puffs of smoke at her impression in the mirror.

  “Right, Sanjeev is busy” Rajat said.

  “He sure is, how about Jeet?”

  “I tried calling him, cell out of service”

  “Oh ok, I know where to get him,” she said and finished her tea.

  “Ok, so you will call me back right?” Rajat asked.

  “Sure kiddo, just hang around” Ragini said and disconnected. She lit a fresh cigarette, and ran a hand through her dark black hair.

  “Don’t worry Happy. We are coming,” she said to herself softly.

  Ragini rang the doorbell of Jeet’s flat in Kalyaninagar. She knew he was currently living with a software engineer named Vishal. There was no reply, Ragini waited and rang it again. No reply.

  Finally she scribbled a note, asking Jeet to call her back and slid it inside. As she left, she could hear a faint sound coming from the inside.

  She called Rajat “Jeet is not coming same reason as Sanjeev” her laughter had a harsh jagged sound.

  Rajat understood, now it was down to three of them.

  “Did you get in touch with Rakesh?”

  “Yes he is coming and right now we are at Grand on MG road having a few brewskies, come and join us” Rajat said.

  ‘So in addition to a bruised lip and swollen breasts, I am going to go to bed with a bad hangover too, why not?’ Ragini thought and turned her Scooter towards MG road.

  ***

  Chapter 6

  The ringing doorbell woke Neeraj Joshi on that Sunday morning. He pulled on a tee shirt and lit a cigarette before answering the door. On his way out, he took a moment to look at his face in the mirror.

  He had not expected such a quick reaction from Sanket. He was now cursing himself for not seeing it come. He should have gone straight to his home after threatening Sanket. Instead he had gone to his regular bar and got jumped as he was walking back to his car.

  The physical beating was not very bad. That showed the thugs were pros. They pinned him to his car and took turns punching him in stomach till he had thrown up all the alcohol of the evening. Then came a knee to the groin, and then one of them told him to fall in line or else.

  As he drove back, he stopped at a signal to throw up once more. Then he thought the whole thing through. Sanket was shitting his pants when Neeraj had left him, so in panic he must have called Dixit. Dixit must have sent the thugs to rough him up as a warning. That was good, since it made evident Dixit’s thought process. He had taken Neeraj for a hot-headed white-collar guy, who would fall in line with a little bit of punching around. Dixit had made a couple of mistakes. One he had sent thugs instead of assassins and two, he had ordered only a warning, not a hit.

  Then the thugs had made a mistake by calling each other by their names in front of him. He had also noticed a sixth finger on one of the thugs’ right hand. That would be enough for Neeraj to find them tonight. And he was not into warning business.

  He opened the door. Two police officers stood outside, their faces suitably grim.

  “Mr. Neeraj Joshi?” one of them asked.

  “Yes, can I help you?” Neeraj asked.

  “We need to talk to you, may we come in please?”

  “Yes, please,” Neeraj held the door opened, and ushered the two officers into his living room.

  “I was about to make some tea, would you like some?” Neeraj asked them.

  “Not really, we are here for work,” the officer who said that wore a nameplate announcing him to be PI Prakash Rane.

  “Ok” Neeraj said, and sat in the comfortable leather chair, motioning them to sit opposite him. The officers sat down and cleared their throats.

  “Did you meet a Mr. Sanket Shah, your supervisor, yesterday evening?” The other office asked. His name plate read M. Ishwaran.

  “Yes I did. Our company is being investigated by SEBI for insider trading and I am about to depose to them tomorrow morning. I went over to his place to discuss the same yesterday.”

  The officers exchanged glances. Both of them had expected a denial from Neeraj about going there in the first place. They had even thought he might offer some bone headed alibi about being in some other place at that time. Then they would hit him with his entry in the visitor’s log book in Sanket’s society. The man sitting in front of them was calm, perhaps unnaturally so.

