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by Ganesh Chaudhari


  “My contact has been advised by his legal eagles to lay low for a while as he may come up on their radar if he continues to dig there. But he is sure they would never find him.” She explains further. Remembering the calm confidence of the teenager that I met, I agree.

  “I think we should be very careful from now on Jaggu. I am going to take this train back to office.” She points to the train occupying platform no.1. The clock shows that it will leave in under a minute.

  “Come on Kshipra. It can’t be this serious.” I stop in my tracks in exasperation. She walks back a few paces towards me so that she does not have to shout over the crowd.

  “It is very serious. It would be foolish to take it lightly.” Her eyes are stern with determination. I realize that she knows more than what she is telling me.

  “You know who. You know who is digging for this at the NIA.”

  “Yes. I do.” She drops her shoulders in exasperation. I remember the first recognizable face that I saw this morning. She is right & I have to let her go.

  “Go on. Get in the train. We will talk later.” I see her into the first ladies compartment of the train. Just as I am about to leave, Kshipra calls back.

  “You remember the bookshop uncle?” I nod & the train starts.

  “I have left a good book for you with him. Don’t leave without it.” She shouts as the train rolls away. None of the people moving at the pace of Mumbai bother noticing me as I watch the train depart.

  26

  Gadgets

  In Mumbai, every middle aged man who runs a shop of any kind is an“Uncle”. The “Uncle” is usually prefixed by his services which are frequently used within the circle of friends. So there could be a “Sandwich Uncle”, “Canteen Uncle”, “Phone Uncle”(For a man who ran a phone booth. Really, that used to be a common sight in my college days.) ,“Stationary Uncle” & even a “Taxi Uncle”. During my college days, we had the “Bookshop Uncle”. Naturally he sold books. His shop was in the basement of the Churchgate station. He was our one stop solution for all books in the University syllabi. Most of us could not afford new ones so he got us second hand books and sometimes even photocopies.

  He also sold “old magazines.” With graying hair & sparklingly naughty eyes, he was shrewd enough to tell the price of the shiny, carefully folded magazine in the hands of a fidgeting teenage boy without opening it. So we boys with our need for literature of the “soft & hard” kind found him a partner in our “explorations”. I never got around to knowing whether the girls from my class also had similar vices but he was equally popular amongst them too. Business apart, he was a frank man with a sense of humour & generous enough to allow us running a tab, so the Bookshop Uncle is easy to remember.

  I walk slowly to his shop. After Kshipra’s warning, I must make sure that I am not under surveillance. I check for someone in the shadows of the subway, somebody staying away from the lights, somebody too still to be resting or somebody moving only when I move. Nothing. Book Uncle’s shop has not changed much. It has four full height aluminium partitions with filmed glasses. When phone booths were booming, I’m certain Uncle would have had all the partitions full at all times. But it is a grimed affair now, with stickers of latest prepaid mobile plans covering half the partitions & government job application form availability covering the other. There is a low lying table which I suspect to be a sleeping cot that displays all the books & magazines on sale. No one is manning the chair next to the cot. I walk past it to open the partition’s door. Sure enough Book Uncle is inside. He beams a smile at me. His hair is white now & he seems to have lost weight. He is soaking in sweat even as he sits under a fan running at full speed. A desk separates me from him. There are a lot of papers spread out & he is writing onto one.

  “Hello Uncle, Kaise ho aap?” How are you? I ask.

  “Thik hoon beta. How are you?” I am ok son. He smiles again.

  “Chai- juice kuchh loge?” He asks if I will have something. I decline. He smiles again & reaches inside his desk to get me a bound DVD case of The Game Of Thrones. On closer inspection, it is a box of DVDs for 2 seasons of the TV adaptation. The caption below the title reads “In this game, you win or you die.” How appropriate. It is almost 3 inches thick. I nod at him.

  “Aate rehna beta.” He goes back to his work after asking me to keep visiting. Is this what time does? Someone who was important to your daily scheme of things at a point of time knows that you don’t have any time for him now. I walk away quickly.

  I decide to open the package before starting for office. It turns out to be a good decision. Expertly wrapped in a waterproof polythene coating, the package takes some careful opening. As I sit on my bike with both legs on one side, the package occupies my entire lap. Inside is a plastic box of roughly 8X8 inches. It is divided vertically into two sections. The upper section has a LCD display which is connected to a flat black box housed in the lower section. Wires run from it to the display. There is no way to reach the bottom section as it is closed on all sides. It has miniscule holes for air circulation though. There is a soft humming sound indicating that the device is powered up. That explains the warmness that I felt while opening it. I can make out a few words on the black box. “Tesla” features prominently with “NVIDIA” accompanying it. There also four batteries arranged in two stacks that seem to be powering it. A small charging input slot that has been connected to the battery bank. There is a power switch similar to a tablet pc’s start button by the display. I don’t know what this is & am thankful when I see a paper stuck to the bottom of the LCD screen.

  I read the note which is written in Kshipra’s handwriting.

  Jaggu,

  Anirudhha has been hard at work. He tells me that Achhu has gone to paranoid lengths to protect the content on his website. Anirudhha got some of it before the DDoS attack. Even with the key that you had, (I hope you got it from Achhu, after realizing how convoluted this could be.) it is going to take an insane amount of processing to decode it. Anirudhha feels that the NIA may take ages to access this in its true form. This device is a design of Anirudhha’s(He is in talks with the “GPUmakers” is all he will tell me.) so we will have to return it. As you would have realized by now, the device is at work. He says you will be able to see the decrypted content by tomorrow. It can be used like an ordinary Android tablet otherwise. The battery should last for 2 days but charge it whenever you can. Most importantly, Achhu’s website is down, Anirudhha is sure that NIA is behind this & he has tracked the attack on the site to the NIA’s office in the city. You stay safe Jaggu & crack this one quick.

  Keep me in the loop if you can.

  Luv,

  Kshipra.

  I touch the screen of the device. The display comes alive. There is just a progress bar in green. The label next to it shows “10%” & below a timer is counting down with 20 hours to go. I reach out inside my bike’s toolbox to get my backpack. I close the device carefully. It has a word inscribed on it. The translucent text I missed earlier reads “Nautilus”. I am not sure if that is what Anirudhha calls this. But it sure is swimming purposefully in the digital ether to pick up the valuable things that Achhu saved at the cost of his life. I put on the backpack & leave.

  I decide to finish off my lunch appointment. This can save me the drive back from Dadar. I am at the meeting place 15 minutes early. The place is Hotel Gulbahar. It is very close to the Mahalaxmi railway station but sufficiently far off from the commuting crowd. So despite being on the main road, there is a rare tranquility to the ambience of the place. The seating is more spread out as compared to other restaurants in vicinity. But the main reason for this being a favorite of Veeren is its proximity to the US consulate near the Mahalaxmi temple. I am nursing a lemon soda when he arrives.

  I have managed to secure a corner table for two. He walks easily into the restaurant, scans it just once to locate me. He is dressed in his office attire. A two piece blue suit with a striped tie. I can make out a smallish bulge in the left armpit. I
think I know what that is but obviously, I can’t bring it up. He smiles radiantly as he walks towards me. Now I think I can see a military march similarity to his walk. He settles into the seat opposite me. We shake hands warmly.

  “Long time Pandurang.” He says in his hoarse voice. I smile. The waiter serving us recognizes him. Veeren nods at him & he rushes to fetch Veeren’s usual. Jack Daniel’s & soda, I guess.

  “You are a regular here.” I observe.

  “Since you showed me this place, I have not gone past liking it.” He replies.

  I am not sure how to bring up the topic with him so the conversation wanders. From his job to mine, from the state of Mumbai in rains & to the latest cricket topics. I don’t contribute much but Veeren needs no encouragement. But nowhere the talks get into personal details about him. After finishing his second drink, he stretches back. Then he suddenly looms onto the table to look me in the eye.

  “What is it Pandurang? You want to ask me something?” He says.