  “Did you think I would forget the visitor’s log book in Sanket’s society officers?” Neeraj asked and stubbed his cigarette. Both officers almost jumped out of their chairs.

  “Mr. Sanket has accused you of killing his cat by throwing it out of his window. He has further accused you of threatening to kill him with a 0.38 pistol” PI Rane wanted to pull the advantage back by hitting Neeraj flat out with the accusations. He was disappointed once again.

  “Did you find the dead body officer?” he asked.

  The question was so ridiculous that both the cops looked at each other dumb founded. They had either expected a burst of righteous indignation with vehement denials, or a tearful confession to a crime of passion. This man did not fit any category of criminals they had seen in their careers.

  Neeraj asked the question again. Rane shook his head in the negative.

  “That doesn’t mean anything Mr. Neeraj, there is a four lane highway on the side where the window opens. It is impossible to find a small animal thrown there.”

  Secretly, Neeraj disagreed. Last night he had gone back to that very highway and patiently collected all the remains of Shot the cat before disposing of them in a large municipal trash can on his way back home.

  “Very convenient,” he observed.

  Ishwaran lost his temper “Listen you want to talk here or at the police station nearby?”

  “Let me see. I guess I would prefer talking here; you on the other hand want to go Bollywood on me and intimidate me into confessing to something I have not done. So, we can go to police station and flog this dead horse there. Now, if I go to the station, you two gentleman are staring down at spending next year facing departmental inquiries and libel suits from me. You want to take me to the station and charge me on the unsubstantiated word of a man himself in the dock with the SEBI? Well, good luck to you officers,” he said and lit another cigarette.

  Rane put up one hand in air defensively. He knew they were skating on thin ice here.

  “Mr. Neeraj do you deny the allegations your boss has made against you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Do you deny having carried a pistol to his place yesterday evening?”

  “I deny possessing one officer, so the question of carrying one does not arise,” Neeraj replied.

  “Are you aware that we can come back with a search warrant for your flat and your car?”

  “No need for taking that trouble. I will sit right here while you search my flat for all you want. Search my car too, here take the keys.” He tossed the keys to Ishwaran.

  He made tea and drank as the two cops went about searching for the weapon. Neeraj had left his entire arsenal in an empty flat next door. The neighbor had given the keys to him while he was on a year long vacation to the US. It had come in handy last night.

  The cops came out looking sheepish and confused.

  “Mr. Neeraj I think there is some mistake,” said Rane.

  “I think so too,” said Neeraj.

  “We will warn Mr. Sanket very
sternly about this matter, I also want to make clear that we came here purely to talk to you and did not coerce you into talking to us,” the cop was covering his ass and Neeraj smiled to let him know he knew it.

  “Your conduct was exemplary officers. I have no complaints, now would you like to have that tea and maybe a smoke?”

  As Neeraj poured tea for the two officers, his mind went about planning how to teach a lesson to his errant boss.

  Chapter 7

  Rajat

  We went to Happy’s residence in Kolaba on Monday morning. We took Rakesh’s Mahindra Scorpio (the guy is upwardly mobile once more). Rakesh drove, while I and Ragini drank beers and talked of the old times. By the time we reached Happy’s place we all had beer on our breaths. Happy’s father gave a disapproving sniff and let us in.

  Rani came out. I only had to see her to really know how far Happy had gone. Her stately erect carriage was gone. Her posture was stooped like a woman twenty years older, her eyes were sunken. Her cheeks were hollow enough to show the outline of her gums.

  “God she looks like a zombie” Rakesh whispered as Rani greeted us all with a smile and a quick hug. When she put her hands around my neck, I could feel her collar bone pressing on my chest.

  “Where is Happy?” Rakesh asked as we sat. Happy’s dad Tejpal was watching CNBC with the sound turned low.

  “Here I am!” we all got up halfway and watched our boss Alok aka Happy coming out of the adjoining bedroom.