  “Right.” I start off.

  “I was at a crime scene yesterday. I believe that the owner of the business where this crime happened could be involved in the crime. I saw him meeting up with a couple that travelled in a US consulate car. I have the registration details of the car. I want you to tell me who the couple was & what they were doing with him. ” I lay it out flat. Veeren looks at me in a manner that borders on sarcasm.

  “Do you think I will try to find out about US citizens that you saw somewhere & pass on the information to you just because I owe you a favor? Do you take me for a scheming Indian?” The smile has vanished from his face.

  “No. It is just information that I am seeking without intending to involve them & doing this can save you the embarrassment if I get after them with a warrant as this is a murder investigation.” I answer evenly.

  He keeps looking at me with a gaze that indicates as if he is not able to decide whether to chew me or whether to swallow me. Then he bursts out laughing. He bangs the table as he laughs hysterically, though I think this is a well practiced act.

  “Oh, Pandurang. Pandurang.” I don’t change my expression. I think he has got the message. The laughing stops suddenly again. He starts speaking like a man at his job.

  “As you have taken it up, I am sure you will take the investigation to its logical conclusion. So I will try to get you all the details that you want if & it is a big if, they fit in the consulate procedure. But expect me or the consulate to require solid evidence if I can’t give you specifics. ” He gives a very coherent reply which essentially means that he would want proof to get me any information.

  “See Veeren, I would like to think that you are doing it this way because of professional & national duty. But so am I. Expect me to get all the information from you or the consulate. Formally or otherwise.” I pass him a sheet of paper with the details about the registration of the car, the place where I saw it & the time.

  “Let me know whatever you can find for me.” I rise & start for the door without shaking his hand. My lime soda was paid for & I am sure Veeren can take care of his lunch bill.

  “Pandurang! At least tell me who’s dead?” Veeren asks without pretense. The frank, almost shameless negotiating skills that I saw a year back have not been dulled by a few drinks.

  “Pulkit Jha.” I answer without looking back.

  All I hear is a loud “Shit!” from Veeren.

  This how we cops roll. Sometimes, a personal acquaintance has to be reminded of my job in the wrong manner. Given a choice, I may go about it in a more agreeable, professional way but the police never have the luxury of choice in India. With such a curt request, I am certain Veeren will take it up with his boss fairly quickly as he has seen me in police action. He may choose to call up my superiors to have me disciplined but that could make me talkative about other things. And I have learnt that an honest officer at your establishment for an investigation is the last thing that you would want if the same honesty has helped you in the past. They may choose to ignore me totally, but it is a murder investigation. They will do so at their peril when the victim is Pulkit Jha. Even Veeren knows that.

  I am halfway to the office when my cell phone rings. I don’t answer calls when I am driving but given that the traffic is manageable, stopping at the side curb is easy. It is Bhavna.

  “Hello?” I insert my right index finger in my right ear as I stick the phone to my left. I don’t want to miss the tone or even a single word.

  “Hello Pandurang.” She says in a balanced voice that seems free of tension.

  “Are you at the office?” She continues as I don’t answer.

  “No, but I will be there shortly.” I reply.

  “Can I meet you there? Just for 10 minutes.” She asks.

  “Sure. In half an hour?” I accept readily.

  “Ok. See you then.” She terminates the call. As I think it over about meeting her, I get another call. It is from Aurangabad.

  “Pandurang, we have found the Fortuner.” Manoj says.

  How do I tell him that I have been taken off that case?

  “Are you sure it is the same one?” I ask.

  “100 percent. Found it deep inside a sugarcane field. Had to tow it to the station. I think it has not been used since it was abandoned around the time you spotted it. I have asked the owner to leave it at the station for 24 hours from now. Can you make it?” He proposes.

  “Let me call you back.” I buy time.

  “Sure. But 24 hours is the maximum that I can hold it.” He signs off.

  I make haste to reach office. Bhavna sounded calm on the phone. But what would she have to say? And then there is the matter of the Fortuner. I will have to talk to Khan about it. He is expected in an hour. I try to see if Ulhas is around. His advice about meeting Bhavna could really help me. But he is yet to come in. I make way to the canteen. I occupy a table without ordering anything. I fiddle with my mobile phone. I am about to leave the canteen when Bhavna arrives. She is dressed in a dark magenta kurta & black jeans. Her hand holds a purse. She smiles from a distance. She looks as good as ever but the eyes bear a reddish tint. She occupies the bench opposite me.

  “Hello.” I say.

  “Hello Pandurang.” She looks into my eyes. But I think she may be looking at the tape on the bridge of my nose.

  “How are you?” I ask.

  “Better.” She sighs before answering. She breaks the uneasy silence that follows.

  “I should not have spoken to you that way Pandurang. I am sorry.” She looks me in the eye again.

  “It is alright Bhavna. Really.” I answer clumsily. Sharp creature that she is, Bhavna makes an informed guess.

  “Has my father been talking to you?”

  “No. But I have been talking to him.” I say with a dead pan face. We laugh heartily. Things get easier from there. She asks me about yesterday night. I tell it to her in short, without exaggerating my little victory. We have a cup of tea each that Shetty sends across without ordering. She opens her purse. At first I think that she intends to pay the bill. But with Shetty at the counter, I am sure her payment won’t be accepted. But she takes out a device that looks like an oversized beard trimmer. Seems that today is my day with gadgets. It is black in color with a grip handle at the base & two fork-like blunt ends. She places it on the table.

  “You asked me about protection. This is what I have.” She points to the “thing” on the table. I don’t get around to touching it.

  “It is a modified Tazer. One push & a current sufficiently large to floor the strongest man is discharged.” She points to a little red switch placed near the index finger slot.

  “Bhavna, this may not be sufficient.” I protest.

  “I have applied for a pistol license sometime back. Will check up on that.” She says. I nod my head this time. My cell phone rings. It is Khan.

  “I will be at the office in 15 minutes. Meet me immediately.” He terminates the call as I say “Yes Sir!”

  Bhavna has
to see her father before going back to her office so I see her off till the gate. I rush back to wait for Khan near his office. Pritam walks to me in an apparently casual manner but I feel that he has been waiting for me.

  “Jagtap sir, department hila ke rakh diya tumne to!” He brands me a mover & shaker of the police department. I smile sarcastically.

  “I mean it Jagtap. Two murder cases in a week. You ruffled the NIA in the first one & a known dada in the second. You are going places for sure.” He continues harping. I don’t respond. He comes close & whispers.

  “How would you like to cash these ruffled feathers?” My eyes grow wide as I stare at him.

  “A normal cop like you won’t get such cases regularly Jagtap. Isn’t that the truth?” He moves his tongue on his lips to underscore his point. He is still whispering to me, making sure that nobody else can listen to the conversation.

  “You have stumbled upon a phati gaand that somebody wants stitched at any cost.” He does not mind my silence as he equates my murder investigation to a torn bottom in need of stitches.

  “And it has fallen on me to pass the message. Just name your price. Money, property, woman or in your special case, cancelling of the pending transfer. Look the other way in Pulkit’s case & get what you want. Let me know when you decide. ” He glides away even as I come to terms with what he has done.

  Khan’s curt voice helps me snap into reality.

  “Jagtap, in my cabin.”

  27

  Transit

  It is always the basics. Ishtiyaq often repeated to himself. But the same thought had helped him immensely today. When he had started for his morning tea, he spotted a police Tata Sumo near the bus station entrance. After all the success his kind had achieved in India, this was a pleasing sight. Cops guarding & watching public transport. But it also stirred him into action. As he sipped on his tea, he reached for his mobile phone. Activating the specially designed app that could tune in to the frequencies used by local police, he had started listening. And he had been rewarded. The chill of the Pune morning had become severe as he heard his name over the radio. He could not believe his ears when the cops were told about his possible intentions & a broad description. They were supposed to be looking for him. Thankfully, the boys were not mentioned. Travelling to Mumbai in a bus or train was now out of question.

 

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