  The physical change in Happy was not as striking as Rani since he was a thin man to begin with. Now his physical appearance was about the same, but we all knew him well enough to see that crazy glint in his eyes was entirely new. When he smiled and hugged me I could smell craziness on him. His movements had lost all their grace. Now he moved like a character in a poorly done animated movie. His lips were thinner than usual and almost black. (Rani had informed me that he now smoked up to three packets a day).

  “Hey Ragini you sure look after yourself,” Happy said as they hugged. I could see Ragini was almost in tears.

  We all sat down to have tea as Happy lit a cigarette, and threw the packet in my lap. I shook one cigarette free and put it in my mouth.

  Rani sat next to Happy and squeezed his hand tentatively. Rakesh was sitting ramrod straight and motion less, like he suffered from a very bad case of runs and was afraid of any physical movement. Ragini smoked a cigarette and ran a hand through her beautiful dark hair.

  “So now we travel to this last resort place where I see the light team?” asked Happy. It was never guys or individual names with us. If there was more than one of us present, he always called us team.

  Since Happy was looking at Rakesh when he said that, Rakesh chose to answer. As usual he chose the wrong thing to say “Boss we care for you, that’s all, I mean we want you to get better like in the old days”

  Fuck! I mean how much brain does it take not to call a crazy person crazy to his face? But I always suspected that all the alcohol Rakesh had had after his divorce had somehow seeped to his brain and had evaporated his grey matter. The guy was thick.

  “You mean I should get over my craziness?” Happy asked, his smile gone in a second. If I had thought his smile had a crazy glint, his serious face scared the shit out of me.

  “He didn’t mean that...” Rani said and Happy turned and slapped her with such a force, that she was almost knocked out of her seat.

  “Shut up you whore” we all felt as if Happy had grown multiple hands and had slapped all of us together.

  “Shut up. You want to put me in an asylum and help them. You are on their side,” It took all of us a moment to realize that Happy was not referring to us when he said ‘them’. My arms broke out in goose bumps.

  Rani stood up sobbing and Happy stood up too, possibly to hit her again. We all were glued to our seats, except Ragini.

  It was almost surreal, one moment Ragini was looking up stunned, like rest of us. The next moment she was standing right between the husband -wife, hands on her hips, looking Happy in the eyes.

  “One more word and I will knock your teeth out Happy, and if you so much as touch Rani again I will break your fucking arm, you with me so far?” Ragini was speaking through clenched teeth. Happy started to retort and suddenly, Ragini slapped him hard.

  “Shut up Happy, you want to know what a whore looks like, look at me,” she said and pushed him back in his chair. Happy sank in the chair and lit a cigarette. Then he cackled loudly. Even Ragini flinched a little.

  “You are right Ragini. Rani Come here, I shouldn’t have called you umm…… that name,” he pulled at his wife weakly but she shook her hand free. Tejpal walked to her and took her in his arms. His eyes flashed a tired hatred for his son.

  Happy, impervious to either his father’s glare or his wife’s sobbing was still laughing. Every now and then his laughing turned into a coughing fit.

  “Don’t hit me again Ragini, I can explain,” Happy said “I am thinking about a different country and a different time. I am thinking of a Jew family in 1938 in Poland. There is a family quarrel; the husband and wife are not talking to each other over some minor issue. Maybe she suspects he has an affair, maybe he is not happy with the way she the runs the house. They are feeling pretty low because of the quarrel. Only the real low point comes three year later, when this couple is in one of those notorious gas chambers of Hitler. They must have got a perspective in lows of life before dying. Not that it mattered though, it rarely does,” Happy paused to smoke again.

  “What I meant team, was that my recent antics will look like child’s play when compared to what is still to come,”

  With this Happy stood up and walked inside his bedroom singing ‘It’s a sad, sad situation and its growing more and more absurd’ in a loud off-key voice. He slammed the door shut behind him and his singing was once more interrupted by another fit of laughter.

  “Welcome to Loony town, population you” Rakesh said. Ragini and I did not laugh.

  Chapter 8

  When you have been leading a double life like Neeraj, you learn to build networks of informants in both the worlds. For all his cold aloofness, Neeraj had carefully cultivated contacts both on the Dalal Street and the underworld. Neeraj knew this thing for sure.When you needed information from someone, all you had to do was to give that person some information in exchange or pay him. That was the only way to stay ahead in the game.

  If Neeraj would have needed information about some company coming out with an IPO he would know whom to ask. Similarly, when he needed information on the two thugs who beat him up last night, he knew the place and he knew the man.

  Now he was seated comfortably in a bar on Meera Road. A few girls were dancing and making passes at the customers. A group of young men, probably college students on their first trip to a dance bar, were throwing ten rupee bills in their direction.

  Jaheer Pasha arrived on time and sat across the table with Neeraj. Both men acknowledged each other with a nod. Neeraj motion a waiter, Pasha ordered a nip of Rum and Pepsi.

  Neeraj watched Pasha drinking a large peg in a single gulp and then refill his glass, emptying the nip in it. He did not mind Pasha taking his time.

  “Heard you got robbed last night,” Pasha said and lit a cigarette. Neeraj nodded.

  “That Sunrise bar is becoming a bad place these days, lots of muggers around” Pasha said and sipped his drink. Neeraj’s face remained impassive.

  Pasha finally asked “Anything I can do?”

  “Tell me their names and where I can find them,” Neeraj said slowly.

  “What did they look like?”

  “One had six fingers on his right hand, the other guy called him Mustafa,” Neeraj said. The faint flicker of recognition in Pasha’s eyes told Neeraj that he was talking to the right man.

  “That would be Mustafa Ramiz. Works as a mechanic in BoriBunder, does small time mugging. Was his partner small, say around five feet, with a scar on his cheek?”

  “He w
as small alright. I did not see his face to know if he had a scar.”

  “That must be Hamid Shakur then, Mustafa’s brother-in-law, He was a bouncer in a dance bar, but got thrown out when he raped one of the bar girls. Did time in Yerawada Jail for that one, he is the danger man between them.”

  Neeraj finished his drink and slid an envelope across the table to Pasha. Pasha pocketed it without looking inside. It had ten thousand rupees in hundred rupee bills.

  “Where can I find them?” Neeraj asked.

  Pasha waited as the waiter came back with Pasha’s refill, and then said “This time they would either be on Foras Road catching AIDS, or at a bar called Sinhali, about a kilometer down this road. They always drop there for a nightcap.”

  “Thanks, stay out of trouble,” Neeraj said standing up. Pasha stood up too and put a hand on Neeraj’s arm “you want a couple of my boys to help...”

  Neeraj smiled and shook his head.

  “Khuda Hafiz” Pasha said and returned to his table. Neeraj left ignoring the passes made by a dancer in a red gahgra and backless choli.

  At 1.30 the same night, Mustafa and Hamid were thrown out of the ‘Sinhali’ for hitting on a hooker who was already with a customer. Both of them were drunk upto the passing-out-in-the-gutter stage. They descended the narrow staircase of the bar, still indignant about the manner of their exit.

  As they began walking to where Hamid’s scooter was parked, Mustafa suddenly doubled over and threw up violently in the gutter. Hamid waited for him to finish.

  They both reached the dark alley behind the bar and noticed a small black car parked directly behind their vehicle. Probably some rich kid making out with his girlfriend, or a dancer he picked up, easiest of the mugging targets. Both of them noticed the car was rocking slightly on its suspensions and became convinced.

  “If the girl is any good she is mine,” Mustafa said in a hoarse voice and produced a five inch switch blade knife from his back pocket. Hamid opened his scooter dickey and pulled an old bicycle chain. He wrapped it tightly around his right fist and followed Mustafa.